Anne Fox

CAMP CHAOS

BOOK 1 OF THE UNIT SERIES

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of Special Agent Paul Andrew LeVeille, 1959-1999, friend and fellow pilot, whose name appears on the FBI’s Wall of Honor, having served our country with the utmost of fidelity, bravery, and integrity. Gone west, but not forgotten. Rest in peace, Paul.

1

“That’s her, right there,” whispered Spud. “Watch.”

Kat Hanko’s small frame could be seen in Turtle’s binoculars, stretched out on the ground, peering through a scope mounted on a Savage 112. One thousand and twenty-five meters away on a steep hillside was a steel target, ten feet wide by six feet high, in the shape of a white buffalo. Mirage seemed to make the target dance and ripple in the New Mexico summer heat as she peered through the scope. Satisfied with the picture in her sights, she gently squeezed the sensitive trigger while her brain whispered, ‘Send it.’ The shot rang out, followed by the sound of the round sizzling through the air and then the clang! of the bullet striking its mark. “Easy,” she mumbled.

She smoothly extracted the spent case from the chamber, dropping it into a place in the box to her side, and removing another live cartridge from the box, gently chambered a new round. Peering once again through the scope, again her little voice said, ‘Send it.’ The shot rang out, and moments later the target rang its answer. “Too easy,” she mumbled.

Once again working the bolt of the rifle, she extracted the spent case and chambered another round. Wiggling her hips back into shooting position, she once again took aim and fired. Once again, she heard the answering sound of the 300-grain bullet hitting its mark. “Two damned easy,” she muttered.

“That thing’s six by ten feet and over 1100 yards away,” Spud whispered. “And she just hit the fucker three times in a row.”

Kat sprang up onto her feet. “Duck,” Spud whispered. Hunkered down in the grass behind a clump of saplings, they watched as Kat picked up the rifle and took it over to her black SUV. Sliding the drawer open on the bed-mounted gun case, she extracted a lightly-oiled lint-free cloth and wrapped the rifle in it before putting it back in its place in the case. Sliding the case shut and locking it, she picked up a backpack and slung it onto her back, then shut the rear door of the SUV and locked it as well before turning back toward the firing line.

She felt the prickle on her neck. Ok, where the fuck are you? she thought. She turned and looked toward the clump of trees where Spud and Turtle still concealed themselves.

“Shit,” Turtle whispered. “She’s gotta have spidie sense.”

You wanna watch, I’ll give you a good show, she thought, and turned back toward the firing line. But I’m sick of you fuckers tailing me all the time. Time to take a walk.

“What’s she doing?” Spud whispered after Turtle had caught her in his binoculars.

“Looks like she’s going forward of the firing line,” Turtle replied. “She’s walking downrange. Got something on her back.”

He continued to watch as she walked down the range, past the line where steel chicken silhouettes were hung, past where pigs were hung, past where turkeys were hung, and beyond the last line of metallic silhouette targets where rams were hung.

“Getting hard to keep track of her,” Turtle said aloud, knowing that at her current distance from them there would be no way she could hear him. “She’s walking up through the woods.”

He continued to watch, periodically picking her out as she proceeded up the hill, until she emerged in the opening where the white buffalo was placed. Then she turned to the right and walked to the edge of the clearing. Slipping the backpack off her shoulders, she took something from it and set it up on the ground, propping it up with rocks and occasionally checking to see how securely it was placed. Turtle strained to see what it was. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. “She’s got an Ivan up there, and it’s camo painted.”

She grabbed the empty backpack and bounded back down the hill, emerging over the earthen berm at the line of ram targets. Striding back up the silhouette range, she returned to her SUV and retrieved the Savage and her ammunition. Going back to the firing line and lying prone, she peered through the scope, muttering, “Where are you hiding?” Her eyes searched for the slight inconsistency that would tell her she’d found her disguised, human-shaped target. “Ah, there you are, you little terrorist you,” she said to herself. Settling in, she carefully chambered a round, took a deep, deliberate breath, and let the air ooze from her lungs until she felt completely relaxed. ‘Send it,’ her little voice beckoned, and she gently squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, the bullet seared the air, and a few seconds later she was rewarded with a muted clang! She looked over her rifle at the hillside, smiled, and said, “So much for you.”

“Holy shit, that was one helluva shot,” Turtle breathed. “I can’t even see the fucking Ivan anymore!” Just as he finished his remark, they heard another shot and a few seconds later another muted clang!

