Monday, January 10th
Seth Bates nearly jumped out of his boots upon entering the office. The invitation had more than surprised him but not nearly so much as seeing someone seated at Bronson’s desk who wasn’t Bronson. A hand to his chest testing his heart rate, he said, “Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me.”
Beatrice reclined fully in the regional commander’s chair. One by one, she propped her well-developed stems onto the desktop, her hands falling into her lap, her fingers interlacing. “Gracious me! What on earth has gotten into you, Seth? Surprised to see me?”
Bates’s eyes widened. “Yeah, a little, I wasn’t expecting you. What are you doing here, anyway? Where’s Mr. Bronson?”
“He’s not in,” Beatrice replied, glancing around the room.
“Well, where is he?”
“My best guess? At home, hungover or passed out drunk on his couch or on the living room floor. Or worse…”
Seth advanced a few short steps. “What have you done to him?”
“Really, Seth? So accusatory!” Beatrice shifted sideways, puffing out her chest. “I was just jokin’ with you. I’d never harm a hair on Douglas’s head. He’s already challenged sufficiently in that regard.”
Seth sent a stare around the room, as if looking for his old boss between crevices. “Right. Well, I was set to meet him here, but I assume you knew and had something to do with that not happening. So what’s this about?”
“Oh, not much. Nothing, really. I’ve just begun a process…of tying up a few loose ends. I figured what better place to start than with you, the person with whom our fearless leader used to spend so much of his time, sharin’ ideas and whatnot.” Beatrice let her legs slide to the floor. She squared off with the desk and leaned over it tauntingly. “How has your new…position been treating you?”
Seth frowned. “I didn’t come here to be humiliated,” he said, “and had I known you would be here, I wouldn’t have bothered coming. I don’t appreciate this.”
Beatrice faked astonishment. It converted into a smirk seconds after. “I’ve never known you to be this abrasive, Seth.”
“The reason for that is because you don’t know me. You’ve never known me. You don’t know me from Adam.”
“Fair enough, whoever this Adam fella is.”
“Since summoning me here appears to have been a joke, I’ll just be leaving.”
“Nonsense,” Beatrice spouted. “Don’t go away mad. Stay a while, Seth. Take a load off. In fact, let’s you and me have a drink.”
Seth reached for the door handle but froze, hearing now the clicks of Beatrice’s heels nearing him. “I know you don’t like me, you never have, so you can stop pretending. What do you want?”
“Like I said, nothing much. Just some simple answers to a few simple questions.”
“Well, go on and ask me what you want to ask so I can get back to doing what I was doing.”
“Turn and face me first, Seth. I don’t fancy talking to your backside.”
“Fine.” He pivoted and faced her, his eyes wandering.
The look on her face growing more mischievous by the second, Beatrice slithered into his personal space. “That’s better. Now, do you have any notion as to why our leader would request your presence?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Seth said. “When I saw you, I assumed it was a setup, nothing more.”
“And before that?”
“I don’t know. I was torn.” Seth sighed. “Part of me was hoping for the off chance that it might’ve been regarding good news, but that presumption lacked realism. He was probably just drunk off his ass and wanted me around to disparage to make him feel better about being the coldhearted bastard that he is, like he used to.” A pause. “But he has you for that now, doesn’t he?”
Beatrice glowered, and one of her eyebrows shot up. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“No, it’s supposed to be accurate.”
“Seth, accuracy can be measured in more ways than one,” she droned, “such as a 9mm hollow-point bullet launched from my sidearm’s muzzle, accurately lodged in your medulla oblongata.”
Bates gulped. “That was it, wasn’t it? The reason you intercepted this appointment—the reason you’re here and he’s not. You’ve already taken my job, and now you’re trying to relieve me of what remains of my dignity. So why not take my life and get it over with?”
“Because it wouldn’t make any sense at this juncture,” Beatrice hissed. “As much as I despise admitting it—” she sighed “—I need your help, Seth.”
