by Gavin Reese
“Yeah,” Z confidently responded. “You know he's got a gun, right?” His partner looked at Michael as though assessing his reaction to the information. “Right hip, probably an outside-the-waist holster, if I’s a bettin’ man,” he added, with a knowing expression on his face.
Michael grinned at the revelation. Looks like Serge and I aren’t the only ones with prior training.
THIRTY-FOUR
Training Day 105, 0600 hours.
Rural Compound. Niobrara County, Wyoming.
As promised the night before, John trudged down the basement steps at the same time they’d typically have been forming up outside for the morning run. “Glad to see you’re all up and about,” he announced as he looked around at his students. “Also glad to see y’all took me serious and didn’t put on your P-T gear this morning. Like I explained last night, we got a different kinda field problem today, and you’ll probably end up getting your P-T in other ways before the day’s out, so, no need to feel cheated if you’re missin’ the morning run.” Most everyone chuckled along with him.
“You’ve been immersed in more than forty hours of classroom work on mobile surveillance, stationary surveillance, and counter-surveillance,” John continued. “You can pick almost any lock made on the face of the Earth, and you can sneak through urban environments like a goddamned ninja. It’s time you put all that to the test. There’s no run this morning, no grinder, no race. Everyone’s got the same mission today, and, I didn’t intend to put you in direct competition with each other, but, the fact of the matter is that there’s only a couple objectives today and a lot more’n two or three of you. So, somebody’s sleeping on the floor tonight for sure.
“Today’s field trip,” John announced and again looked around the room. “You’re gonna get to town, don’t care how. I’ll even let you be seen and interact with the local townsfolk today, all one-thousand-five-hundred-and-fifty-nine of ‘em, if you gotta. Go out, have a chat, drink a beer, make a few friends. Have a goddamned ball! But, the only way to win today is to steal a badge and bring it back to me without getting caught.”
“A badge?” Alpha’s still-thick French accent emphasized his disbelief.
Sacre bleu, Michael wanted to shout.
“Yep. I need badges, and the only ones that’s got ‘em in town is the local sheriff’s office and the volunteer fire department, but they’re a little harder to find. So, if you’ve learned the damned lessons as well as we’ve taught ‘em, I expect two or three-a you oughta be able to swipe one and get it back to me in a few hours. Today’s mission has a deadline, too. I’ve pushed this morning’s mass back to the afternoon, so y’all got until 1500 to be back here to suffer defeat or claim victory.”
“John, they wear ‘em on their chest,” Zeb objected, “pretty close to their gun! They’re not gonna just hand ‘em over to the kind and friendly stranger cause we asked for it.”
“I’ll leave it to you to work out the details,” John explained. “That’s your problem, not mine. So, just to make sure we’re clear, here’s the rules. Number one: no violence.” He specifically glared at Thomas and maintained focus on the man while he next spoke. “Anyone that assaults a cop or deputy, you will be gonzo, and not just from my program.” John paused and resumed scanning the rest of the group. “Number two: no getting caught. The judge will not be back on the bench until Monday, two days from now, which means anyone that gets arrested will be photographed, fingerprinted, and booked into jail for the weekend. That will at least get you dismissed. Can’t stay in the program if you have a criminal record that connects your name, fingerprints, and photograph with this town. You’ll still have a job as a priest, probably, but you won’t continue on with the program. Number three: snitches get stitches, and, if it’s ever up to me, excommunicated. We were all a lot better off when betrayal was a mortal sin. Number four: it pays to be a winner.”
Michael and the other students all stood in place and didn’t automatically rush off at his final words as they’d recently grown accustomed to doing.
“Don’t know what you’re waiting for, but you shitheads are burnin’ daylight.”
Several of his teammates started past John and up the stairs, but Michael stood fast and waited until they were alone. “John, you don’t care how we get to town?”
“Nope, don’t give a single fuck.”
“Where’s the car keys?”
“What?”
“The car keys, John, to the old beater outside. Don’t feel like walking into town with a buncha grown men like we just got let outta county jail with a one-way bus pass.”
John laughed. “I like your style, Andrew. Have at it. You gonna pick them up?”
“Not a chance. They made their choice.” After he secured the keys and the old, abused Chrysler four-door sedan, Michael drove up the long driveway and saw most of his classmates had begun running through the tall, dry grass fields straight toward the county road. They must’ve realized how suspicious they looked all bunched up together. Passing them by with nothing more than a honk and a wave, Michael continued on toward the small town of Lusk, Wyoming. Wonder how many of ‘em are about to grab three hots-and-a-cot down at county. At least nobody sleeps on the floor at the Vagrants’ Inn.
When US Highway 20 finally guided him into the two-square-mile town, Michael headed straight to the sheriff’s station house. A Ford Bronco, which he estimated had to be at least twenty years old, sat parked out in front of the station and had a large Niobrara County Sheriff’s Office badge emblazoned on both of its doors. Right across from the Blue Bonnet. Convenient. He parked the equally beat-up Chrysler next to the Bronco and stepped out to go inside. As Michael strode by the SUV, he looked at the badge on its driver-side door and noticed it was printed on a large magnet. John already knew that and wanted to see if anyone else paid enough attention to the instructions to take the low hanging fruit. Gotta do something about that shit.