“Now you see why we need her?” Spud asked. “She’s down there picking off a target the size of a human being’s torso set over 1100 yards away. And trust me, I’ve watched her enough to know that she can stay down there and do that all day. It may have been bad for us that Falcon had to retire, but she’s better than he ever was.”

Kat twisted her body and, remaining prone, looked in their direction again. As Turtle quickly lowered the binoculars and hunkered back down in the grass, she caught the glint of light reflecting from the binoculars’ lenses. Hope you’re watching, she thought, raising her middle finger into the air. Then she settled back into firing position, put the prickle on the back of her neck aside, slid the spent case out of the rifle’s chamber, and chambered another round.

2

“Dearly beloved, we all know why we’re gathered here today,” quipped Voice. “With Falcon no longer among us but instead enjoying the good life of a new identity and a place of his choosing, we are now a man down.” He produced a stack of personnel folders. “Here for your dining pleasure, are our finalists for his replacement.” He passed the files around the table, one to each man on the team.

“I’ll go ahead with mine,” he continued. “Our first candidate is Konisky, Robert. Twenty-five years of age. Currently United States Army, Special Forces. Likes jumping out of airplanes from high altitudes. Good with knives. Survival expert. Trained as a medic, earned the Expert Field Medical badge. And proceeding around the table, who’ve you got, Cloud?”

Cloud opened his folder. “Pinneo, Patrick Paul. PPP. We pick him, we’re going to have to call him ‘Cubed.’ Twenty-three years of age. Currently United States Navy. SEAL. Good with knives. Did a fair bit of orienteering in JROTC while in high school. Obviously doesn’t mind getting his head under water. Flies copters.”

“Guess I’m next,” said Turtle. “Hanko, Katheryn. Twenty-nine years of age. Currently Special Agent, FBI, Albuquerque field office. Graduated fifth in her academy class. Black belt in aikido. Some flight training, no pilot’s license. Spends her spare time up in Raton hitting small objects from big distances. Consistently. Spud?”

“Plano, John Michael. Twenty-four years of age. Currently DEA. Foreign covert ops. Commercial pilot, turbine-rated. No choppers, though. Decent with the standard weaponry. Lots of work infiltrating bad guy organizations.”

Crow opened up his file. “Palazzini, Linda Serena. Twenty-seven years of age. Currently Top Hat Security, Inc. Ok with a handgun. Techie to the max. You need it bugged, videoed, photographed, whatever◦– she can do it.”

“And last but certainly not least, Edge.”

“Schooley, Robert John. Twenty-eight years old. Currently United States Marine Corps. Oorah! Big on Krav Maga. Built like a brick shithouse. Spends a lot of time at the gym when he’s not berating new recruits◦– he’s a drill instructor. Trained as a medic, good with guns, knives or anything else nearby.”

“Ok. So those are our choices. Now we have to decide what talent we need and which of these candidates can best give us that talent.”

“Falcon was our best with a gun, and a top-notch sniper. Also good with knives and decent with eavesdropping equipment. But where we really needed him the most was sniping. I say we eliminate anyone who isn’t good with a gun,” Voice said. “We don’t need a good techie. We’ve got me,” he grinned.

“I agree,” said Spud. “We need someone who can hit their mark.”

“Everyone agree we need more strength with firearms?” Cloud asked.

The six team members reached out and all tapped with their knuckles on the table.

“Ok, so who’ve we got?” asked Crow.

Each consulted the file in front of them.

“Plano,” Spud announced.

“Hanko,” Turtle added.

“And Schooley,” Edge said.

“You fucking Marines always want another Marine in the unit,” Spud said, offering some of the usual bullshit that betrayed just how close the team members were.

“I’ve got to seriously question this gal, Hanko,” Crow said. “My understanding is she’s maybe 115 pounds soaking wet. Your standard bad guy isn’t going to have any trouble putting her in her place.”

“She’s also got a black belt in aikido,” Spud said. “She can throw your standard bad guy to the ground and have him cuffed before he can say, ‘What the hell?’ Plus, Turtle and I watched her haul a steel Ivan up a hillside up there in Raton without apparently breaking a sweat. She might be 115 pounds soaking wet, but every pound is made of muscle.”

“Yeah, but is everyone going to think they have to protect her? If she does manage to be compromised, you know what will happen. She won’t just get killed for her efforts,” Voice said.