Seth lost his balance for a split second. “Do what? You need my help? What is this?”
Beatrice steeled her expression. “It’s the truth. Authority is something I have. But what I do not have are connections. You happen to be one of the founding members of the original ‘get along gang’, as it were. You know all the usual suspects. If…items are needed, you know how to go about obtaining them. And, if not, you know who does.”
A smile slid across Seth’s face. He didn’t trust anything she was saying, but he couldn’t help but feel emboldened by her request. “So let me get this straight, you need me…because of my knowledge, my tenure, and my connections?” He chuckled. “Whatever it is, you must need it bad.”
Beatrice batted her lashes. “Oh, I do. I most surely do.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“Really? You’re just expecting that I come right out and tell you? Right now? In the state I’m in? After openly admitting my own ineptitude?”
Seth folded his arms and puffed out his chest as best he could without looking as though he were trying too hard. He nodded. “If you want my help.”
Beatrice looked away in contrived disappointment. “Well, fine, have it your way.” The melodrama began seeping from her pores. “You know that little ole winged drone thingy we’ve been known to use on occasion for aerial surveillance?”
“The Pred? Sure I do. I was the one who oversaw it being placed into service,” he crowed.
“That’s right, the Pred—how silly of me, I keep forgetting what it’s called.” She slapped her thighs playfully. “I’m looking for some payload for it. The kind that goes boom.”
Seth’s look turned serious. “You mean like bombs? Rockets?”
Beatrice nodded slowly, her hips beginning to rock.
“Honestly, I haven’t the vaguest clue. And believe me, if we had any, I would know. I’ve inventoried this whole camp backwards and forwards.” He thought a moment. “Have you checked with the armory?”
“I’m sorry, the armory?”
“Yeah, the gun-cage crew. They might know. They might even have what you’re looking for locked behind the cage with them.”
“That’s a capital idea, Seth. A good place to start. Definitely easier than opening every door and prying open every crate I come around.” Beatrice strode past, making her way to the door. “You have been a service to me. Thank you so much.”
“Hey, wait. Don’t leave just yet. There’s a flipside to this coin.”
“Oh?”
“You asked a favor of me. Now I believe it’s my turn.”
Beatrice scowled internally. She did her best to conceal the metastasizing anger within. “I suppose you’re right, quid pro quo being what it is and all. What can I do for you, Mr. Bates?”
Seth produced a devious smile. “Nothing much, just something simple.” He paused. “I want back in.”
“In?”
He pointed to the floor. “Yeah, in. Meaning here. No questions, no stipulations, no bullshit—and no takebacks, either. It doesn’t have to be my old position, just something upper echelon, with an office that has working climate control. I know I screwed up, but I’ve done my time and paid my penance. I’m done being a grunt. Enough is enough. I want back in.”
Beatrice widened her stare. “That’s a tall order, Seth. A real tall order.”
“Bearing in mind all that you have accomplished in such a short amount of tim
e, I have no doubt in your ability to swing this.” He patted her shoulder. “I’ll be expecting your call.”
Beatrice watched him rotate and trot away, but she didn’t let him get two feet before exploding onto him. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she shoved his forehead into the wooden doorframe, then repeated the motion a few times for good measure. She then stomped her heel into the backs of his legs, caving them in and bringing him to his knees. Bending him over, she latched onto the brass handle on the antique oak door and pulled hard, crushing his head between it and the doorframe.
Bates dropped lifelessly to the floor. Wide-eyed, his body, arms and legs twitching, he grunted and snorted, unable to voice anything else.
“Sanctimonious, self-serving, ignorant pecker weasel!” Beatrice roared. “No one misuses me! And no man speaks to me in that fashion, either! Especially an effeminate poo prodder like you.” She pulled her pistol and deliberately placed two shots to the back of his head. “Consider yourself fired.”