As he briefly considered the possibility of the badge magnets being stolen today, Michael felt as though he were being watched. He reflexively looked around, but consciously tried to appear nonchalant about it. There, on The Blue Bonnet roof. Having found his target, Michael immediately returned his focus to the task at hand. If he realizes I saw him, he’ll move and I’ll just have to find him again. Best to let him think he’s got the upper hand, maybe do something about that later.
Michael strode into the station with all the confidence of a fellow cop. Like walking into a trusted friend’s living room. A few small tinks announced his entry. He glanced at the interior door handle and saw a few motorcycle bells hanging from it. Gotta do something to keep the gremlins away. Either the sheriff rides or this place is on one of the major routes into Sturgis. Michael shut the door behind him, deliberately smiled, and walked deeper into the large room.
A quick scan of the lobby revealed only a receptionist seated on the other side of a wide, waist-high wood counter. A few other desks and workstations stood on the other side of the counter, as well. Four wood chairs and a small, worn bench occupied the public side of the lobby. No deputies, no sheriff, but that surveillance camera hanging from the back-corner ceiling’s pointed right at me and the front door. Michael covertly scanned for any other cameras or motion detectors. No others visible, just the one. Probably all the tech the sheriff can justify spending taxpayer money on, but he’s still gotta try to keep up with times. The deputies are probably all at breakfast right about now, and I bet the sheriff doesn’t come in until later. Perfect timing. Michael worked to keep his face angled away from the camera so it couldn’t get a still photo that anyone could use for facial recognition later. Whatever resources Niobrara County doesn’t have handy, I hafta expect the State of Wyoming might.
“Morning, how can I help you,” the receptionist asked as she looked up from her computer monitor. Michael could see just enough of the screen to know she was playing an out-of-date version of Solitaire.
That’s a good sign. The quality of life in a co
mmunity is directly proportional to the number of bored cops and their support staff. “I’m a cop from New Mexico,” he explained, “just passing through on the way up north. Wanted to see if your folks traded patches? I noticed the S-O patch also has an image of their badge sewn inside it. Never seen one like that. My son collects ‘em, and he’ll feel like he got a badge and patch in one.” Michael’s stomach leapt into his throat as he suddenly realized he just drove up in a car with Wyoming plates on it. You dumbshit, the first numbers on the license plate are assigned to a specific county! Everybody around here’s gonna know the leading “14” is assigned to this Niobrara! Why would a tourist cop from New Mexico have a beat-up car with local plates?! Gotta get outta here before she notices that, and before any of the deputies come back. They’ll damned sure take notice of the car in their lot and the plates. No way they’ll let me walk outta here without explaining how I got that car, what I want with their patch, and then they’re gonna wanna see an I-D. I’m fucked if I don’t get out fast.
“Oh, heavens, yes,” she replied and smiled. “They’re pretty popular with the patch collectors! The sheriff, well, really, all of the boys collect and trade, but none of ‘em’s in right now. I think they’re probably over across the street at the Blue Bonnet if you wanted to try there. I’d give you one, but I don’t know where the sheriff keeps his extras.”
“That’s alright, ma’am, I don’t wanna disturb their breakfast, it’s not that important.”
“Well, if you wanna leave me your name and address, I can get one sent out to you, but the sheriff’s kind of a tightwad, so he might not mail it until he gets one from you.”
“That’s great, ma’am, thank you.” Michael tried to remain calm even though his brain spun about how to get out of leaving a name and info that the sheriff might try to follow up on. Can’t give him my name and old department, there’s still guys there that’ll know me. Can’t write down any of their names, cause they’ll deny coming up here if he calls asking about his patch later. Guess I can go with a fake name and some department I never worked for, like Albuquerque P-D, a big agency with a buncha cops. Gotta be at least a couple guys there named Adam Smith. That could work. “What are the chances you might have some of those ‘junior deputy’ stickers, instead?”
“You know what? I think I just might have a few of those layin’ around here somewhere. How old did you say your boy is?” She stood up, approached him, and opened a low cabinet on her side of the counter.
“He’s nine.”
“He likes stickers, I imagine, then?”
“Yes, ma’am, he does. At least they don’t end up on the walls, anymore.”
She triumphantly produced a small stack of rubber-banded, metallic badge decals and set it on the counter. “Well, I can sure give you one of these, we don’t have many left, but at least you won’t go home empty-handed.” She removed the top decal from the stack and Michael saw it was a perfect foil replica of the NCSO badge, a seven-pointed star. “I know it’s not the patch you were hopin’ for, but would this help you make your son’s day?” The receptionist handed it across the counter and knelt down to dig through the cabinet in search of something else.
“Yes, ma’am, that’ll do the trick perfectly.” It’s the same size as a real badge, and it’d have the same authority if the sheriff granted it. Perfect! Michael took advantage of the brief opportunity, concealed the stack with his hands, and removed one more decal. After sliding it behind the one the receptionist had given him, he moved a few inches away from the thin stack and hoped the bored receptionist hadn’t recently counted them.
