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Operation Assassination

Page 11

by Anne Fox


  “And I can’t make that, so I’d starve,” Edge remarked, getting the rest of the team laughing.

  “The trick, Edge, is to listen to the popcorn,” Hank said, still on her quest to get him capable of cooking something. “When you hear the popping slow down, stop the microwave and take it out. Don’t just trust the microwave.”

  “None of you should be eating microwave popcorn to begin with,” Doc Rich said. “I’m going to toss it all.”

  “What? Why? What’s the problem with popcorn?” the men protested.

  “It’s not what’s wrong with popcorn, it’s what’s wrong with microwave popcorn,” Doc Rich said. “It’s loaded with saturated fat and salt, and the bag exposes you to Teflon when you microwave it.”

  “Oh, come on, Doc Rich!” Crow protested. “Does everything have to be organic?”

  She skewered him with her eyes. “If I have anything to say, and I do, yes. It’s my job to keep you all at the peak of health. Do you know what all that salt and fat will do for you? Give you a big ol’ heart attack. And if you recall, we had one of the team die from one. So yes, I’m tossing it. I’ll get you all air poppers, and then make sure there are bags of organic popcorn available.”

  “Air-popped popcorn tastes like cardboard,” Cloud protested.

  “Do you know how to melt butter?” Doc Rich asked. “I don’t have any objection to a little melted butter. What we stock for you is both organic and grass-fed, so not bad in moderation. And I’ll even experiment with a few oil-based toppings for you, and some spice-based ones as well. Deal?”

  “I can’t melt butter,” Edge pouted, getting the rest of the team laughing.

  “Then get Hank to teach you.”

  “Popcorn aside, dig in. It’s getting cold,” Hank said, placing a plate full of oatmeal cookies on the table as well. “I can assure you, Doc Rich, that everything here is as organic as can be.”

  While the team ate, Amigo broached the topic of the team’s mission exercise. “Hank and I did a little thinking on this hound and hare exercise we’ve got planned.”

  The others looked at him. “Go on,” Crow said.

  “The problem is it’s a bit unrealistic,” Hank said. “Think about it. If we were actually chasing a perp, the perp would likely be shooting at us, and we’d likely be shooting back. Just doing a tracking exercise is fine – it teaches how to track. But it doesn’t teach how to track and apprehend when you’re getting shot at, and a lot of the time our hare just tries to hide instead of constantly moving to evade capture.”

  “So, what’s your idea?” Edge asked.

  “Our idea is for me and Hank to set up a sniper nest. You guys have to find us and apprehend us without getting yourselves shot. We get to move to evade capture, so you constantly have to try and find us. Again, without getting shot. We’ve got the laser gear with us, right?”

  “Yeah, we packed it,” Crow said.

  “Then this should be a great exercise,” Hank said. “Amigo did a little recon on good places to do some sniper practice, and frankly, I think it will be fun.”

  “And we can take you out as well?” Crow asked.

  “If a perp takes a shot at you, is deadly force authorized?” Hank asked. “Of course. Shoot back.” She grinned. “If you can find us.”

  “What resources do we get to use?” Spud asked.

  “Anything the unit would ordinarily have at its disposal,” Hank said. “With the exception of bum ticker readouts. Bum ticker readouts from our team to your team get suppressed. Just for safety’s sake, we keep biometric readout capability between Amigo and me, and you guys keep biometric readout capability among yourselves. Medical has biometric readout for all of us. This is some rough terrain we’re talking about, so we don’t want someone getting hurt and not be able to find and extract them.”

  “Including Voice’s dragonfly drones?” Edge asked.

  “Why not? What fun!” Amigo replied. “I’m sure Voice can provide us with an appropriate box to put them in so you can’t get a readout from them in the event we discover one. The other alternative would be to bash the little shit, which I don’t think Voice would appreciate.”

  “Do we get a little mission planning time?” Crow asked.

  “We don’t need it. We discussed it on the way back from doing a little practice today,” Amigo said.