Chapter 11
Trout Run Valley
Monday, January 10th
Jade pulled the Marauder around a slick bend on Trout Run Road and slowed upon nearing a field that was now evidently being utilized as a tactical gun training range. Hesitating at first, she turned the wheel and pulled off-road, aligning the APC in parallel with a lineup of parked JLTVs and all-terrain vehicles, seeing that the field had been mostly plowed free of snow.
Sensing an arrival, though not necessarily hearing it over cracks of gunfire and through plugs in his ears, Woo Tang looked over his shoulder in time to see her disembark and smartly make her way over to him. He sent her an inviting nod before returning his attention to the range. “Good morning, Jade Hensley,” he said, with added volume such that he could hear his own voice. “Did we wake you?”
Jade leered at him. She hadn’t yet become accustomed to being addressed by her first and last names, something Woo Tang uniquely seemed to do with everyone. “No, not at all. I was up early, like always. I was going to go for a run until I heard all this gunfire.”
Woo Tang turned and squinted, appearing as though he hadn’t heard what she’d said.
Jade moved to within a thoughtful distance of his ear, noticing the safety-orange-colored foam plug inserted within. She repeated herself with some enhanced decibels of her own.
The former frogman acknowledged her. “Fabrication was completed late yesterday, and in consequence, this gathering was executed on rather short notice. I made every attempt to disseminate an announcement to those living nearby, though it might not have reached all parties. My apologies.”
Jade shrugged. “It’s all right. No harm done.” Craning her neck, she studied the actions of the current shooter. Lauren was moving methodically about the range, having just performed a textbook transition from rifle to sidearm. “Damn. She’s really good, isn’t she?”
Woo Tang nodded slightly, and a smile began to emerge, but he obscured it along with any semblance of pride. “She…has her moments.”
Jade analyzed Lauren’s form with a keen eye. “Her technique is solid, far from pedestrian from where I’m standing. And are you always sparing with your praise?”
“In contrast,” Woo Tang replied, “I am not one who believes warriors necessitate praise.”
“Oh.”
“Lauren Russell possesses a variety of talents, has and displays proficiency in most, and is as prone to impress as she is to make mistakes.” He smirked. “As I said, she has her moments.”
Jade smirked back at him. “I think that statement might hold true for just about any of us.”
“And I would not disagree with you.”
After finishing her run with a final shot from her Glock, Lauren holstered it and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She verified the rifle’s chamber was clear and made her way back to the starting point, retrieving her abandoned empty magazines along the way.
Several members of the unit, Will Sharp included, held approving thumbs in the air while others golf-clapped and offered renditions of an Olympic-esque judging system using their fingers.
Lauren, tuned-in now and out of breath, smiled in approval but humbly waved them off. “Thank you, gentlemen, thank you, but please, hold your applause. I’m not a figure skater.” She made small talk with them, diverting away after seeing their latest visitor. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Right back at you,” replied Jade with a smirk. “I was in the neighborhood…doing my rounds. I’m not used to hearing rapid fire this early, so I came to see what the commotion was about. You, uh…looked pretty good out there.”
Lauren lowered her head bashfully. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Well, Jae?” Lauren shifted to her mentor. “What say you? Do I still got it?”
Woo Tang held out both hands, indicating his desire to inspect the M4 he’d loaned her. “I believe you still have it. Though you did appear off form, to some extent.”
“Off form?” Eyes narrowing, she handed the rifle off to him. “What do you mean by that? I know it’s cold outside, but I busted my ass out there.”
“I am not disputing the climate or your efforts, only calling it as I see it. There were specific points during your run when you stopped to think before acting. That hesitancy is not indicative of accumulated muscle memory.”
Lauren scowled somewhat. “That’s a fine way of saying I’m out of practice. I haven’t spent a lot of time at the range lately, and I think you know why.”
“I do, and your justification is reasonable,” Woo Tang said. “It is fortunate that we now possess the means to mitigate the issue. Shooting is a perishable skill; moving in tandem with shooting is one and the same. This cannot be overlooked. It would behoove you to train with us every morning from here on out.”
