Sarah was shaking her head and smiling and she said, “Them boys were all nodding and saying ‘yes sir’s’ to Abe as they hightailed it barefoot back up the road. Anyhow, I dropped a note in your mailbox saying that we’d keep your truck over at our place until you got home. Then Abe walked around and made sure all your doors and windows were locked on the house. And that’s that.”
“So if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing out this late at night by yourself?” Andy said.
Mrs. Glass sighed and said, “Well, since we didn’t have power without running the generators, both Abe and myself went to bed early. Real early. We both woke up about an hour ago and my husband decided to fire up his little generator and start working on his autobiography again. I came over here to see if you were back yet. I figured I’d see your police truck with the lights on top if you were home. When I pulled in your driveway I didn’t recognize the truck there, and I was deciding what to do when you ambushed me. Anyhow I’m glad it all turned out OK. Although I hope that you’ll be kind enough to give me a ride back to my house so I don’t have to walk in this nasty weather.”
“I’d be happy to,” Michelle said.
“Actually, we might even be able to do better than that, although it may involve a little bit of horse trading,” Andy said with a smile.
“And what did you have in mind?” Sarah asked.
Andy said, “I’ve had the occasion to meet your husband several times over the past twenty or so years, back when he was in office that is. And although I can’t say that I ever agreed one hundred percent with his politics, I did vote for him. He was kind of the lesser of two evils if you don’t mind me saying.”
Sarah chuckled and said, “I’ve told him the same thing, only it had to do with whether I was going to marry him or his best friend.”
Andy smiled, nodding his head as he continued. “So, I kinda feel like there is a way for him to pay me back for all those votes I cast over the years that helped put him in office. And in helping me, he’d also be helping himself.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion as she said, “I haven’t been a politician’s wife for several decades without learning some tricks of the trade. One of the first lessons I learned was to always ask, ‘what do you want?’ And so Andy, out with it . . . what do you want?”
Andy relaxed in the recliner, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his neck a little. “I want to make the trade. I want your husband’s best dark blue suit. And in return, I’m willing to trade an entire, unopened package of printer paper.”
Mrs. Glass sat up on the couch, her look turning inquisitive for a moment before transforming to resigned. “The second thing I’ve learned in my years working the trenches as a politician’s wife is not to ask too many questions.” Her eyes scanned Andy with cautious appraisal, not unlike a slightly shifty car salesman calculating his commission before the paperwork is signed. “You look about Abe’s size, maybe a little bit shorter. But I imagine I could hem up the trousers if I had to, so I guess you got yourself a deal.”
“Outstanding.” Andy smiled.
Thirty minutes later Mrs. Glass had been safely returned to her house with the printer paper, and Andy, Thompson and Michelle were back in the living room of Michelle’s house with a recently hemmed, $700.00 dark blue suit.
“So, I know it’s still night time, but how long are you going to keep us in the dark?” Michelle directed toward Andy.
Andy smiled, shifted his gaze toward Thompson and said, “Can you see Michelle’s office from the school?”
Thompson immediately shook his head. “No. From the school you have a pretty good view of part of the town, but you can really only see what’s on the west side of the highway. Her office, that whole strip mall that it’s in is on the east side of the highway. Why?”
Andy smiled but didn’t reply as he turned towards Michelle and asked, “Try to resist your impulse to slap a dirty old man, but would you mind getting dressed up really hot?”
Chapter 27
April 23rd, 0900, Fort Hammer K-12 unit school.
Corporal Matthew “Bones” Henry shielded his eyes from the rotor wash of the departing Black Hawks. The whine of the turbine engines had increased in pitch as the choppers powered up their RPM’s, then gradually trailed off into the lower harmonics as the aircraft banked overhead and sped off to the south. Bones thought back to his days in elementary school science; something about the Doppler effect if he remembered right. Well, no matter what the scientific term, he was glad to see the choppers leave. There was nothing quite as large or annoying as a pilot’s ego, and he had had just about enough of the flyboys’ “holier than thou” attitude over the past few days. Barely two hours into his squad’s security detail and things were already looking up. He glanced over at his squad leader, Lieutenant Estes, and saw the same look of “good riddance” on his face as well. Yes, today had the potential to be a good day. The echoes of that thought were still rippling through his mind a few minutes later when he noticed the sleek shape of the shiny black Suburban heading up the road towards the school.