“So, you’re saying she shouldn’t be in the unit because we can’t handle the thought of her getting raped?” Edge asked. “Why is it we can handle the thought of any one of us getting our balls cut off, but we can’t handle the thought of a woman being raped?”

“And we need a sniper,” Turtle said. “She’s a sniper, whether she’s been trained as one or not. We sat out there in Raton and watched her hit that Ivan over and over again. A standard, torso-sized Ivan set over 1100 yards from the firing line. And she had it camo-painted. Hell, I couldn’t even see the damned thing, but I could sure hear her hitting it! And not only that, she was doing it with a stock, off-the-shelf Savage 112. With a really good rifle, I’ll bet she can do a head shot at that distance.”

“I don’t think a bad guy could get close enough to her to grab her anyway,” Spud added. “She’s got some kind of sixth sense. She knew we were watching her.”

“What makes you think that?” Edge asked.

“Might have something to do with her turning and flipping us the bird,” Turtle said, eliciting a laugh from the rest of the team.

“Ok,” Voice said, “Let’s take a vote. Everyone for Plano?”

The team members all sat silently.

“Schooley?”

Edge reached out and tapped his knuckles on the table. “Figures,” Crow said, getting the others laughing again.

“And Hanko?”

The five remaining unit members all reached out and tapped their knuckles on the table. “Ah, fuck it!” Edge said, and tapped as well.

“It’s decided,” Voice concluded. “We bring Ms. Hanko here to Quantico and see if she’d like a new job.”

3

“Hey, Hanko. Boss wants to see you in his office,” one of the other agents told her, poking his head in her cubicle.

Yeah, shit. Just when I was starting to think I’d get this crap done this morning, she mused. She pulled the access card from her computer terminal and headed to her supervisor’s office. She tapped on the door and leaned over so he could see her through the window, and he beckoned her inside.

“You wanted to see me, Stan?”

“Yup.” He took a sheet of paper from where it sat in front of him and put it in front of her. “Seems they want you back in Quantico.”

“What’d I do?” she asked.

“It’s not disciplinary, Hanko. Apparently, they want you for some special assignment.”

“But I’ve still got that interstate porn trafficking thing and the kidnapping to finish up,” she said. “And the bank robbery in Soccoro.”

“I’m passing your cases over to Robertson and Martinez,” he said. “If you take a look at that order, they don’t want you there next week. You’re to go right now.” He handed her a travel itinerary. “So ‘right now’ that there will be an agency jet waiting at Sunport for you tomorrow morning. Pack your bag, take your sidearm, take this transfer order and your itinerary. Be there by 7 AM.”

KAT ARRIVED at the General Aviation area of Albuquerque Sunport, bag in hand, dressed like she was meeting the press◦– something she hated. But this was official travel, so when a Special Agent, do as Special Agents do, she mused.

A man in the lobby of the FBO put down the coffee he was drinking and rose to meet her. “Special Agent Hanko?” he asked. She pulled her credentials out of her jacket pocket and flashed them. “Right this way, Agent Hanko.”

She walked out the door onto the ramp and looked around. “This way, Agent Hanko,” the man repeated, directing her to a Gulfstream 550 that stood on the ramp. You’re shitting me, she thought. Who’s on this flight? Me and the Director?

“I’ll take your bag, Agent Hanko,” said a second man standing at the airstair. He took it from her and indicated she should board the plane.

“I guess this is some kind of very special assignment,” she quipped to the man who had greeted her.

“I wouldn’t know that, Agent Hanko. I just fly the plane. But there’s a gentleman in the back who will probably fill you in.”

The pilot headed for the cockpit while the second man stowed her suitcase. She looked down the interior of the plane. The thing’s cavernous.

“I’ve got to go help get this thing off the ground,” the second man said. “The guy you’re meeting is mid-deck, and once we’re comfortably in the air the attendant will see that you get something to eat and drink. This is Doug,” he added, indicating yet a third man. “He’ll be taking care of you back here.” Doug smiled and nodded. “Go on back, Agent Hanko,” the co-pilot said, “and make yourself comfortable.”

Kat made her way to the cabin. As told, she noted the back of a man’s head about midway down and made her way to where he was sitting.

“Have a seat, Agent Hanko.”

She sat and buckled herself in, all the while keeping an eye on him. Complete stranger.

“We haven’t met,” she said as the jet’s engines spooled up.