  “Which is fine by me, because tomorrow looks like a nice day to fly and I told Spud we could fly down to El Paso and grab some Tex-Mex,” Hank said. “Which, for the sake of two people who shall remain nameless, you do not find at Taco Chick.”

  Crow and Cloud regarded her with narrowing eyes. “We weren’t warned,” Crow groused.

  “I wasn’t consulted,” Hank retorted.

  “So, while I’m stuck doing planning for a training exercise, you intend to leapfrog ahead of me in cross-country hours,” Edge complained.

  “You didn’t do that while Amigo and I were out running through arroyos and tagging targets?”

  “We’ve got to get you both as many hours as we can as soon as we can,” Cloud said by way of defending Hank. “Even if you go through all your ratings ahead of her, we still can’t take both Latitudes at the same time until she’s done with all of her ratings as well.”

  “Fair enough,” Edge said. “Mission first.”

  “Everyone agreed?” Amigo asked.

  Knuckles got tapped on the table.

  “Great. And no one even noticed that this means I get a crash day,” Amigo said with a grin.

  “Are you nervous?” Spud asked as they drove to the airport.

  “Is there some reason I should be nervous?” Hank asked.

  “Um... I don’t know.”

  “Is the translation to this, ‘Spud is nervous?’” Hank laughed. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen what it’s like to fly into El Paso, Spud. Yeah, the airspace is a little more complicated, but in ways it’s simpler. You don’t have to go hunting for the airport, for one thing. The controllers will vector you until you’re practically on top of it, and compared to a lot of the airports I’ve been into so far, the runways are huge. If you can’t land on one, then you probably have never touched the controls of an airplane before in your life.” She looked at him, and he glanced at her while he drove. “If you don’t feel confident in my flying, Spud, you can stay here.”

  Spud recognized a trump card when he saw one. He also recognized when he wasn’t holding it.

  “Of course I want to go,” he said. That way, we both die together.

  Hank gave him a skeptical look.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me?”

  “Of course not.”

  Bullshit. I’m just going to have to show you that this is something I can do.

  Arriving at the airport, they found the Archer already brought to the ramp by the linemen. She climbed in, retrieved the aircraft’s checklist, and did her walk-around inspection. Finding everything to her liking and a full load of fuel aboard, she climbed in.

  “If you’re coming, now’s the time to get the fuck in, Spud.”

  “Yes, dear,” he said, half with amusement and half with defeat.

  Hank shook her head. “Seat belt and shoulder harness,” she said, pointing. As he fastened the safety restraints, she reached over and latched the door. “The airlines let you move around, and so do Crow and Cloud, but as you can see there isn’t anywhere to go in the Archer, so I’d like you to keep your belts fastened until I tell you it’s ok to take them off.”

  “Ok.”

  She called the tower and requested her taxi clearance, then did the final run-up check of the aircraft’s systems. Calling Flight Service to activate her flight plan, she then requested and got her take-off clearance and headed out to intercept the Victor airway that she had chosen to fly to El Paso International.

  “This plane can use GPS to go straight there, right?” Spud asked.

  “Yeah, but one of the things you have to do for the instrument rating is be able to fly the establis
hed airways,” Hank said. “So this is good practice, and the distance is practically the same.”

  As they approached the mountains, Hank cautioned, “Sometimes around terrain it can get a little bumpy. Winds aloft aren’t that high today, but weather over mountains can sometimes surprise you.” She saw Spud stiffen a little. “It’s not anything I can’t handle, Spud.”

  “I trust you.”

  Bullshit.

  She flew on in silence until she was within radio range of the El Paso airport, then called in to El Paso’s Approach control. “El Paso Approach, Piper 4380 Quebec is twenty miles out Victor 280, inbound for landing, information Kilo.”

  “Piper 80 Quebec, continue inbound for runway two-six left.”

  “Inbound two-six left, eight-zero Quebec” Hank repeated.

  Spud was silent, watching and listening.

  “80 Quebec, contact tower, one-one-eight-point-three.”

  “Contact tower, 118.3, eight-zero Quebec.”

