Sons (Book 2)

by Scott V. Duff

  “I haven’t lied to you or demeaned you or…” he stuttered and flustered, unsure of what he was denying and why. Both Peter and I crossed our arms on our chests and stared at him.

  “Colonel,” Messner said, “I’ve been trying to explain this to you but you haven’t been listening to me.”

  “I listened. I just don’t agree with you,” Echols argued.

  “You don’t agree that lying to my representative is the same as lying to me? How do you decide that?” I asked.

  “When did I lie to your representative?” Echols tried, but even he knew that futility there. “Wait, I’m sorry, I understand that part, but what was the lie? I didn’t lie about anything and I wasn’t demeaning or anything.”

  “No, not at all, you merely called a King of Faery a kid and demanded a meeting with him and lied about the circumstances around it,” Messner snapped. “Were you listening at all during your M-levels? Idiot.”

  “What he said,” Peter quipped, pointing at Messner.

  “Been a rather disappointing hour, hasn’t it?” I asked Peter, blithely ignoring Echols.

  “Yes, it has,” Peter agreed. “We should have dinner before I check in with Dillon. That way we won’t be getting three in a row.”

  “There’s got to be some way I can make amends for this,” Echols pleaded.

  “By the same token, we aren’t really expecting Dillon to come through so it wouldn’t be much of a disappointment,” I reasoned, glancing over at Echols disdainfully.

  “That’s true,” Peter agreed, knowing I was just dragging Echols’ torture out. “Maybe we should see what everyone else wants to do first. I know a bistro in Milan that serves a fantastic bolognese.”

  “That’s a thought,” I agreed, but only a thought since none of us knew how to get to Milan yet, except maybe by plane, train, or automobile. Echols didn’t mind lying to me so why should I be bothered about lying to him?

  A brightness and shadow across the door caught our attention as Calhoun pushed his way into the tent. Seeing Peter and me sitting on the table and Echols standing and flustered, he drew the obvious conclusion.

  “What’s the idiot done now?” he asked as tiredly as he looked.

  “Lied to Mike, trying to bully and badger us into a meeting with his bosses,” Peter said before Echols could say anything. Wisely for the first time, Echols kept his mouth shut.

  “Well, then, ‘idiot’ about sums it up,” Calhoun said, nodding and glaring at Echols. Turning to Messner, he asked, “And you couldn’t stop him?” Messner pantomimed uselessness. We all understood.

  “So what did he do to you?” Calhoun asked Echols.

  “Knocked me out of my chair when I wasn’t looking. Didn’t even know they were there. Don’t even know that one,” he said almost whining and pointing at Peter.

  “Well, maybe when you grow up a little more, Mr. McClure will introduce you to his ā-dult friends,” Calhoun chastised, causing a chorus of snickers. “How do we fix this?”

  “The Pentagon gets a new liaison,” I said calmly. “That would be the simplest way, providing, of course, that he has been cooperating with the two of you. Otherwise, the Pentagon needs a new colonel, too.”

  “He threatened me!” Echols protested.

  “Twice,” I said. “And assaulted you twice as well. No, wait, Calhoun had the first one. Would you like to try to do something about it?”

  “Seth, please,” Calhoun said softly, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly.

  “What? I’m just trying to communicate with him on a level he can understand,” I said.

  “Third grade seems about right,” Peter agreed.

  “What can we do to fix this,” Calhoun said again. “Hopefully without replacing Colonel Echols so that we don’t have to continue with these frustrating little power plays.”

  The edge to Glen Calhoun’s voice just seriously irked me then. I stared at him for a moment, the steam building behind my eyes. I’d already been through this several times, with Harris, Ferrin, Messner, and a few others. It was tiring and frustrating and repetitive, but I was too young and unknown to be completely free of it. Frankly, though, it was time for a break. On Thursday, I’d have to do a hell of a lot of it, but today, I was just too damned tired of it.