“Not directly,” he said. “But you have greeted me in the past.”

“Oh? When was that?”

“About two weeks ago up in Raton,” he said, holding up his middle finger.

“Yeah, well, you need better binoculars. Ones with lens coatings that don’t reflect the light so well.”

He laughed. “I’ll have to let the other guy know.”

“You’ve been out there for over a month watching me every time I’d go up.”

“You do have spidie sense,” he said.

“I know when someone’s watching me, if that’s what you mean,” she replied.

“That could come in very useful if you take us up on our offer.”

She sat back a bit in her seat. “That doesn’t sound like I’m heading for a Bureau assignment.”

“Yes and no.” Now airborne, he signaled to the attendant, who was sitting in the back out of earshot.

“Get Agent Hanko something to eat and some coffee, would you, Doug? You do drink the stuff?”

“I’m a Special Agent,” she said, sounding a bit annoyed. “There are days when I live on the stuff.”

He sat and smiled at her while the attendant set a cup in front of her and filled it with coffee, set a small pitcher of cream, some sugar and a spoon next to it, then offered her pastries from an assortment. “What? No donuts for the cop?” she asked, pointing to a bagel.

“Sorry, Agent Hanko,” Doug said. “Would you like that toasted?”

I’ve been up since fucking 4:30. Sure, let me starve a little longer while you toast the fucking thing. “No, I’ll take it as is, thanks, Doug.” He put it on a plate for her, along with cream cheese, peanut butter, jam, and butter in small condiment cups. Setting a knife and a napkin down next to the plate, he then made his way back to the back of the plane.

“Who are you?” she asked the man sitting opposite her.

“I’d love to tell you, but right now I can’t. That aside, we’re going to be a little over three hours in the air, which will give us plenty of time to get acquainted.”

You apparently know every damned thing about me, I know not a fucking thing about you. She spread cream cheese and jam on half of the bagel and took a bite. And I bet you think I should trust you, too.

“You go by Kat, right? Ok if I call you that?”

“Sure, why not?” she said. “It’s quicker than ‘Agent Hanko’.”

“I’ll apologize right up front, Kat, for the fact that I can’t tell you who I am nor who I work for. I know that isn’t the kind of introduction that generates a lot of trust, so I just have to ask you to bear with me.”

She took a bite of bagel and looked at him over it as she chewed.

“I will tell you that we need you.”

This guy’s not Bureau. “What the fuck for?”

He laughed. “You’ll fit right in. But in answer to your question…” He held up his hands like he was holding a rifle and made like he was pulling a trigger. “You’re really good at it.”

“So what.”

“So, the last guy we had who was really good at it retired.”

“So, why not just get someone else in your organization, whatever it is, who’s good at it?”

“We don’t have a whole bunch of people. When we need someone, we go looking for them wherever we might be able to find them.”

“Is this a DOJ plane? Because I’m here to tell you, I’m not getting into some shadow group fringe shit run by some rich motherfucker who thinks he can take over the world. And if that’s what you’re about, you can get Doug back there to go up and tell the pilot to turn this fucker around and take me back to Sunport.”

“You will fit right in,” he said with a smile, “and yes, this is a DOJ plane. We operate under the Department of Justice, but not everyone in the group is from the DoJ originally. We have some military guys, LEOs on occasion, and hopefully in the near future an FBI Special Agent.”

He leaned toward her. “We’re the ones who go after the shadow group fringe shits run by crazy-assed rich motherfuckers. And from your record with the Bureau, it looks like you’re all about bringing crazy-assed motherfuckers to justice, whether they’re rich or not.”

“This nation is run on the rule of law. No one should think they’re immune, and no one should be allowed to be immune.”

“It’s that kind of integrity that the group I’m part of lives by,” he said.

She studied his face. Few people she’d ever encountered could bullshit her without her knowing it. He was dead serious, and he was sincere.

“We know you like to be above-board and you like to be honest,” he said. “But one thing we don’t know is if you can keep a secret.”

“Assignments often require it,” she said.

“Assignments don’t require it to be forever. And that’s one thing you have to agree to if you decide you want to be a part of us. You can never talk about the unit. Ever. Not to anyone who’s not currently in the unit. Not even those who have retired or resigned.”

“And what happens if I talk? You throw my ass out of this thing over a jungle somewhere?”

