Sheila and Recluse

By Randall Jarmon

For much of his career, Adam North was a hunted man. He carefully moved around the old USSR for years, spying on the Soviet oil industry from deep within the Soviets' vast empire. He was never caught, but his social skills languished.

Once his code name, Recluse, was a joke among coworkers. Now Recluse describes him well. At age fifty-six,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mikvelk Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jan 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869121974

Randall Jarmon

Randall Jarmon, Ph.D., has followed such an unusual path that few novelists will tell a story the way he does.Dr. Jarmon started out as an English major at heart, but ended up with an engineering degree. It imparted keen interest in technology.He once got more than his share of elite military training. Those few years were a good opportunity to learn about tactics, weaponry, martial arts, and so forth.He has worked in a world-class manufacturing setting and a world-class R&D center. Part of the fun for readers with technical backgrounds is determining when the technology in his stories goes from fact to fiction. The shifts will be subtle. Expect to miss some.He earned a pretty good MBA. Later he earned a doctorate (in Management) well worth having. Among other things, he now easily explains the complex organization of human effort. Look for good plots clearly set forth.Randall Jarmon and his wife divide their time between Texas and Arizona. They have two children, six grandchildren, and a golden retriever named Virgil.MIKVELK Publishing, LLC

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Randall Jarmon

Mikvelk Publishing, LLC

mikvelk.com

Publishing Information

Sheila and Recluse is entirely a work of fiction, which is to say it is entirely a product of the author’s imagination. The characters, places, and events are either fictitious or used in fictitious ways. In particular, Blue Dog’s group, the Enforcers, and all of Walter Lindblohm’s vast empire are 100 percent imaginary. Any resemblance of any character to any living person is entirely coincidental.

An earlier version of Sheila and Recluse appeared under Randall Jarmon’s pen name then, Randall Franklin.

Sheila and Recluse is copyrighted (© 2005, 2015, 2020, 2021, 2024) by its author, Randall Jarmon, who retains all worldwide rights to it, except as explicitly conferred by him in writing. Randall Jarmon hereby authorizes the use of small portions of this novel for review purposes. For further permissions, contact Mikvelk Publishing, LLC, through its website, mikvelk.com.

The ISBN for the Sheila and Recluse ebook you now read is 979-8-8691-2197-4. The corresponding paperback version carries ISBN979-8-8691-2196-7.

MIKVELK Publishing, LLC

January 2024

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Table of Contents

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Title Page

Publishing Information

Table of Contents

Sections 1 through 10

Sections 11 through 20

Sections 21 through 30

Sections 31 through 40

Sections 41 through 50

Sections 51 through 60

Sections 61 through 70

Sections 71 through 80

Sections 81 through 90

Sections 91 through 96

About the Author

Afterword

Over two decades ago, The Movement, an extraordinarily well-prepared terrorist group, emerged from an isolated part of Iran. It planned to flood America with trained assassins, who would prey on ordinary American Christians.

The prototype for the terrorist plan was tested near the turn of the century. What follows is the story of the several American civilians asked to defeat this Movement threat.

1

He was a handsome man, with a full head of gray hair, piercing blue eyes, and a deep tan. He was also highly intelligent and unusually fit. Yet, at fifty-six years old, Adam North still didn’t like himself much.

For the moment, however, he was at peace. North lay on his back, stretched out across the bed of his old pickup truck. Above him was the star-filled West Texas sky. All around him were the endless, wind-swept plains of the Texas Panhandle. A coyote howled faintly in the distance. It was perfect.

He had lain there for over an hour, feeling his soul gently renewed by the tranquility around him. Slowly, thirty-some years of bad memories began to fade.

His satellite phone rang. It was the secure one, the one he still had to answer. Muttering under his breath, North sat up, pulled out the phone, and deliberately made the caller wait until the sixth ring.

Recluse here, he growled. Challenge code 16-QM-86. Confirm in fifteen seconds starting … now. North looked at his watch. The caller gave him the right code in less than ten seconds. They were halfway to a conversation.

It was a familiar, gruff voice. If gravel could talk, North thought, it would sound just like this man did. Blue Dog here. Challenge code AX-73-85. Confirm. North did so, computing in his head the response. Most persons Blue Dog called used calculators for that.

I hate these secure calls, Bucky, grumbled North. You know I’m retired. This’d better be important. Remember, I’ve got an important friend. And he doesn’t like you much.