  “You’re right, Glen. It is a power play,” I said after a moment. “I’m just as tired of it as you are, but I didn’t make this play. Colonel Echols did. It’s up to him to find a way to change my mind. We will be unavailable until after the Emissaries Meeting. You have until then, Colonel. That is your job as a liaison, to be the channel by which our two sides work together. Find a way to make me believe you want that.”

  I jumped back to New York, aggravated, but Peter stayed. Not willing to leave him alone, I poked another small hole and watched just to make sure he was okay. I had to pull the hole back and away to get a decent view. Echols was busy cursing his luck while Peter watched.

  Calhoun sighed, running a hand through his short-cut hair in frustration. “That could have gone better,” he said. “Any ideas?”

  “Yeah, get a new liaison,” Messner said. “How many times did we warn you about calling him a ‘kid’ where he could hear?”

  “Oh, you didn’t,” Peter said, half-laughing and half-shocked. “You’re a goner, dude. Last guy to do that? Seth killed his car, a limo. He was about to slice it into pieces but a busload of rescue workers came up so he tossed it thirty feet away into a ditch. Get a new liaison.”

  Calhoun hit him. Hard. “You idiot!” he yelled, as Echols followed the path his chair previously went, creating a hellish racket of clattering metal. Echols came up in a fighting stance, ready to swing and bleeding from his nose and both split lips. He didn’t charge, though. Calhoun beat the table with both fists with manic frustration three times before settling down.

  “Yep, that’s pretty much how Seth was feeling,” Peter said calmly.

  “What is so God-damned special about this k—” Echols grabbed his throat, choking and gasping, unable to speak, breathe, or pass anything down his throat.

  Peter hopped down off the table and walked around to Echols. Snapping his fingers dramatically as Echols breathed in, gasping hard and heaving. “Have I got your attention now?” Peter asked and he nodded weakly, falling back into one of the few remaining upright chairs. “Good, then let’s get a few things straight very quickly. First, that ‘kid’ has done more for this world than you have done for your wife. Well before he became Lord Daybreak, his power stopped the earthquake that saved all of Europe, the northern coast of Africa and the East Coast of the United States. Stopped an Earthquake. Him. For that alone, he deserves your respect. And he has done and is doing more. If I or any of my brothers hear you call him a ‘kid’ again, we will rip out your heart, liver, and kidneys and put them in your hands so that you can watch them die as you do. Am I making myself clear to you?”

  Damn. Peter could say some vicious things when you pissed him off. Reminded me of that note he left in my room… Ugh. Bad thoughts. Think roses and kittens and puppies. Nope, needed some new images there.

  “Second,” Peter continued. “He is the Lord of a Realm. When he sends a representative to anyone, they speak in his name. That might not mean much in your world, but it means much in ours. Words have power in our world as much as actions and we do not bandy declarations casually nor do we break our promises. So when you speak to his representative, you speak to him as well. Make no mistake about that. Mike didn’t go running to snitch on you; Seth heard, just as clearly as he’s likely hearing this.

  “And finally, stop trying to play us,” Peter said, sweeping his arms back to include Calhoun and Messner. “You can’t figure out how we know even when it’s written all over you.” Peter hopped up on the table again, a little more calm and releasing Echols’ attention. Echols managed to get his breathing under control and now had a respectful fear of Peter, barely managing not to glare hatefully. For a full two minutes, the only sound inside the tent wa
s breathing.

  Messner broke the silence. “Now that everyone has calmed down, any ideas on salvaging this situation? I presume that you do, Mr. Borland, otherwise you would not have stayed.”

  “Why would you assume that, Agent Messner?” Peter asked, quickly and briefly waving his hand in the air as if holding a pen. “Why wouldn’t I be here to spy? Or even more likely, to check in with you? Just because he ticked Seth off doesn’t mean that Seth was here to get ticked off.” Messner placed a pen on top of a fresh pad and gently pushed it across to Peter.

  “What’s going on with the camp?” Peter asked Calhoun.

  “I can answer that,” Echols interrupted.

  “I’m sure you can, Colonel, and when I decide to ask you a question, you’ll know,” Peter said archly. “Marshal?”