“We don’t operate like that.” He laughed. “That’s spy versus spy shit, foreign spy shit at that, and we aren’t in the spy business. That’s the CIA’s job. We work exclusively on the domestic front.”

Kat popped the last of her bagel in her mouth. “And I thought that was the Bureau’s job,” she mumphed through a mouthful of bagel.

“It is. And it’s our job as well. We pass along information we gain to other stateside agencies. They pass information to us when they need our special expertise.”

“And what’s your special expertise?” she asked, dipping her finger in the peanut butter and licking it.

He watched her and said, “You know, if you’re still hungry, Doug can bring you something else.”

She looked at him, not really wanting to admit she could use a little more to eat. He smiled at her and leaned over to call down the aisle. “Hey, Doug! Bring the lady another bagel. And toast it this time. And if you would, bring me a cup of coffee◦– black, and refill hers.”

Doug walked forward and disappeared into the galley while the man sat and smiled at her. “You know, aside from people like the Attorney General and the Director, not many people get to ride this bird. It’s a privilege for us to ride it when we’re recruiting someone. So, enjoy the ride, if nothing else,” he said, while Doug set a plate with another bagel in front of her and filled coffee cups. “Doug here will make sure you’re comfortable, and I’ll just yak your ear off until we arrive at Quantico.”

“So, I’ve got to listen to you until we land and then another hour’s drive?”

“No, we’re landing at Quantico. It won’t take us an hour to get from the Marine Corps Air Station to our base.”

She choked a bit on the mouthful of bagel she’d bitten off. “I thought the only air ops in and out of there were for the President’s aircraft.”

“And occasionally us,” he said.

Searching his face again told her he was once more telling the truth.

“We don’t operate in the open,” he explained. “We can’t operate in the open. Our missions demand that we be unknowns. It’s how we get the big fish when the big fish need to be got.”

So, what the fuck am I getting into if I say yes to this shit? “You’re telling me precious little that would make me want to say yes or no.”

“Again, I apologize. It’s just the way it has to be for the moment.” He drank down some of his coffee. “Damn, Doug makes good java.” He watched her while she devoured half of her second bagel. “Gotta tell ya, I don’t know where you’re putting that. You have a hollow leg?”

“Give me a break. I had to get up at four fucking thirty to make this flight without taking time for eating breakfast.”

They studied each other for a while, he drinking his coffee and she finishing off her bagel. She sat back. “Just what do you need me for?”

He repeated the pantomime of shooting a rifle. “And you’ll have to cross-train for other things we do. But mainly, we need someone who can pick a guy off at 1000 yards, and from what we’ve seen you’re that someone.”

“You gonna bring me my Savage?”

“Honey, we’re gonna let you have any sniper rifle you want. You want a Remington? We’ll get you a Remington. You want a Sako? We can do that, too. You want to stick with a Savage? Fine by us. And not just for your sniper◦– for any gun you think you need.”

She found herself smiling involuntarily. Shit, I do love to shoot. The thought of having any guns she wanted made her nipples stand up in a way no man ever had, and she was glad, for once, for the jacket so he couldn’t see them.

“Don’t let me fool you, Kat. It won’t be all fun and games. This unit is very demanding. You’re going to have to prove yourself physically and mentally, and you’re going to have to develop a skill set that will allow you to take on almost any task that any other member of the team performs. The risks are high. The way the unit operates, you’ll find yourself going through huge periods of boredom, given our expertise isn’t needed that often. But when it is, we have to be ready to go and do our jobs, so there’s not much in the way of down time. It’s train, train, train◦– all the time, unless we have a mission.”

“This is covert ops.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Domestic.”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask how big this team is?”

“No, sorry.”

“Can I ask how long I have to commit to it?”

“We’d like you to commit for as long as you’re physically capable. But people do occasionally resign, and others retire.”

“Besides the fact that I can shoot and enjoy doing so, why me?”

“You’re unattached. You don’t have any surviving close relatives. It makes explaining your absence easier. You’re dedicated. You have integrity. You’re good at your job, not just at shooting. From what I can see, you’ve got the right mindset for what we do.”

“And what about my partners in Albuquerque? You just tell them I transferred?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly do you tell them?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you that until you commit and sign the papers.”

She resisted the urge to say ‘yes’ right then and there, simply because the whole thing sounded so intriguing. He’s hanging out a big carrot. Could be to lead you into a big trap. And this mysterious ‘I can’t tell you’ is a bit unnerving.