Awhh, somebody’s having a bad day. Again, retorted the caller. He was a powerful ex-admiral, who officially did not exist. Even so, he guided certain key aspects of Homeland Security and Pentagon operations, doing so from the shadows of Washington, D.C. Specifically, he directed a small, elite group informally called Black Ops. They carried out America’s very secret, very lethal efforts to pre-empt attacks upon the U.S.

This ex-admiral also did not let many people talk to him the way North did. You’ll never change, Adam. You’re a hopeless malcontent.

North laughed softly. He always had liked Bucky, even after Groznyy. Besides, he shouldn’t have talked to him that way. Be gentle and kind, he told himself. Gentle and kind. Yeah. Maybe that’s right. So, what’s up?

Blue Dog began his carefully planned explanation. Some terrorists crossed the Mexican border. They turned up on a side road east of Lubbock. Very well-armed. Killed a local cop not far from Cottonville. They did so execution-style. Also, badly wounded his partner. She’ll be lucky to walk again. Somehow she called in a report before passing out.

Lubbock was only ninety minutes away. North couldn’t help himself. He was getting drawn in. Tell me her story.

She said they stopped to help what looked like a stranded motorist on some deserted side road. Two men came out of the bushes with AK-47s. The three bad guys made both cops get on their knees. Right away they shot the male officer in the head. Told the female officer to repeat after them three times, ‘The serpents are coming to punish America.’

What’s that serpent stuff about?

Who knows? Maybe some message for Washington. Anyway, they made her lie face down and shot up her legs. She lay there, pretending to be unconscious. They made bets on whether she’d live five minutes. Somebody even started timing her. Somebody else said they’d be late getting to Houston. So they left her to die. Once their car drove off, she dragged herself to the police cruiser’s radio. Barely managed to key the mic.

That’s it?

That’s her story. Like I said, she fainted after she got those words out. She’d lost a lot of blood. The pain would’ve been getting pretty severe. You know what getting shot’s like. Why am I telling you this?

North asked some of the obvious questions. You’ve got roadblocks out? Aircraft up?

Sort of. Only one chopper’s available. Might get another soon, though. Too few cops in all of West Texas to seal off the roads. We’ve got the interstate blocked pretty well. Same for a couple of big state roads. Still way too many holes in our net.

You don’t think they’re headed to Houston. Right?

Yeah. Everybody else thinks Houston. I figured I’d talk with you. You never could think like everybody else.

Adam smiled and decided to play along. He already knew Blue Dog wanted something. Blue Dog always wanted something.

Well, they aren’t going back south to Mexico. No point in coming this far to get chased back. There are lots of cops to ambush in the border counties.

Agreed. We also can rule out east to Houston. They wouldn’t talk about it with a wounded cop nearby. Not if that were the real direction. Not if they were smart.

Get North involved, Blue Dog thought. Get him invested in the problem.

Well, Bucky, they might try west. Not many places to hide that way. Desert, cactus, and grassland mostly. And there aren’t a lot of roads once you get off the main ones, which’d be blocked. West is possible, but I’d head due north to Amarillo.

Why? Amarillo’s got a big police force. Dozens of cops’ll be waiting. It’s too dangerous to go there.

"I wouldn’t go all the way to Amarillo. I’d hide in Palo Duro Canyon—maybe forty-five miles or so south of the city. Palo Duro’s over a hundred miles long. Up to a thousand feet deep with lots of little side canyons. Plenty of brush and trees. It would be hard to watch from the air in this heat, too. Infrared signatures won’t show up well.

That’s where they’ll go, Bucky. That’s the place. They’ll hole up there. They’ll kill a tourist or a rancher later and steal another car. It’s got to be Palo Duro. Everything else is open plains. But you already knew that—didn’t you, Bucky?

Blue Dog played dumb as he became even more careful. This next part absolutely had to work.

What do you mean I already knew that?

It’s why you really called me. You guessed I’d be at Walter’s ranch: right near the Canyon, right where nobody’s around, and right where smart terrorists would go. You want me to catch these guys. But you’ve got big problems, Bucky.

Like what?

Like I never did work for government intelligence. You still can’t tell me what to do. Also, I’m retired, Bucky. I don’t get shot at anymore. I don’t care anymore. Send a SWAT team out here. I’ll point ‘em in the right direction. That’s it. Find yourself another man.

I don’t have a SWAT team yet.

Get one.

I don’t need to, the gruff voice said with a sudden display of confidence. You’ll do it. You’re authorized to play by Black Ops rules, too. You see, I know something you don’t know.

What?

A little tidbit from the CIA. These killers were trained by Yuri. You remember Yuri, don’t you, Recluse?