“Fine. I’ll do that. Not like I have anything else going on.”
“Good. It will be a tribute to have you join us, almost like…old times.” Squinting, he smiled at Lauren, then sent a kind eye to her counterpart. “Jade Hensley, the invitation to train alongside the unit is open to you, as well, if that is suitable. I do not wish to impose.”
Jade pushed out her lower lip and playfully shifted her hips. “How sweet. I thought you’d never ask. I could use some range time.”
“Very well,” said Woo Tang. “And given that gentlemen with manners maintain that ladies must always go first, if you prefer, you may try your hand at the Gauntlet next. Or you may wait until later, your choice.”
“The Gauntlet?” Jade murmured under breath, then studied all the expectant eyes gazing upon her now, especially Lauren’s. She shrugged. “Well, the gesture is charming, the courtesy itself is rare, and there’s never any time like the present. I’ll…just need a few minutes to get my act together.”
Woo Tang lowered his head a tinge. “Take all the time you need; the men will ready the course while you prepare. For your run, we require two empty rifle magazines and two empty pistol magazines. Should either or both of your firearm selections not adhere to NATO standardization, we must ask that you provide ammunition for the ones that do not.”
Jade racked her brain, peering off in the direction of the APC, feeling somewhat unprepared. “My firearm selections…”
“She can use mine.” Lauren retrieved the empty rifle and pistol mags from her dump pouch and handed them off to Will and the others, then regarded Jade. “You carry a Glock 19, right?”
Jade grinned and patted the weapon on her hip. “Gen four, same as yours.” She beckoned Lauren to draw near. “Thank you for that, almost fell flat on my face. I, uh, could use a little coaching on this…Gauntlet thing. Would you mind giving me the rundown?”
“Not at all.”
Jade beamed. “Cool. Ride my heels.”
The two women strolled together, though not necessarily side by side, to the Marauder. Once there, Jade led Lauren to the rear door, pulled it open with a creak, and fished for a pair of lengthy tubular nylon
duffels stowed beneath the rear deck seating. She unzipped one and stretched the opening into a wide oval.
Lauren stared wide-eyed at the contents. “Now that’s a shitload of guns.”
“I can only claim a few of them,” Jade said. “The rest were gifts.”
“Whoever gifted them to you must’ve been feeling incredibly generous.”
Jade contemplated the remark, then thought about Butch, their first encounter, his laundry list of eccentricities, and what little she really knew of him. “I should probably rephrase; loaned would be the more suitable term. And generous might be an overstatement…but our benefactor is a handy guy. His help was invaluable in getting your dad home.” A pause. “Two days after leaving Camp Hill, we rendezvoused with one of Valerie’s…contacts, this old warhorse by the name of Butch. He proved to be very resourceful, but a bit of an oddball.”
Jade gestured to the Marauder. “This monstrous rig belongs to him, as does most everything inside, and he wouldn’t waver a microsecond to remind you of it. He equipped us well—food, snacks, water, survival gear, some of his offensively shitty coffee, radios, Harris NODs, FLIR thermal optics…and a few guns, of course. What we’re gazing upon now are Butch’s goodie bags, customized renderings. He put them together and stashed them in the Marauder before we left; I’m surprised he didn’t take the time to autograph them.” She began extracting firearms with care, one by one, from the duffel closest to her as Lauren observed. “This M4 is mine.” She pointed at another swaddled within the duffel. “Her fraternal twin there belongs to Ken, and there’s an M249 LMG stashed in here somewhere. They’ve been our companions since we left the cavern.”
“The cavern?” Lauren asked.
“Your dad hasn’t mentioned it?” Jade explained in minor detail about the underground facility in Washington, DC, where she had initially met Alan Russell.
Lauren welcomed the chapter. Knowing more about her father’s plight to get home was almost as comforting as having him back. Every blank filled in cancelled an unknown, and there were a lot of unknowns, most of which Alan still couldn’t piece together on his own.
The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series Page 8