“Yo LT, we got guests,” Bones said.
Lieutenant Kevin Estes walked over and stood next to Bones, watching the approach of the large SUV. With a deep sigh and a frown, Estes said, “Shit, there goes the neighborhood.”
The tinted windows on the dark vehicle revealed only shadows of movement in its interior as the big V8 idled with a low rumble. The driver hadn’t even bothered to follow Lieutenant Estes’ hand signals as he attempted to direct them into a parking slot near the improvised helipad, but rather drove right up to the front of the school and angled across two handicapped spots. Lieutenant Estes followed and waited patiently beside the driver’s door. He knew that the two Homeland Security pricks inside—Reddick and Loomis if he remembered their names correctly—had no qualms about making people they didn’t like disappear. Best to play the good little boy role for awhile.
The driver’s door finally cracked open a few minutes later. Estes fought back the open mouth stare that crept on his face as the driver exited. She was tall, at least six feet. Long, reddish blonde hair feathered back on the sides cascaded to her mid-back. She was dressed in an inky black, form fitting business suit with a knee length skirt. A tiny, dark grey fanny pack, barely large enough to hold a deck of cards encircled her narrow waist. The creamy white tone of her perfectly sculpted calves drew his eyes down and locked them there momentarily. Too long.
“Eyes up lieutenant,” her voice said. The lieutenant jerked his eyes upward, mentally cringing at his obvious case of “got caught looking.”
“Yes ma’am,” he barked as he stood at attention. She approached and stood directly in front of him, gazing at his name tag before slowly circling him. Like a shark. The faint scent of jasmine and vanilla followed her wake.
“Damn, she was smoking hot,” Estes thought as he forced his eyes to focus straight ahead on the distant horizon. She reminded him of that Australian actress that used to be married to the guy from the “Top Gun” movie.
Her circuit complete, she turned her green eyes directly toward him. “Am I correct in assuming that your unit has the capability to refuel my vehicle?” Her voice was firm. Feminine, but lined with steel.
“Yes ma’am.”
“See that it gets done, Lieutenant . . . Estes,” she said, eying his name patch.
“I’ll handle it personally ma’am,” he said, eyes still bolted to the distant tree line.
“No, you will assign it to somebody else. Someone that you personally guarantee will have the task completed when we return from our meeting with Colonel Jordan. The meeting that you are going to escort us to.” Her voice, although level and even, carried a hint of the steel being sharpened into knives.
“Yes ma’am,” Estes snapped as he wondered who “us” was.
Estes watched as the dazzling redhead reentered the black SUV, closing the door behind her. He motioned for Bones to double time it o
ver to his position, and assigned him the refueling detail with a word of caution about not screwing up. Corporal Henry wasn’t an idiot. He knew what the consequences would be if he fumbled this simple task. The corporal nodded his understanding and stepped to the side of Estes, waiting.
“Bones, be sure, be one hundred percent sure to keep your eyes on the horizon when the lady exits the truck,” Estes muttered under his breath.
A few moments later the driver’s side door of Suburban cracked open and the tall, crimson haired Amazon exited the vehicle. Her eyes scanned the immediate surroundings, completely skipping over Estes but lingering briefly on Corporal Henry. Even with their eyes locked in the distance, both of them noticed a slight flash of stainless steel riding in a shoulder holster underneath her dark jacket. Her eyes made one more circuit of the area before she gave a curt nod toward the darkened glass of the truck. Exiting out of the passenger door was an older man. Sharply dressed in the familiar, expensive looking suit adorned with the “DHS” pocket flap ID, he cut a beeline around the front of the Suburban and came to a crisp halt next to the redhead. Steel gray eyes set wide in a face creased with years of command; Estes immediately had him pegged as ex-military. His average height could barely contain the vitality that positively oozed from him.