2

After talking with the former admiral, Adam North punched a confidential string of numbers into his satellite phone. Soon he was connected with the man who just might have been the world’s most successful financier: Walter Lindblohm. There was no need for authentication. North and sixty-nine-year-old Lindblohm had worked together for over three decades and were as close as brothers.

Walter, an ex-admiral you don’t like just called me. Some terrorists are headed my way. Yuri trained them.

Tension flashed across Lindblohm’s rugged, patrician face. They’re still trying to kill you? Tell me what you have. His keen, dark eyes narrowed under the thick, gray brows. Lindblohm quickly picked up a pen and took notes.

North, who was blessed with a superb memory, repeated verbatim his conversation with Blue Dog. Walter, can you still find out what the CIA knows about this?

Maybe. I’m not their good buddy these days. But somebody owes me a big favor. I’ll call it in. They talked briefly about security on Walter Lindblohm’s West Texas ranch, where Adam was spending a week fly fishing. Then they hung up.

North’s next call went to Manuel Vasquez, the stocky, ex-special operations NCO who now ran day-to-day ranch operations for Walter Lindblohm.

This is Adam. I just talked with Walter. He says for you and Casey to get the men organized into security patrols. At least two men per patrol. Each man in body armor and packing an automatic weapon. Trouble might be coming.

Yes, sir, Dr. North. Can you tell me more? North filled him in on everything but the connections to the CIA and Yuri.

Secure the housing compound where the families live, Manuel. That’s first priority. If you have any men left over, move some patrols out around the prairie. The compound comes first, though.

Yes, sir, Dr. North. It’ll be as you say. But are you okay? Do you need some of us where you are?

I’m about three miles north of the ranch house. I’m okay. Thanks for asking. I’ll be stopping by soon, but only to get some gear from the gun room. Then I’m heading out again.

Maybe you should tell me where you’re going, Dr. North? Just in case.

"Good idea. I think I know where these killers are headed, and how to make them talk. Nobody should be around while I deal with them. It’s a one-man job.

You’ll hear from me by lunchtime tomorrow. Otherwise, send a dozen, well-armed men into the northwest Canyon spur. You know, near the spring where we killed the rattlesnakes.

Where the paved road becomes a dirt road and, after about a mile, becomes just a trail into the Canyon?

Yeah, that’s the place. One more thing. When Walter calls, tell him I’ll have my satellite phone turned off for a while.

3

Deep in Central Iran, two men walked along the main corridor of an underground command center, turned, and passed through the well-guarded entrance of what looked like a control room. Several monitors on one wall showed real-time broadcasts from TV stations serving West Texas. A team of uniformed linguists monitored not only the broadcasts, but also police-band radio transmissions from Texas cities Lubbock, Amarillo, and Houston.

One of the two men smoked a cigarette. He was called The Leader, and wore the same brown paramilitary uniform as the linguists did, but with five gold stars arrayed in a small circle on each shoulder epaulette. He might have been a movie villain in another life. He was about sixty years old and affected military bearing. Evil seemed to seep from his distinguished facial features. Most—though not all—of those who worked for him feared his wrath.

The Leader sucked on his cigarette, blew smoke toward the linguists, and asked, We have announced the beginning of our mission?

The ranking underling, who sat at a computer monitor, stood up to answer. Yes, Leader. The support team killed one police officer and wounded another. Exactly as planned. There are reports of many roadblocks and police deployments. There have been no arrests. All is going very well.

The Leader nodded, congratulated the linguists, and walked back out of the room. The other man walked beside him.

The tall, thin man accompanying The Leader was not happy. He was a Russian in his mid-fifties, handsome in a rugged way, with keen intelligence in his eyes. He wore casual civilian clothes, which seemed odd, given his military haircut.

Outside the control room, and a little past the armed guards, the Russian emphatically shook his head. He’s wrong, you know. It’s not going well. Not even close.

When The Leader waved the comment aside without answer, the Russian stepped out in front of him and faced The Leader. Those idiotic trainers of yours never should have had The Provider shoot the police for no good reason! It endangers the entire plan. The Provider could have entered America quietly. You’ve now got all three agents in danger.

Any rebuke gravely offended The Leader. He beckoned for the thin man to follow him farther away from the guards. They should not, The Leader thought, hear the stern words that would come.

A dozen paces later, The Leader stopped and turned to face the man with him.

You’d do well to remember your place, Yuri. You work for The Movement. I decide how we do things. Furthermore, you didn’t teach these three men everything. My people taught them how to kill. My trainers now test The Provider. They test to see if he learned his lessons from them.

