The Venator Program - Part One
The Hunt Begins in this Miles Porter Short Story...
Welcome to KB’s Substack! September’s newsletters will be a bit different. I will continue to share my thoughts on action/espionage/thriller book and film news, however those articles will be on the main Substack page. Today’s Newsletter post is sharing something fun and more of… well me!
Over the past several months I have shared my thoughts on the action spy thriller genre in books and film. This post is an opportunity to share my writing with you all. My dream since childhood was to become a published author and share my action hero with the world! I am not published yet, but I figured sharing my writing here is a good start as I continue to tap away on the keyboard and work on crafting the art of writing in the late hours of the night.
If you are a fan of James Bond, Jason Bourne, Mitch Rapp, or John Wick, then I think you are in the right place. There will be four parts of this short story, all of which will release each Thursday in the month of September! I hope you all enjoy Part One of Four of this Miles Porter thriller short story, ‘The Venator Program’.
Part 01 - The Hunt Begins…
Langley, Virginia
A deep sigh extinguished every bit of air from Colby Hatton’s lungs before he sucked in another gulp. His weathered hand scratched his bald scalp as he waited for the security guard to signal the okay to continue. Unlike most days, today he wore a suit jacket and laced a tie with a crooked Windsor knot around his neck.
A typical day would have Colby consumed by the glow of large monitors, stacks of Manila folders, and a phone in hand. Typically, he would manage operations in a command center hidden in the basement of an offsite office complex in Northern Virginia. Just one of the many unmarked office buildings owned by the Central Intelligence Agency. However, today was not a typical day. Colby’s latest project brought him to Langley, Virginia.
Working in the CIA main headquarters was always a monotonous effort. One would brave an hour or two of traffic, then park on the large sprawling lot adjacent to the main campus, and finally work through multiple security checkpoints. Traffic and security checkpoints, such was life working for the government and living in the Washington D.C. – Northern Virginia metroplex.
During each visit to CIA headquarters Colby allocated a bit of time to do one thing. He spent a few minutes at Memorial Wall. And each of those minutes reminded him why he continued to endure in his profession.
Flanked by the United States flag on the left side and a flag with the CIA seal the right side, the sleek white Alabama marble had a stoic, historic sensibility. With multiple rows of stars and an inscription on the wall, it was difficult to miss the weight of what this memorial represented. Ornate, yet simple, the wall showcased the neat stars as each were engraved directly into the marble. Chiseled into the wall with an additional four stars above, the inscription read:
IN HONOR OF THOSE MEMBERS OF THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES IN THE SERVICE OF THEIR COUNTRY
Beneath the rows of stars was a Black Moroccan goatskin-bound book known as the “Book of Honor”. Page after page had a star followed by a name. Though a name did not follow every star. Declassified decedents had their names printed in the book. For all classified names, the page only had a gold star followed by a blank space. When operations are declassified, then a name would accompany the star. But until then, those fallen operatives would remain secret.
Colby‘s chest constricted as his eyes bounced between several distinct stars. These stars represented fallen CIA service members who had lost their lives in the line of work. Colby knew many of them personally.
With nearly one hundred and fifty stars on the wall now, Colby flipped to a specific page in the book. A gold star proceeded by a blank space where a name would be printed. The stark white spurred a flurry of emotions. Redacted due to the classified nature, the blank space represented a man whom Colby considered a brother.
Colby clenched his eyes shut as his lips pursed together. Under his breath, he muttered as if he spoke to the hidden man behind the star. “Today begins the retribution for all of your suffering.”
A steady flow of people sifted through the main lobby of the Agency. Colby remained still in the moment as if time passed around him. Another minute ticked off the clock before the buzz of his mobile phone broke him from the trance at the Memorial Wall. Quick to discover that it was only a meeting reminder. He huffed as his phone slipped into his suit pocket as he walked towards the elevator bank.
Colby exited the elevator only to be welcomed by yet another security checkpoint. To his dismay, he was on the seventh floor where the offices of the Director and the Deputy Director of the CIA were located. If one wanted to be in the “room where it happens”, then one must look no further than the seventh floor of the CIA Headquarters. Meetings that weighed the future of intelligence and espionage occurred behind the many closed doors on this floor. The type of meetings that put the future of the Nation, even the fate of the world, on discussion.
Colby ignored the security’s instruction on how to locate the meeting space. Far from his first rodeo, he had been in front of the Seventh Floor firing squad before. This time would be no different, or so he lied to himself. Truth be told, this meeting had implications on grand schemes that could elevate Colby’s intelligence portfolio.
Colby soon found himself at a set of double doors embossed with the CIA Seal. The meeting wasn’t set to start for another ten minutes. He removed his phone from his pocket. He grunted as the screen failed to present a notification. Untrusting of the lock screen, he unlocked the phone and pressed the app logo for the encrypted messaging app, Signal. Nothing.
Had his boss Jonathan Saxon not arrived, Colby would have let out a deeper groan. Instead, the tension resonated in his tightened neck and shoulders.