“And you’re naturally suspicious,” he added. “But as long as you feel you can trust the rest of the team, that suspicious nature is a good thing.”

“You’re good at reading people.”

“So are you.” He smiled at her again. “Look, Kat. We need your skills. I don’t know what the other members of the team will think, but I like you already. I think I’ve got you pretty much figured out, too. You’re a little powder keg, and you’ll dig right into this unit and eat it up just as thoroughly as you polished off those bagels.” She realized as he said this that she’d been absent-mindedly cleaning up the bagel crumbs off the plate with the tip of her finger. “Save some room for lunch, Kat. You’ll be eating on the plane, given Quantico is two hours ahead of Albuquerque. No time like the present to start getting you on Eastern time.”

“Sounds like you think I’m going to sign on,” she said.

“You’re the one who said I was good at reading people.” He grinned. “And you’re two cups of coffee into this flight. The potty is that way.”

She wondered if she’d been unconsciously squirming, because until he mentioned it she hadn’t felt the urge to pee. She got up and made her way to the back of the plane. As she sat and did her business, she thought about everything he’d said to this point. Her little voices started to argue. I’m a good Agent. Do I want to give it up for who the fuck knows what? But damn◦– it sounds so much more exciting than spending half my time completing case reports. But what about cartel taskforce? Don’t you still want cartel taskforce? Wish I knew whether this thing is on the up and up. She retrieved the folded transfer order and itinerary from her jacket pocket. Stan’s the one who handed me these. Could these papers be fake? Or did they really come down from above? She studied the signature on the transfer order. It was original, and the handwriting familiar given she had seen many orders signed by this man. She studied it closer. The writing was spontaneous, done in a smooth hand, with no signs of an attempt at forgery. Either someone’s very good at faking his signature, or this is a genuine document, she concluded. She consulted her little voice, and it whispered back, Looks legit.

She got up, readjusted her clothes, washed her hands, and made her way back to her seat.

“I was beginning to think you got lost back there,” the man said.

“Lost in thought,” she said. “I don’t know what to tell you, other than I’m intrigued and would like to know more.”

He shook his head. “There’s not a lot more I can tell you right now. But I tell you what. Think about it some more during lunch.” He leaned over and signaled Doug to come forward. Doug placed a menu in front of her.

“You know my favorite,” the man told Doug. “Let our Special Agent choose hers, and then bring us lunch, please.”

She looked over the menu and picked out a plate of fruit and cheese with a croissant on the side. “And more coffee,” she told Doug, who then disappeared forward to the galley again.

The man leaned back, relaxing in his seat, regarding her with a smile. Although his posture was relaxed, she got the definite impression that the business suit he wore was not his favorite way of dressing any more than it was hers. He just didn’t look like the business suit type. Special for this occasion, she thought, though it looks great on him. The slight bit of grey at his temples had her peg him at somewhere between 40 and 45. She could detect the rugged physique under the suit and noticed he sported a well-developed tan. Lots of time outdoors.

Doug returned and placed food and utensils in front of them. Typical guy food. Club sandwich and chips, piece of apple pie on the side.

He was looking over her food as well. “Cheese and fruit going to fill you up?” he asked.

She swallowed a strawberry she was chewing and replied, “I just ate two bagels, for Chrisake.”

He held up his hands in a surrender pose. “Not trying to be critical. I just remember how you polished off the bagels, that’s all.” He looked her up and down in a manner that told her there was no physical attraction attached. “What do you weigh, anyway? I’ve got you pegged at about 115.”

“You ask a woman about her weight?” she scowled.

“I wouldn’t ask just any woman about her weight. But something tells me you aren’t just any woman, so I thought I’d give it a go.”

You’re fucking right about me not being just any woman, and you’d better not forget it. “One twenty,” she said.

“Where’d you put the other five pounds?” he asked.

“If you’re not careful, I’ll show you.”

“We know about the black belt,” he said, smiling.

“It’s useful when up against jackasses who think they can just take on a woman because.”

“Good attitude. I like it.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and sat chewing it, watching her.

For some reason, his constant observation of her while she ate didn’t bother her. She picked up a chunk of cheese, popped it in her mouth, and decided to return the favor.

“If you like what you see, you can see a lot more of it.” Her eyes narrowed, and he realized his gaff. “That came out all wrong. What I meant to say is you could see it a lot more often. All you need to do is sign on the line.”