Yuri shook his head again. And if The Provider hasn’t learned enough? Think about my two men. They’ll have to supply themselves. I’d counted on that resupply help. You should’ve consulted me first.

The Leader, with effort, held his fierce temper in check. You were to train them to supply themselves, Yuri. The Provider was a luxury. If we lose him, the plan still goes forward.

Yuri shook his head a third time. You don’t get it, do you? Listen to me: The Serpents might not be ready! Their mission could fail. That’s why I came here—to give them one final test of my own. You absolutely should’ve waited. He looked away and rolled his eyes.

Anger now flashed across The Leader’s face. Maybe you didn’t hear me, Yuri. Don’t make that mistake again. My orders are not to be questioned, no matter how tough you think you are. No matter how impressive your record. Never think, Yuri, that you’re too smart to be killed. I won’t warn you again.

In The Leader’s world, these words were close to a death sentence.

Yuri ignored them. I’ve got work to do. The first Serpent’s already waiting for me. With that, Yuri walked off, leaving The Leader alone to nurse his anger.

Yuri went directly to the conference room at the other end of the underground command center. A young man with an athletic build and an everyday face awaited him there. Serpent 1 rose and bowed when Yuri, who was responsible for well over half his training, entered the little room. Serpent 1 respected Yuri.

It’s good to see you again, said Yuri, with only nominal warmth. This was, after all, to be a stress interview. And you’ve earned a Serpent title. Congratulations.

Serpent 1 looked understandably proud. He had worked nearly four years for his title. Serpent 1 had been chosen from very few Mideastern university students who fit an unusual, profile. Each candidate had to be a loner who appeared Mexican. Each also needed a photographic memory, an extraordinary aptitude with languages, and virulent hatred for America.

The Leader’s radical organization had quietly done the selection and vetting. Three candidates were brought to Yuri for training. He taught them how to escape capture while operating deep within the United States for months on end. Members of The Movement taught the three men additional skills. Most of these, Yuri was eventually told, involved self-defense and weaponry.

Yuri’s training had emphasized techniques for blending in with the Mexican immigrant population living within the U.S. The three candidates had spent time in Mexico preparing themselves, perfecting their individual knowledge of Mexican culture and of Spanish. They also had worked there for months in carpentry, food service, agriculture, meat packing, and hotel operations. Yuri insisted that they should be able to do such work in the U.S.

Much tactical training had been fitted into approximately three years of hard work in Mexico. The Leader’s own trainers made numerous visits to Mexico, working with the candidates when Yuri was not there.

Yuri assessed his students’ progress every quarter, doing so through the sort of one-to-one oral examination once common in Soviet classrooms. For Serpent 1, this was the final test. Although he appeared confident, the young man was, in fact, nervous. He knew Yuri could take away the Serpent title. Even The Leader would not go against Yuri’s assessment of the young man’s readiness. The young man already knew that the third candidate had been demoted to his Provider’s role when he failed Yuri’s examination.

Yuri took a seat behind a small table. The young man remained standing before him. First questions, Yuri began. What weapons and equipment will you carry with you? How will you use each item? Be specific.

The young man responded with well-feigned confidence. I’ll carry nothing. I can find weapons all around me—clubs, kitchen knives, garrotes, sharp objects, and even rocks. I can find these weapons whenever I need them. I’ll use them and dispose of them quickly. Someone carrying any sort of weapon could be suspected by police.

Yuri’s dark eyes focused intently on the young man, who only in recent months had become able to meet Yuri’s gaze.

Describe how you’ll use equipment and what that equipment will be. Give special attention to how you’ll use computers.

I’ll carry no equipment. I won’t use computers. Unskilled Mexicans don’t use computers. I might carry a cell phone as part of my cover, but I’d discard it as quickly as I could. Cell phones provide a way to trace my movements. I’ll not need any other equipment.

Yuri nodded slightly to show approval. What if you need official documents of some sort?

I’ll ask illegal immigrants where to get them. Illegal immigrant networks are easily discovered. The authorities don’t seriously pursue the forgers who serve these networks.

Is it better to pose as an illegal immigrant or as a legal immigrant?

I’m trained to impersonate either. The illegals would usually be the better choice. They move about the country in search of work. They take some of the same precautions I’ll take against arrest. My precautions would be inconspicuous.

Suppose you must flee the U.S.?

I might turn myself in and ask to be deported. I’d get a free plane ride to Mexico. I also could move to Mexico, as illegals do. Many go home for certain holidays. There’s no serious border security on the Mexican side to stop them. Even U.S. border guards pay little attention to anyone leaving.