Jonathan Saxon held the position of the Director of International Clandestine Operations. The man was in his early sixties and oversaw a large portion of the clandestine field work and programs. With a primary emphasis in Europe, Western Asia, and the Middle East, Saxon was second in command in the Directorate of Operations, a division within the Central Intelligence Agency.
A multitude of programs fell under Saxon’s oversight, all with senior leadership like Colby Hatton, down to case officers and deep cover assets. Big on HUMINT, or Human Intelligence, Saxon also oversaw operations set up to gather OSINT, Open-Source Intelligence, along with other darker operations.
Many of these operations were covert to the point of becoming black ops. These so-called black operations were highly secretive on the “Need to Know” basis. Actions in this realm were maintained at the highest levels to avoid leaks. For these operations, it typically dealt with planting covert operatives in dangerous parts of the world to develop assets. Once the work had been completed, the intelligence stream would flow. Though implementation of deep cover assets are not the only black ops work to be conducted. Threat removal, or a pleasant way to say rendition or assassination, were other typical black ops.
For fifteen years, Colby Hatton had been one of Saxon’s best. Colby managed a small team that operated within Saxon’s network. From deep cover operatives to gather intel, his field operatives utilized tradecraft to work in the shadows of the front line. Even if hands had to get dirty, Colby excelled at obtaining results.
Today marked a tremendous opportunity for Colby to enhance his operational offerings. Though final approval would hinge on the meeting in five minutes.
“Colby,” Saxon said as the pair shook hands. “Ready to have your new program green lit?”
“Better late than never.”
Saxon’s thin hand blotted the sweat from his forehead.
Colby winced. “I haven’t seen you that sweaty since the MAC days in Nam.” Colby referred to Saxon’s days spent fighting the Viet Cong in the top-secret MAC-V SOG organization.
Saxon sighed. “A little before your time.”
Jonathan Saxon had recruited Colby into service during the height of the Cold War in the eighties. When the junior Colby wound up a field operative in Germany, Saxon celebrated his tenth year of service for the CIA. Experienced in chaos and mayhem, the senior operative fought the hidden enemy combatants. Covered in mud as he snuck through the Viet Cong tunnels in Vietnam to thwarting a slew of Russian weapon dealers, most of his work remained highly classified because of his inclusion into the ultra-secretive group known as MAC-V SOG.
“Just need to remind you how old you are.” Colby grunted a laugh.
“You act like you are so much younger. I still have my hair.” Saxon jabbed at Colby’s baldness with a small chuckle. “Plus, you know I hate these meetings.”
Both men hated these meetings. While it was imperative to have sanctioned programs, now the political game mattered more than accomplishments. That wasn’t to say politics plagued the entire Agency. Unfortunately, it required a bit of mutual back scratching or sucking up to the upper echelon of the Agency.
“I am bald by choice.” Colby grimaced. “Plus, you hate being told no. Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, but the agency is being, how do I put it… stingy these days.”
Colby pinched the bridge of his nose. “I convinced that weasel Fred to be on board with this project. Hell, I am hardly spending any money.”
Fred Nielsen, the head of the Finance and Budgetary Department, loved to say no or call out improper usage of budgetary funds. Colby had little whiskey retreats with Fred over the past six months in preparation for his program proposal. A glass of Macallan or Dalmore did the trick. The expensive drink was paired with financial talk, specifically for Colby’s latest project.
Saxon let out a chuckle. “Somehow, you got the biggest tightwad to agree to a project that requires carte blanche. You never cease to amaze me. I figured we would have to get the Director to overrule his concerns, but somehow you already did it without the need of intervention.”
“He likes how the program potentially brings in revenue. That and a full glass of Macallan.”
“If the money is coming from the Department of Justice, we basically pay ourselves.”
Colby snickered. “That was his favorite part. Fred has been trying to find a way to get the DOJ to give us more money. Like the CIA needs more money, but Fred was the easiest part.”
Saxon sighed. “I am offended you shared your Macallan with him. You have never shared with me.”
“Can it old man. Your doctor would have a conniption fit.”
Saxon rolled his eyes. “Well, is it safe to assume what has been the most difficult step in this process?”
“Stop.”
Saxon slicked his hair back to mock Colby. “You just couldn’t stay out of her pants.”
“That was fifteen years ago. I should hate her.”
“You do.” Saxon patted Colby’s shoulder. “Just stay in your lane, answer the questions, and no showboating. You will be fine.”
Colby pursed his lips as he awkwardly scratched his head. He shrugged, but he didn’t say what popped into his mind. Saxon noticed this. He knew Colby inside and out. Saxon was Colby’s former handler after all.
“What did you do?” Saxon asked.
Colby looked away as he shrugged in an effort to retain a level of innocence.
Saxon’s eyes practically rolled back into his skull. He let out a deep exhale. “You executed the operation, didn’t you?”
“I needed an ace in the hole, you and I both know it.”
Saxon pointed his crooked finger right at Colby’s face, but the bald man slapped his hand down.
Colby continued, “You know I had to be bold. This was never going to get off the ground without proof of concept.”
Several people began to walk past the two men. Saxon lowered his voice. “Was it a success?”