She sat and thought, looking him directly in the eyes.

“I know you’re interested, Kat. You want to sign. Just give in to it◦– you won’t be sorry. No one ever is.” He crunched on a couple of chips. “It’s the most exciting job you’ll ever have. Trust me, you won’t regret it. Not one minute of it.”

“And the Bureau knows about this?”

“They’re the ones who recommended you.”

“Should I be asking things like, ‘What’s the pay like?’ and all that shit?”

He smiled. “If that’s important to you, I can tell you that it will be better than what you’re getting now.”

“Shit,” she said through some cheese. “It isn’t important to me at all.”

He grinned a huge grin and signaled to Doug in the back, tracing a rectangle with his fingers in the air. Doug came forward, bringing a large manila envelope with him. The man took a pen from his pocket and put it on the table between them. “Tell me you’re going to need this,” he said.

She chomped on a grape and stared at the pen. Looked him back in the face and popped another grape in her mouth. Stared at the pen again. Then she shoved the plate of fruit and cheese aside and grabbed the pen. “Ok. Let’s have it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the man saw Doug in the back rock back on his heels and give two thumbs up before sitting down. He slid the first sheet of paper out of the envelope. “Read this carefully,” he said. “It’s the only one you won’t have to sign. If you can’t get past this one, we’ll land to take on some fuel and get you back to Albuquerque.”

Reading over the document, she learned that the group was an elite, multi-agency unit that dealt with domestic terrorism threats. Acceptance to the unit would require a thorough physical evaluation as well as psychological assessment, to be followed by rigorous physical training, skills training in a variety of areas, and finally the approval of the members of the unit. If at any point she failed to meet the unit’s requirements, she would be mustered out under the conditions spelled out in the legal documents she would sign. She read it over twice, weighing if any of what she saw would give her heartburn later on. She grabbed another strawberry off her plate, chewed it, slid the paper to her left, and twiddled the pen in her fingers. “Next.”

Once again, the man caught Doug doing a fist pump out of the corner of his eye.

“I knew I liked you,” he said. “This is the nondisclosure agreement. We need this before we can get to anything else.”

She read it over. It basically said in legalese what he’d told her earlier: she could not disclose any information regarding the unit, its operations, or its members to anyone. She could not let anyone outside of the unit know her whereabouts or the whereabouts of other members of the unit, including any knowledge she might gain regarding the whereabouts of past unit members. She could not discuss with anyone outside of the unit any information regarding any action the unit participated in previously. Why don’t they just say, ‘I agree to keep my mouth shut?’ She shrugged, signing her name to it where the “Sign Here” sticker was placed.

In the back, Doug did a slam dunk.

He took the signed document, signed it himself as the witness, and set it aside. She tried to get a look at the signature, but it was impossible for her to make it out, being one of those swirly kind where every letter seemed to overwrite all of the others.

“Records release,” he said, sliding another paper in front of her. This one, she noted, allowed the unit access to her past criminal records (if any), background checks, and security clearances. She snorted when she read “criminal records” and signed.

“Medical records release,” he said, sliding another paper in her direction. She signed it without even reading through it, knowing they wouldn’t find much other than routine physical exams.

“Release of your duty history with the Bureau.” She thought about that one a bit, not quite sure of what her superiors and academy instructors might have said about her. He seemed to know what she was thinking. “From what I’ve gathered, they all thought you were a fine candidate and a fine agent.” She signed.

“You’ll have some other documents you’ll need to complete once we get to our base in Quantico,” he said, shoving the signed papers back in the envelope. “For now, enjoy your lunch. We should be landing in about an hour and a half.” He stood up and stripped off the suit jacket. “I never take the monkey suit off until the papers are signed,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”

She was glad of the invitation to get rid of her own jacket, and slipped out of it, draping it on a seat across the aisle.

He took note of her handgun secured in a shoulder holster. “You’re a gal after my own heart,” he said. “Mr. Browning had a winning formula when he came up with the 1911. You like that sidearm?”

“Like you said, Browning got it right.”

“Mind if I have a peek?”

“It’s not very often you’ll find a Special Agent willing to let someone they don’t know handle their sidearm,” she noted.

“Yes, but as of this moment, I’m thinking you’re not going to be a Special Agent much longer. If you can’t trust me now, will you trust me later when we make our final offer?”