  Spud watched her reset the radio.

  “El Paso Tower, November 4380 Quebec, inbound two-six-left.”

  “Eight zero Quebec, cleared to land, two-six left.”

  “Cleared to land two-six left, eight-zero Quebec.”

  Hank brought the Archer smoothly into the runway. Spud was almost expecting a rough landing, but she surprised him by putting the airplane down gently on the runway, decelerating and turning off when instructed on a taxiway.

  “He practically put us right next to the FBO,” she said. “Nice. Cloud tells me lots of pilots are intimidated by airports this large, but I really love this. It gives me a lot of confidence to be able to come in to an airport of this size and have the guys in the tower not think I’m a novice.”

  Having been granted her taxi clearance, she proceeded in to the general aviation ramp. Shutting down and getting out, she ordered fuel and waited to watch and ensure the airplane was fueled as she had requested, then went into the FBO, Spud on her heels.

  “I saw that you have a shuttle service. Can we get you to take us to Carlos and Mickey’s?” she asked at the front desk.

  “One of us will take you in our crew van,” the girl at the desk replied.

  “So, is this place, Carlos and Mickey’s, supposed to be good?” Spud asked.

  “My former FBI contacts here swore by it for Mexican food,” she said.

  “And this isn’t going to be something that’s going to have me soaking my butt in ice water tomorrow?”

  Hank laughed. “I didn’t think the enchiladas would have anyone soaking their butts in ice water. I really did tone them down by Southwest standards.”

  “And is this place toned down?”

  “You’re an initiate now, Spud,” Hank chuckled. “Chili is addictive. Besides,” she said, “how do you think I got so hot-blooded?”

  Spud smiled genuinely for the first time since he’d gotten aboard the airplane. “Then how did I get so hot-blooded?”

  “I fed you some enchiladas with Hatch green chili on them.”

  “I see. It wasn’t the dress after all,” Spud said, referring to the lipstick red satin dress Mike had made for Hank when she first arrived in the unit.

  “A little green chili, a little red gown...”

  “You’re conniving.”

  “I am. And the crew van is here.”

  They climbed in and were driven to the restaurant, Hank describing some of the typical Mexican fare that was found in the area. Sitting down with menus, Hank ordered queso fundido. “With green chili,” she added.

  “Wait a minute. The green is the hot,” Spud protested.

  Hank shook her head. “Relax, Spud. The cheese tones it down.”

  “The way your enchiladas were toned down?”

  “You don’t have to eat it. But I’m hungry.”

  Spud sighed. “Good enough. What should I order?”

  “Try the Revolution combo. There’s a little bit of everything in it.”

  “And it won’t send me straight to the bathroom when we get back to the complex?”

  “Spud,” she whispered, leaning to him, “why is it you’re so adventurous in bed but you’re not adventurous when it comes to food?”

  “That’s a different kind of hot.”

  “Trust me,” she said, sitting back. “I’m not trying to kill you.”

  Could have fooled me.

  She sat dipping corn chips into the queso. “Sure you don’t want some of this?”

  Spud looked at her skeptically.

  “Try just a little.”

  He cocked his head slightly to one side, the skeptical look still there.

  She scooped up a little of the queso with a chip and, making an airplane noise like parents use when feeding their infants, approached his mouth with it.

  Annoyed, he said, “So now I get the baby treatment?”

  “Don’t act like one and I won’t treat you like one.”

  He snorted and took the chip from her. Still regarding it skeptically, he took a bite off of a corner.

  “That’s not bad.” He stuffed the rest in his mouth and chomped on it.

  “I told you I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

  “You’ve admitted you’re conniving, and you expect me to trust you?”

  “So, it’s my fault.”

  “Yes, it is,” he said, dipping a chip into the cheese and popping it in his mouth.

  The waiter arrived and put plates of food in front of them. Spud noticed that Hank had ordered the same thing she’d recommended to him, and also that she passed a napkin she’d been writing on to the waiter.