“Yeah, it looks like that’s all we’ve got,” she apologized and stood up to again face him. “So, sorry, I can only give you the one today. Not sure when we’ll get another order in.”
“Thank you, ma’am, that’s more than enough.”
“You wanna leave your contact info for the sheriff? I can make sure he gets a patch sent off, well, I can pester him to do it, I guess, but that’s about all the assurance I can provide.”
“How about this? Can you give me one of his cards, and I’ll mail him one of my patches when I get home? That way neither of us are waiting around on the other.”
“That’ll work fine, I suppose. Where did you work, again?”
“Albuquerque, ma’am.”
“A-P-D?”
“Yes, ma’am, just over five years.”
“You probably know Michael Denny, then?”
Michael’s heart sank. “Denny, hmmm, what’s he do for the force?”
“That’s just it! He plays guitar on The Force! The cover band that’s all Albuquerque cops? They play for DARE programs at the local middle schools and such? Well, anyway, he’s my brother-in-law, married my sister after she went down there to go to U-N-M years ago. No idea what he does for the P-D, I just know he can kinda be an asshole when he drinks too much, just like the rest of us, right?” The receptionist chuckled, and Michael laughed along with her. “But, bless his heart, he treats her good enough, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m terrible with names, but I’d probably recognize the face. I haven’t been to any of their shows for a while.” I’m gonna make it outta this yet.
She retrieved a business card from behind the counter and passed it to him. “I’m Peggy,” she offered and extended her right hand.
“I’m Adam, Adam Smith.”
“That’s about the most generic name I’ve ever heard,” she laughed again and released his hand. “I bet you get accused of makin’ that up all the time!”
“Yep, I do. Doesn’t help that there’s three of us working for the agency, either. Have a good day, Peggy. Thanks for making my boy’s day!”
“You’re welcome, Adam. Be safe out there.”
“Thank you, ma’am, you as well. Give my best to your boys.” He calmly retreated back into the lot with his donated and stolen decals. When he again saw the Bronco parked there, inspiration struck, and Michael poked his head back in the door. “Hey, Peggy, sorry, just noticed that your badge decals on the Bronco are magnets. Might wanna keep a close eye on those, almost all of ours got stolen by a buncha transient hobos. They stowed away on freight trains and left town before we could arrest ‘em. Could be anywhere by now.”
“That’s good to know, thank you, Adam. I’ll make sure to let the deputies know, too.”
Michael felt very satisfied as she walked across the small lobby and rolled the front window's vinyl blinds open to keep a closer watch on the vehicles in their lot.
“If there’s not a wreck on the highway, that thing could sit here all day, but I’ll make sure to keep an eye on it.”
“Thanks, Peggy, you have no idea how helpful you’ve been to me today.”
“Well, bless your heart, I am so glad to hear that!”
Michael retreated back to the sedan and realized his small victory inside had made him forget about the local plates on his car. Hope Peggy doesn’t pay that much attention. It shouldn’t be a normal thing for her to notice, so, probably not. I’ll take an indirect route back to the compound and hope that John registered the sedan to a different address. That makes me curious, actually.
As Michael opened the driver’s door, he momentarily shifted his gaze over to The Blue Bonnet as he climbed inside the sedan. The watcher’s still up there. Probably one of the instructors, but, I’d sure like to know if it’s not. He backed from the Sheriff’s Office parking lot and drove west, the opposite direction of where he needed to go, and considered his options for identifying the watcher. I should probably start with John, but, if it’s some outsider that’s learned about us and the program, he could be in the wind by the time that I get out to the compound and John gets back here. What would John do, I wonder...
THIRTY-FIVE
Training Day 105, 0747 hours.
The Blue Bonnet Café rooftop. Lusk, Wyoming.
From behind something akin to a parapet wall on top of The Blue Bonnet Cafe’s two-story building, D
amian Haggamore stepped forward to keep visual contact on the ranch car as long as possible. When it turned north and disappeared from sight, he lifted a handheld pac-set similar to a police radio. “John, you there?” The short and stocky fireplug of a man self-consciously pushed a rolled-up shirt sleeve back down over the Green Beret tattoo on his left forearm. He’d spent the last two hours hidden on the roof of The Blue Bonnet Café to keep watch on the recruits’ efforts today. Andrew showed up much sooner than he expected and had gone straight to the Sheriff’s Office, which immediately made him suspicious.
“Yeah, go.”
“Hey, Andrew just left the Sheriff’s Office and drove west. Turned north after a few blocks, probably circling back around the area.”
“That didn’t take long, whatever it was.”
“Nope, sure didn’t, John. Worries me that he went straight there, like he mighta been warnin’ ‘em. Want us to contact him, find out what he was doing in there?” He hadn’t trusted Andrew from the first time he saw the man, and that had only lessened after John revealed that Andrew had once been a cop. Can’t trust a cop to do a spy’s work. We’d be better off sending in teams of Boy Scouts and A-C-L-U lawyers.