“Is this our escort?” the older man asked in a voice that, although not unpleasant or pushy, had the distinct tone of authority.
The Amazon nodded her head towards Estes. “He is. The other one’s on refueling detail.”
The older man approached the two soldiers who were standing at attention. After a brief, cursory inspection he said, “At ease men.”
“Yes sir,” both Estes and Bones echoed sharply.
“Lieutenant Estes, please escort my assistant and I directly to Colonel Jordan.”
“Yes sir, right this way sir,” Estes barked before he turned and walked into the school, the stunning redhead and the DHS suit following immediately behind him.
As soon as the trio disappeared into the school, Bones let out a deep breath and thanked his lucky stars for the warning about not staring at the redhead. Peripheral vision had been more than enough to convince him that he’d never rate a chick like that. Well, unless he hit the lottery or had a Porsche. For someone as fine a she was, it would probably have to be both. Two quick shots broke the stillness of the morning. Somewhere over by the soccer field he thought. Oh well, that wasn’t his patrol area, and in any case they had standing orders to shoot anything or anyone who approached the perimeter. Yesterday he blew through three full mags on his shift. Not a lot really, considering some guys blazed through two or three times as much. At chow time they were talking shit about how they waxed a couple hundred of the infected. Bullshit! Those sorry ass punks obviously confused “shooting at” with “hitting.” The medical teams reported recovering twenty-nine total bodies outside the fence after the engagement. He was positive that eight of those kills came from him and Estes. That left twenty-one. Not quite the hundreds bragged about. Bones let his mind drift back to the redhead as he walked down to the hastily set up supplies staging area. Ten minutes later he was guiding a small fuel truck towards the front of the school.
Lieutenant Estes held the front door of the school open for the redhead and the obviously important gentlemen in the dark blue suit. Whoever he was, he rated a personal bodyguard.
“This way sir,” Estes said.
The Amazon said nothing, her eyes busily searching the hallway for . . . everything probably, Estes thought. Steel-eyes merely grunted. Lieutenant Estes nodded at the two entry guards manning the desk a dozen feet from the front door they had just entered. One of the guards at the desk had a red armband encircling the bicep area on his digital BDU’s. Emblazoned around the armband in an unbroken loop the word “medical” was repeated several times in white letters. The other desk guard held out a clipboard toward Lieutenant Estes. Estes took it, writing down his own name, as well as the time and date.
Extending the clipboard toward the suit, Estes said, “Sir, if you will please sign in . . . .” His voice trailed off as the Amazon firmly took a hold of the clipboard, halting its forward momentum momentarily before pressing it back. With a slight but definite shake of her head, it was impossible to misread her meaning.
Lieutenant Estes started to protest, it was after all the Colonel’s orders that everybody sign in, every time. His thought was cut off when the steel-eyed DHS suit spoke.
“Lieutenant, put the clipboard away. After all, it’s impossible for someone to sign in who was never here.” His tone was low. Deceptively friendly, almost daringly so. Something about it sent a slight chill down the lieutenant’s spine.
Estes hesitated briefly, considering the fallout potential in the proverbial “between the rock and a hard place” situation he found himself in.
“Is there a problem lieutenant?” the redhead hissed, green eyes no longer roving; they were locked on and boring straight into his.
Ass chewing from the colonel or a bullet in the back of the head from the DHS. Not too hard of a choice there, Estes thought. “No sir, no problem at all.” Turning towards the two desk guards, Estes handed the clipboard back to them and said, “On my authority, I am taking our two . . . visitors . . . to see Colonel Jordan.” Whatever they thought, they kept to themselves. Rumors had been flying at only slightly less than light speed since the National Guard captain was shot by the DHS asshole, apparently fully supported by Colonel Jordan. Estes had been in that hallway, and knew that the rumors were true.
“This way sir.” Estes inclined his head toward the left hallway.
