Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

of Washington, DC. This course focuses on specific Secret Service policies and procedures.

“Trainees are provided with the necessary knowledge and advanced application training in combating counterfeiting, assessing device fraud, and other financial criminal activity, protective intelligence investigations, physical protection techniques, protective advances, and emergency medicine.

“Then you progress and undertake another part of the core curriculum run by ex-Navy Seals, sadists to the core. The training includes extensive training in marksmanship, self-control and crowd control tactics, water survival skills and physical fitness.” Rockman took another full gulp of brandy and, after pausing to savour the contents, continued.

“After you complete the selection, which is only the very start of the process. Secret Service agents receive continuous advanced training throughout their careers. In part, this training consists of regular firearms requalification and emergency medicine refresher courses,” he added.

Cutler turned back to the window once again to watch the antics of some of his classmates outside, with the knowledge that his time here at the university was at an end.

“Anything else I should know?” he asked Rockman.

“We would expect you to beat a lie detector while swearing white is black, be as fit as a Marine, and as skilled with a gun as a Navy Seal. You will need to learn new languages to add to your Arabic. Also, have the analytical skills of an accountant, the perseverance of a New York cop, the attention to detail of a top prosecutor, and the patience of a chess master. And finally, to put the country and lives of others ahead of yourself. In other words, be willing to die in the line of duty. I think that about sums it up, young Cutler.”

Rockman topped up his brandy glass. He did not offer Cutler any; the young man had been so wrapped up in the interview, the original contents of his glass had not been touched, and it remained half full.

Before going to Saudi Arabia, Max had been clear about what his aims and objectives were. Three years as a junior in a Washington attorney’s office specializing in contract law. Junior partner by year four, senior partner by year eight, and the $500,000 salary and benefits that went with it.

The dream began to wear thin during his twelve months spent in Saudi Arabia. At first, he thought it was the oppressive heat, then the constant air conditioning noise in the office. Maybe it was the view or the printer noise. No, it was the whole bundle, stuck in an office hour after hour.

Cutler had begun to fret that he would be unable to spend the next four years, never mind the next forty, chained to a desk doing law.

The offer intrigued and excited Max, who saw this as a way of putting his academic skills, matched with his physical abilities, to good use. Never one to jump in blindly or to decide, Max needed time to think about the offer. But then, after a short silence, he stopped the Secret Service recruiter in his tracks.

“I’ll do it. Where do I sign?”

Rockman looked bemused. “Just like that, you’ll do it. What about the recompense? What about the training?”

Max thought for a moment. “I can’t influence either the money or the training; they’ll be set in stone. And if you have come from Washington to see me, and believe that I am your man, well, that’s good enough for me.”

Chapter Four

Robert Stahmer was neither short nor tall. He was six feet in his stocking feet, yet the extra few pounds he was carrying around his midriff made him appear shorter. Stahmer had short, cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, more salt than pepper lately, making him look older than his thirty years of age, having been born in 1973.

Today was a day off, a rare day away from work, and that frequently meant putting away the suit, putting on his jeans, and working in his beloved garden. He was a tropical plantsman; his garden looked like it belonged in the tropics rather than in St. Neots on the outskirts of Cambridge, UK. Robert Stahmer loved his garden and knew his plants.

Stahmer was from Newcastle originally and still spoke in the North-Eastern twang. The years had not diluted his accent, and others from outside England thought the Geordie version of English was Australian or Scottish.

With more than ten years in military intelligence and investigations, Stahmer had had several offers of employment after leaving the army. Both intelligence agencies MI5 and MI6 had offered him the opportunity to work for them. To everyone’s surprise, he opted for the Health and Safety Executive as an inspector and accident investigator. What most people did not know was that Stahmer’s father had been killed in an explosion at the shipyard where he worked, and the investigation was lacking in fact and substance. Robert Stahmer wanted to make a difference.

Several years after joining the Health and Safety Executive, Stahmer had undertaken an accident investigation on a significant construction site in Newmarket. He had appreciated and admired the miles upon miles of rolling countryside interlaced with lazy waterways, and flora and fauna they supported. Stahmer’s bubbly, lovely little five-feet-nothing wife, Louise, had fallen in love with the magnificent university buildings and majestic cathedral. Both decided to move lock, stock, and barrel down to the area.

Stahmer was thinking about his Gunnera, a sub-tropical plant which looks like a giant rhubarb, with huge, prickly leaves. The Gunnera plant likes boggy, wet conditions, and his local water authority had enforced a hosepipe ban, as it had not rained for two weeks. He pondered whether the Gunnera would survive. Robert Stahmer was honest and straight as a die, but he did consider sneaking out in the dead of night, hosepipe in hand, to illegally water the precious plant he had nurtured the past seven years.

His thoughts were interrupted.

“Her Majesty will see you now,” said the suited employee of