Another slight nod. How will you earn money to support yourself?

I can do the jobs illegals do. It’s not hard to get that work. Not with the experience I have in several trades. Also, you showed me how to use petty theft. I can steal money in emergencies.

Yuri lightly drummed his fingertips on his table, watching Serpent 1 all the while, wondering if the young man would look away. When—after fifteen long seconds—the young man did not, Yuri asked, How will you perform on each of these jobs you will hold?

I’ll always be better than average. I’ll get hired before the many immigrants with marginal skills. But I’ll never be the best worker. That way I won’t stand out and draw attention.

What sort of pattern will guide your movement around the U.S.?

There will be no pattern. I’ll flip coins, as you showed me. My movements will be random.

Suppose it became necessary for me or The Movement to contact you. We can’t use electronic means. Americans closely monitor communications inside the U.S., regardless of what they say. How do we reach you?

Yuri leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. In the past those tiny motions alone had been enough to disrupt the young man’s thinking. After a career in the Soviet secret police, Yuri could be severely intimidating. The young man swallowed, but again stared right back.

Four times a year, I’ll go to one of the places on your list—the list you had me memorize. Serpent 1 then explained Yuri’s elaborate rules for determining precisely the place Serpent 1 would visit, and the short time period Serpent 1 would remain at that place.

Suppose The Provider didn’t contact you. Suppose he were killed. How would you get by without the money, information, automobiles—without everything The Provider was to furnish?

I’d do it all myself. I can get money through work or through crime. I can get information from illegal immigrant networks, from the media, and from local libraries. With money and information, I can acquire whatever else I need.

Yuri had dozens of questions more. These tended to bring out detail supporting the main areas already probed. The interview lasted over an hour. At its end, Yuri pronounced the young man ready. Yuri even rose to shake his hand.

You have learned your part well, Serpent 1. May good fortune go with you.

By then, Serpent 2 was waiting outside for the same sort of examination. He walked in as Serpent 1 walked out. Yuri found the second young man had learned equally well, and pronounced Serpent 2 ready.

It was time for Yuri to meet again with The Movement’s Leader, whom Yuri found walking alone in one of the underground command post’s corridors. Yuri fell into step alongside him. Finally, Yuri would get the answer that had been withheld from him for the past four years.

Leader, both men are ready—at least, so far as my training goes. Remember what you told me? When I said the men were ready, you’d tell me how you’ll use them. How will that be?

The Leader remembered. As the two men continued walking, he said, The two Serpents will enter the U.S. within twenty days. They’ll kill to announce their arrivals through the media. Afterwards, they’ll spend two or three weeks scouting their kill regions. One’s to the east of the Mississippi River. One’s to the west of it. After the scouting, each Serpent will begin assassinating American Christians.

The Leader momentarily waited for a reaction from Yuri, and wasn’t disappointed. Yuri smiled slightly.

Perhaps you expected something like this, Yuri?

Yes, but I suspected only a little and only in recent days. It is a very bold plan. Yuri smiled incrementally more.

Yuri’s thin smile pleased The Leader, who continued. My trainers have prepared each Serpent to kill Christians in rural or suburban areas. These infidels are the only targets. With your evasion training, the Serpents will conduct random killings of Christians across America for years on end. The panic they’ll cause is almost beyond comprehension.

This time it was The Leader who stepped out in front of Yuri. America remains a Christian country, Yuri. Our real enemy is those whose faith makes it so. Now they’ll die in their homes.

4

There was plenty of moonlight, meaning Adam North could drive his pickup truck cross-country to the ranch house. By avoiding the road, he saved much of the time he needed. Thank Heaven for moonlight, he thought. Minutes really mattered now.

He ran into Walter Lindblohm’s ranch house and opened up its gun room, which held special operations equipment. North grabbed an AK-47 and a tactical first-aid kit. He found a tactical vest that fit and stuffed half its many pockets with ammunition.

Closing the gun room, he ran to the guest quarters he occupied. He put on a comfortable pair of black cargo pants, heavy hiking boots, and a dark green shirt. He dropped a switchblade, a small flashlight, energy bars, and some light rope into his pockets.

Next North strapped on a cowboy-style holster, shoving into it a big revolver he took from his suitcase. It was his favorite gun: a .357 magnum revolver with a four-inch barrel. Nothing else felt as good in his hand. It only held six rounds, but he always hit what he shot at. A .357 magnum would work just fine.

His time nearly up, North snatched a GPS from a suitcase in his guest room, grabbed some bottled water, and raced out the door for the barn. Running past