by I.B. Holder
Chapter 67 Home Time
The field around the compound bristled with activity. Portable floodlights, drawn by trailers the size of small cars painted the hills, stretching out for miles. The navy blue FBI jackets formed a visual continuity in the foreground, all of the people looking to be of the exact same variety, like a field of tall blue grass on the move by a gust of wind.
A helicopter touched down in the center of the parking lot, flanked immediately by two black town cars. The steps fell to the earth before the wheels touched down and Doorner filled the archway. Formality was dropped, and he took the unfolding steps two at a time, almost beating them to the ground. The director took no time to survey the operations or even respond to the few agents that approached, their lips moving in precise military diction.
He didn’t hear a word, pushing them aside and yelling for a bullhorn. Doorner took the bullhorn like a charged weapon, putting it to his lips immediately.
“I’m here honey, I’m here.”
One of the local agents pushed in close with his assessment. “She’s probably down the back trail – I can show you - “
A voice cut in, it was the kind of voice that expected to be listened to and somehow that expectation was always met. The words were stripped completely of the urgency that surrounded them, and somehow gained attention above the din. “She’s somewhere up there, director.”
Director Doorner turned to see Agent Legacy, upper leg bandaged and seeping blood from beneath, shoulder in a splint, standing on the rise beside the flagpole, scanning the mountains in the opposite direction of where the agents were concentrating.
“Legacy?”
Legacy didn’t reply, he felt the answer must be obvious, and to reinforce it to the director of an intelligence agency wouldn’t show the proper sensitivity.
“Where is she?”
The local man burst in again, his accent flat as the central western state he came from, thinking that persistence and repetition might lead to acceptance of his observations. “As I said, sir, we’re of the mind that she took the trail around back.”
Doorner had had enough. “Agent Legacy, inform this group of agents that I will kill the next man who talks to me.”
“Will do.” He said, and an ironic smile passed between the men as Legacy pointed to an area up the hill.
The local man backed off, literally taking a few uncertain steps backward before turning. The director was known everywhere as being a man of his word, and even the most vacant threat carried a potential disaster.
Legacy was kind enough to cover his retreat “Talk to her like it’s a phone call – occupy her thoughts until she decides there’s no deceit, don’t try to coax her out.”
Doorner glowered at the instructions, but followed them to a tee. “Hey baby, it’s your dad. I’ve been awfully worried about you. I, I miss - “ he looked to Legacy again, realizing that he had become the center of attention of the men around him, who’d come to a sudden halt. Legacy only nodded his support. “Talk like you always do.”
Doorner continued, “I miss our discussions about the use of lethal force in hostage situations – and your ideas concerning field chain of command are better formulated than most of the officers at Centcom, but don’t tell them I said that.”
Five minutes of chatter, some of it stunningly earnest from the gruff old-guard tiger, when, finally, a voice came from the woods. It was shrill and exhausted and it carried through the background noise like a far away siren.
Laura screamed when the paramedics approached, her father pushed them aside and cradled his daughter in his arms. The slope of the land fought against the old man’s grip, but he leveraged her body gracefully, tenderly, onto the waiting stretcher. He hesitated before drawing his arm from the crook of her neck. Doorner bent down and kissed her forehead, and the tear that dropped onto her cheek was immediately camouflaged in her own.
Doorner looked back at the place where Legacy had been standing and found that his towering form had slipped away. He half expected the man to appear at his shoulder at his mental call, such was the lore surrounding the strange agent. He knew, logically, that it wasn’t the supernatural forces that shaped him. He’d met a few men like Legacy in his time, and it was like the constellations that guided their journey were different than the ones seen by the rest of the people in the world.
The medics were checking Laura’s vitals and reflexes before moving her. Doorner let his eyes drift from her upwards to the stars above him, appearing to an outside observer to be in prayer or at least the profession of profound celestial thanks. He had no idea how he came to stand in this desolate field holding his living, breathing child, but he wasn’t going to be a man of great power or reason for the next few hours. The medics gave the OK sign and they were on the move. He walked with Laura to the helicopter then sat as she gripped his hand like she half expected it to lose form at any moment and fade away. He squeezed right back, trying to reassure her that it would not.