Colby stared with a deadened look. Not a single word escaped his mouth.
“Sonuva…” Saxon held back just as the Director Edwards and Deputy Director Shaw approached.
“Saxon, Hatton, a pleasure to see you both.” Director Edwards shook their hands.
Deputy Director Shaw extended her hand to Saxon. Once their clasp broke, she folded both arms across several folders to bring up to her chest. She nodded to Colby. “Mr. Hatton.”
Colby smiled amicably before he emphasized the first word. “Deputy Director Shaw, always a pleasure.”
“Let us prepare. We will be ready in five.” the Director said before he led Shaw beyond the double doors.
Saxon turned to Colby with his eyes nearly ready to pop from his face. “Please tell me you have a good update.”
“I will.” Colby broke his gaze to peer down at his phone. Still no word on the operation.
Rome, Italy
A 9mm IWI Jericho 941 slid down into the holster tucked behind the side waistband at the four o’clock position. Situated off the right hip, the pistol was “cocked and locked”. One round was in the chamber, the hammer cocked back for a lighter trigger press, but the safety was engaged. Once the shooter drew the weapon, with a simple flick of the safety the weapon was ready to fire.
An additional magazine filled with fifteen rounds had a concealed slot in the holster. Ready for a gunfight if needed, the man hoped that the stun gun found in his jacket pocket would be enough to subdue the target. His last line of defense against the use of his gun was an eighteen-inch expandable baton. In the opposite jacket pocket were four flex cuffs. He planned to synch the cuffs tight around the wrists of anyone he apprehended.
He fastened a knot behind his neck that draped a bandana below his chin. Black fabric mixed with touches of an olive drab green design folded into a point, like an outlaw in the Wild West. He positioned the bandana to be quickly pulled up to conceal his face when the opportunity called for it. Once he situated it comfortably, the cloth tucked neatly beneath the three buttons of his Henley shirt. One last piece, a well-loved black hat for the extra touch of concealment.
His reflection stared back harder than he did towards the mirror. At this point in time, he had crafted his skills and built his talent upon years of success. His experience had helped mitigate weakness from his attributes. Education backed by a respectable university in Texas, years spent in military service, he had the brains and brawn to think on his feet and takedown his opponents. Miles Porter readied for any obstacle that stood between him and his target.
For a hunter of man, a strong mental fortitude required patience and focus. If one lacked a mental readiness, then their life or the lives of others may be at risk. His head voice recited a family quote before he said a prayer to himself. Not only was he mentally and spiritually engaged to his best headspace, but the early thirties man was also an athlete at heart. His health regimen paid dividends. The rugged, lean muscular six-foot two frame was ready for combat.
With many globetrotting trips under the belt, thanks to his military days, Miles felt a comfort in traveling abroad. Active duty had never brought Miles to Rome. Instead, he called upon his memory of traveling for a family vacation many years ago. Fluent in Italian, Miles knew the rich history of the magnificent city and had studied the culture inside out. Thanks to his photographic memory, Miles committed to memory a map layered with road and trainways.
It helped to utilize the road and trains over the past week. Tracking his target to Rome, Miles spent the past week locating his target. The hunt had been months in the making. Miles Porter now stalked his target from the shadows. The time to strike and capture his target was now with zero failure.
Truthfully, he had no other option than to succeed. Miles found comfort in pressure. In fact, the American bounty hunter reveled in any opportunity to strike in hopes to gain victory. Eager and full of fight, he was also blinded by the pure desire to succeed. He salivated like Pavlov’s dogs drooled at the sound of the bell.
Calling Miles a bounty hunter may not be entirely fair even though it was not a lie. Miles Porter was in fact an international bounty hunter. However, the handsome American had closer ties to a spy or even an assassin rather than a stereotypical bounty hunter working for a bondsman to aid the court system.
International high-value target hunting always existed, but typically operated within intelligence agencies. Famous examples like Israel’s Mossad hunting down Adolf Eichmann or the members of Black September to avenge the fallen Israeli athletes in the 1972 Munich Olympic games are prime examples. The hunt for Al-Qaeda and Osama Bin Laden truly revolutionized the bounty business.
While SEAL Team Six ended Bin Laden, many associated terrorists were picked off by rogue operatives. Information that led to the capture could provide a nice little payout, but for some mercenaries hunting became a profession and so did the riches.
With terrorists being the main targets, nations desired to thwart terrorist activity. Even with longstanding criminal activity, hefty bounty rewards were attached to the capture or kill orders for mafiosos, smugglers, traffickers, drug runners, arms dealers, and many more. Bounties were once for the heavy hitters like Escobar, Noriega, al-Zawahiri, but in today’s criminal and terrorism landscape the clandestine world had felt like a covert Wild West. Much remained in the shadows, but the opportunity to collect bounties had risen exponentially.
Without a team to aid in capturing the target, Miles Porter operated alone. Dangerous put it mildly. High risk, high reward as he had a potential million dollars on the table if he could apprehend his target alive.
A grin flashed across his face. Miles nodded as he said to himself, “Go time.”
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