  “Could you get the kitchen to do all of this up to go?” she asked the waiter. “I’ve got a bunch of friends who have no idea what good Tex-Mex tastes like.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “You know the guys aren’t going to trust you to eat that,” Spud said.

  “Sure they will. Because you’re going to tell them it’s good. And you’re going to eat it, too.”

  “And you think they’re going to trust me? Word is, someone corrupted me and I’m no longer to be trusted. Someone like you.”

  “Then they can eat air-popped popcorn and you and I can feast.” She pointed at his plate. “I suggest you eat the tamale first. They have a tendency to be pretty mild.”

  He picked it up with his fingers and went to take a bite.

  “Take the corn husk off first, Spud.” Then she laughed. “You know, a former President tried that one once, too.”

  “Alright, I admit: I’ve not spent enough time in the desert Southwest to be very Mexican food savvy.”

  She grinned at him. “I’m trying to get you there.”

  They continued eating, her suggesting eat item in order of increasing spiciness, until he’d eaten everything.

  “That was a lot of food,” he said.

  “And Spud is such a good boy,” she said, teasing. “He ate it aaaaall up.”

  “I’m going to slap you.”

  “Sounds kinky. Let’s do that later.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” Spud said.

  “Who corrupts who there?” Hank asked. “Grab the bags,” she added as the waiter came out with the extra food she’d ordered, “And let’s get this paid for and head back.”

  “Who has dinner duty tonight?” Edge asked.

  “It’s supposed to be Hank, but I don’t think she and Spud are back from El Paso yet,” Voice muttered. He was still mostly concentrating on his tablet, not happy with the progress on the new communications routine he was trying to get Hal programmed for.

  “Never fear, dinner is here,” Spud said, coming into Level 3, bags of Mexican food in his hands and Hank on his heels.

  “What is it?” Amigo asked.

  “Tex-Mex.”

  Amigo said “Fantastic!” while being backed up by a chorus of the others who were all saying, “No, no, no! We’re not falling for that one again.”

  “This is good Tex-Mex. Not Taco Chick,” Hank said.

>   “Says the woman who didn’t warn us about Taco Chick,” Cloud observed.

  “Did I recommend them?” Hank demanded.

  “No, but you’re also the one who didn’t warn us about the green chili being hot when you made enchiladas,” Cloud retorted.

  “I assuredly did warn you that the green is the hot,” Hank protested.

  “Yeah, she did,” Voice muttered, face still in his tablet.

  “She didn’t warn us that it’s hot going in and out,” Crow countered.

  “I did before it actually made its way out,” Hank said through her laughter.

  “And I thank you so much for that,” Crow said sarcastically.

  “Look. Just try it. Spud ate the same stuff for lunch, and he’s not dead, is he?”

  “Sure hope you cleaned up the interior of the Archer real well,” Edge mused.

  “She’s not shitting you,” Spud said. “In either sense of the word.”

  “Like we should trust you,” Voice muttered, making a couple of commands on his tablet.

  “Do I smell Tex-Mex?” asked Doc Rich coming into the cafeteria.

  “Yup. Hank’s intent on poisoning us again,” Cloud said, scowling.

  “Did you bring that back from El Paso?” Doc Rich asked.

  “Yeah,” Hank replied.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Carlos and Mickey’s.”

  “Carlos and Mickey’s? Oh, am I glad I got tasked with Medical on this one,” Doc Rich said.

  “You know the place?” Cloud asked.

  “They do great Tex-Mex,” Doc Rich replied.

  Doc Rich now had the complete attention of the team.

  “How is it you know about Carlos and Mickey’s? Voice asked.

  “That’s right. None of you know,” Doc Rich replied. “I was stationed in El Paso.”

  “Really? You were in the military?” Voice asked.

  “Medical Corps. I was at William Beaumont Army Medical Center. Chief of Orthopedic Surgery.”

  “For real,” Spud said. “I gather you would have been a colonel?”

  “Bird variety,” Doc Rich said. “Seems like a million years ago. Oddity there, is I also died. Just like you guys.”

 

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