  “Right now, we’re close to running out of food,” Calhoun said, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table. “The current water supply is sufficient to supply drinking water, but is proving insufficient for other services. Infestation and vermin are putting laundering services on the ‘requirements’ list. And evacuation appears to be taking a little longer than expected. In short, it’s getting a bit grim.”

  “So three different heavily funded government organizations couldn’t come up with some cash to feed some prisoners?” Peter asked scornfully. “Don’t look at me that way! All three of you are ‘Black Ops’ and you know it. It’s nothing for any of you to sign a ten thousand dollar check for green bowties if it meant some secret recipe for nougat or something.”

  “Yeah, well, I do have a boss I have to explain things to,” Calhoun said patiently. “He has to give me the checks to sign first.” Messner and Echols made similar motions of agreement.

  “And let me guess, now that there’s credit to share, there is also argument about who should foot the bills,” Peter sneered.

  “’Credit’ is not the word being used but, effectively, yes,” Messner said.

  “Colonel, are there any plans in place to take care of these problems?” Peter asked.

  “Yes, sir, but those plans fell through when we were unable to detect which facility these men came from,” Echols explained. “We were expecting to pull excess stores from there as well as use onsite vehicles. The nature of this encampment is bizarre. It’s as if whoever brought them here didn’t expect them to get out.”

  “They didn’t, Colonel,” Peter said, tilting his head slightly to the side, confused. “Every man out there was supposed to be dead now, either by our hand or the blood mage’s. It was only because of Seth that they’re alive. What time is it?”

  “Four ten,” Calhoun said.

  “Do you have any good news, Colonel?” Peter asked.

  “Peter doing okay?” Ethan asked me, slipping in beside me for the view.

  “He’s doing fine,” I answered. “It’s everybody else that’s screwing up. He’s gonna need help in a coupla minutes and considering the time frame we’re working with, it might be all of us.”

  “What are we working on?” he asked quietly, watching Peter make Echols squirm about food again, specifically how to cook it. Propane levels where down excessively low.

  “Basics: food, shelter and sanitation. Pentagon and law enforcement aren’t coming through like they should,” I said. “And we can’t leave ‘em out there to starve.”

  “Damn, he’s an idiot,” mumbled Ethan. Turning back to the room and raising his voice, he said, “Okay, guys, looks like we’re going to Alabama before dinner.”

  “So basically what you’re telling me, Colonel,” Peter said with severe aggravation, “is that all you and your men have managed to accomplish is to add another eighty-five mouths to feed to an already starving group of men?”

  “Well, no…” Echols stammered.

  “Eighty, two flew out with the three injured this morning,” Messner corrected.

  “What would you have done if we hadn’t come back?” Peter asked, looking to each man in turn. “We were an hour away from leaving, totally unavailable until sometime next week, and as it is, it’s going to be nearly impossible to do anything about this. I am so fucking glad I’m Canadian!”

  “Don’t!” Messner and Calhoun shouted simultaneously at Echols, the outrage of patriotism clear on his face. He backed down, having been beaten down too many times today.

  “He ready for us yet?” Kieran asked. Looking up, I jumped a little, suddenly encircled by everyone.

  “Not quite yet,” I said. “He’s still spanking them for not getting anywhere, but I think it’s more like he’s stalling to figure out what he needs to do.”

  “All right, Seth, send ‘em in,” Peter said as if hearing me. “I need all the help I can get.”

  “That’s our cue,” I said to Kieran and opened the portal. I glared at Echols as I led the line through the tent to outside, waiting by the tentflap until I could close the portal again. Echols stared into New York in awe the entire time we traipsed through and frankly it irked me. Kieran and Dad stayed with Peter, so I left them to plan out what they wanted to do.

  Once outside, it was apparent that knowledge of the situation was pretty widespread. Echols’ men were spread out around the perimeter of the field and the prisoners were more tightly cordoned. Pressing out past my current visibility showed pretty much the same thing: eighty armed men in shifts trying to guard over four hundred unarmed men. If it came to an actual fight, the armed didn’t stand a chance for survival. Barely a chance for containment.