“Lead the way, lieutenant,” the suit said. His tone was level . . . unreadable. So perfectly, unnaturally neutral that it sent a cumulative tingle up the back of Estes’s neck. Estes shook off the shiver and started down the hallway, half expecting a bullet to punch through the back of his skull within the first five steps. At step six he was still alive, a good sign. Somewhere between steps fifteen and nineteen, a tumultuous jumble of realizations cascaded through his mind, condensing into another unpleasant thought. Two people were walking behind him—he was sure of that—but in the cold echoing hallway that formally held second and third grade classrooms, he could only hear one set of footsteps besides his own. Without turning around he was positive that the polished wingtips were clicking softly in cadence with his own boots. That meant that the Amazon was moving silently. Estes thought back to a book he read a few years ago, supposedly written by a former member of a Mossad hit squad. The guy in the book was talking about the difference between professional and amateur assassins. He summed it up with one sentence. “With a professional, the last thing you hear before you die . . . is nothing.” The lieutenant swallowed that thought and quickened his pace.
Taking a right at the next intersection, Estes passed several uniformed soldiers wheeling dollies loaded down with wooden crates and foot locker size metal boxes. One dolly had a stack of large Rubbermaid storage containers filled to the point of barely being able to maintain their rectangular shape. He recognized one of the guys, PFC Pike, and gave a scarcely noticeable nod of greeting, but Pike’s nose dive bombed toward the floor and stayed there, no doubt in relation to his escort. A left at the next hallway brought him three doors away from Colonel Jordan’s improvised command post. The colonel was standing outside the doorway, talking to Major . . . what’s his name. Estes couldn’t remember. The major was part of the medical detachment, and was dressed in OD green scrubs with his rank insignia quickly stenciled on the sleeves. Even when uniforms were worn only once before being incinerated, the pecking order had to be maintained. A detachment of five heavily armed soldiers lined the hallway outside the colonel’s door. His personal guard.
Colonel Jordan noticed Lieutenant Estes and his escort, a slight frown crossing his face as they approached. The major, his back to the advancing trio, was apparently oblivious and continued to gesture while he spoke. Estes caught the words “terminal” and “concern”
before the major finally became aware that Colonel Jordan’s attention was no longer focused on him. He turned around just as Estes came to a halt.
Lieutenant Estes snapped a textbook salute toward the colonel and said, “Colonel Jordan, I have been instructed to escort these two . . . visitors . . . to see you.”
Colonel Jordan tilted his graying head slightly downward, allowing his eyes to gaze above the narrow, gold wire rimmed glasses that perched on the bridge of his nose. “And so you have, lieutenant. Dismissed.”
“Stay right where you are lieutenant,” the steel-eyed DHS suit said with an edge of annoyance in his voice.
Lieutenant Estes watched Colonel Jordan’s eyes widen and cheeks flush with the obvious slap down of his authority. To the colonel’s credit, he recovered quickly, puffing out his chest with practiced bravado before replying . . . “And you are?”
“Way above your pay grade.” The suit spoke it without a hint of emotion or inflection. He was stating a fact, not answering a question, and everybody in that hallway knew it. Except for the colonel. Estes watched with a stone face but enjoyment in his heart while the colonel squirmed. Mustering up some residual courage, Colonel Jordan answered back, “I didn’t catch your name.”
Steel eyes narrowing to slits, the man in the dark blue suit stepped forward until he was a foot away from Colonel Jordan. All eyes in the hallway were focused on the space between the two of them. Estes watched the colonel’s forehead begin to twitch with the tension of the brewing storm. Without pause the lightning rained down.
“Is there any question about who’s in charge here?” The steel-eyed suit had pronounced each word slowly and with crystal clarity. Estes felt his own heart skip a beat, remembering the last time he had heard those words uttered. Apparently the colonel remembered as well. Estes watched the blood drain from Colonel Jordan’s face, saw his jaw drop open and hang there. Seconds passed as the entire hallway population stood there, stunned, waiting for the next hammer to fall. They didn’t have to wait long.
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