  Spotting Major Byrnes in the crowd, I waved him over. Three other men surged forward with him but wavered after a step, suddenly nervous about approaching uncalled. I waved them forward, too, fairly certain they’d be useful.

  Even before Byrnes stopped jogging, I asked, “Major, do you have any accountants among your men?”

  He wasn’t expecting that sort of a question and it confused him for a moment. “Um, no, sir, but I believe we have a couple of bookkeepers.”

  I nodded. “That’ll be a good enough start. I’m jumping the gun a little here since my Dad and two of my brothers are in there setting up plans to get y’all taken care of for the week, but I don’t have much faith in Echols’ planning capabilities. Apparently, Washington was planning on putting y’all on a three day diet of water and septic conditions.” The look of disgust on Byrnes’ face was epic.

  “Pretty much how I felt about it,” I agreed. “We are extremely pressed for time, though. We need to get this fixed under three hours, so we’re going to use you and your men. But…” I paused for emphasis. “I want one pissy thing to happen after we’re gone and until we come back. I want an accounting of everything—and I mean, everything!—that any of the Marshals, FBI agents, or Echols’ men eat, use, or even look at that costs me money. Keep track of everything because I’m gonna try to get my money back regardless, but I’m not going to cry about it if I don’t. I’m definitely gettin’ it back for them if I have to take it out of their hides.”

  Byrnes smiled at that, then looked over the crowd of rubber-neckers. He shouted a name and waved him over.

  “You might as well grab some runners anyway,” I said. “We may be at this for a while.”

  “Yes, sir,” Byrnes said, reaching back blindly and lightly hitting one of the three. That man jogged back and started calling out names while Byrnes called out orders to his man. I felt an odd sensation rush through the camp as the anxiety level began to fall yet attention and calm began to rise. It was an interesting change to watch and fascinating that it could happen so quickly.

  “All right, Major,” I said once he’d returned. “I’ve heard their assessment. What’s yours on the largest problem right now?”

  “Food, we have barely enough to get us through evening mess and that’s stretchin’ it,” he said.

  “It’s roughly four thirty now. When do you serve supper?” I asked.

  “Now,” he said.

  “You ain’t that good,” Ethan said quietly beside me.

  “No
,” I responded, chuckling. “Any chance you have a list of what you’ll need?” He started to answer, then thought a little harder about it, then shook his head. Turning to Richard, I asked, “You want the food details?”

  “I think I can handle that,” Richard said, nodding. “How long should we plan? Wednesday morning?”

  “If the Pentagon doesn’t come through by then, we’ll be unavailable,” warned Ethan. “Thursday morning would be better, maybe even Friday midafternoon.”

  “Can you lie to Calhoun and Messner?” I asked Richard.

  “Those pups? Seth, please,” he answered, flicking imaginary dirt off his sleeve.

  I grinned at him. “Then plan through Friday morning but tell them we only bought enough for Wednesday morning. Give ‘em a day. Major Byrnes, get your head cooks together and draw up menus so that shopping lists can be made. Please remember that time is of the essence here, but be as complete as possible. There’s no running to the convenience store and we’ll likely be clearing some shelves.”

  “The man is an idiot!” I heard Peter shout as he stomped out of the tent behind us.

  “Go on, guys,” I said, chuckling. “I’ll let ya know if something’s changed.” Watching Peter storm up to us, I asked, “What’s he want to do now, take ‘em to a car wash and hose ‘em down with a high pressure wash?”

  “How’dya know that?” he asked, positively shocked.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I gawked.

  “Yeah, and you fell for it,” Peter said, bursting into a grin, his eyes glinting in the setting sun. Ethan lost it, falling on his butt on the ground he was laughing so hard. He better not try to say he hadn’t fallen for it, too; I knew better. I could hear Richard’s laugh not far away, as well.

  “Y’all all through in there?” I asked, knowing better since Dad and Kieran were still in there.

  “I am, but there are still issues to contend with,” Peter answered. “This is just another Harris-type case. Your dad, though, has a different style…” He cut me a sideways glance when he said that.