She unholstered her weapon, dropped the magazine, and cupping her hand over the slide, racked out the round in the chamber into her hand. Engaging the slide lock, she then passed it to him.

He looked it over. “You keep ’er in good shape,” he observed. “You like the Springfield?”

“It’s standard issue for the Hostage and Rescue Team. I like it better than the Glock or the Sig, so they let me carry it. My fav, though, is a Kimber Ultra Match II that I bought for myself. I managed to get a good one. It’s got a three-quarter-inch group at twenty-five yards off a Ransom rest using factory loads, and it would have been a lot less than that except for one outlier.”

“Want us to get it for you? In the unit, you can carry anything you like.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure. You’re going to hand over all your keys.”

“I don’t get to go to Albuquerque and pack up some of my stuff?”

“You don’t get to go back to Albuquerque, period.”

The cabin intercom sounded a tone followed by an announcement from the cockpit. “Fifteen minutes out from landing.”

“We made better time than I thought we would,” he said, standing up and putting his jacket back on. “We must have caught a good tailwind. Make sure you have everything, Kat. Unfortunately, once we deplane we don’t get to get back on, and anything you leave gets destroyed.” He handed her back her weapon, and she reloaded it, putting one in the chamber and ensuring the safety was engaged before holstering it and putting on her own jacket. “You’ll get your chance to ask any questions you want once we’re on the ground, but a head up: we’ve got a few more things we need to tidy up paperwork-wise, so you might want to just take notes on things you want to ask about until we’re done with all of that.” He reached out and shook her hand, then sat and buckled up for the landing. “Welcome aboard.”

She had a thousand questions and none, not knowing much about the head-first dive she’d just made and therefore not quite knowing what to ask to begin with. One step at a time. Ask your questions as they arise. She looked out the oval window and saw the green of Virginia rising up to her. Sure as hell isn’t Albuquerque.

The plane touched down smoothly and taxied in to a ramp, guided by a “Follow Me” vehicle. Hearing the engines shut down, the man unbuckled and held his hand out to help her from her seat. Out of courtesy, she took it and stood.

“Welcome to Quantico.”

“Like coming home,” she said.

“Not quite. You’re not going anywhere near any FBI facilities. We’ll be going straight to our base.”

They made their way down the airstair to a waiting van with two men sitting in the front. As she climbed into the van with the man following her, she noticed Doug put her suitcase in the back. He then climbed into the van as well, grinning at her as he took a seat. A few minutes later the two pilots also climbed in, grinning as well.

“Ok, guys, hand ’em over,” Doug said.

The three other men who had been aboard the aircraft with her all began to collect tiny earpieces from an ear, handing them over to Doug. Doug pulled his own out and added it to the small storage case in his lap. The man she’d been conversing with aboard the plane took off his tie clasp and pulled a small transmitter from behind his tie and handed it over to Doug. The two men in the van handed over earpieces as well. “Thank you, gentlemen,” Doug said, closing everything in the case.

“I’m betting your name’s not Doug,” she said. He grinned and replied, “Not even close.”

“Well, guys, you all heard everything. What’s your verdict?” asked the man she’d sat with. They all reached out and tapped on the window of the van closest to them. He turned to her and said, “You just passed your first hurdle.” Tapping on the shoulder of the man in the driver’s seat, he said, “Home, Charles.”

“My name’s not Charles, either,” the driver said over his shoulder, making the rest of the men laugh.

“Let me make the introductions,” the man who’d sat with her on the flight began. “Up front, we call your driver Edge. And next to him is Turtle. Which reminds me, Turtle, she says your binoculars reflect too much light and to get better coatings on the lenses.”

“Crap. I wondered how she knew which direction to flip that bird.” The other guys all laughed at this as well.

“Your flight attendant goes by Voice. As you might guess from the hardware he collected, he’s our tech guy.”

“At your service,” Voice said with a little bow.

“Your pilots,” the man continued, pointing to each of them, “are Crow and Cloud.”

“Hope you enjoyed the ride as much as we enjoyed flying it,” Crow said.

“And I am your humble host, Spud.”

“What cutesie names,” she said.

“You’ll get one, too,” Spud said. “Because five days from now, Katheryn Hanko is going to die.”

4

Kat was a bit shocked by the news that she was going to die in five days. What the fuck? Is my part of this special assignment to be the sacrificial lamb?

“I know you’ve got questions about that last bit of news, Kat. We’ll get that answered just as soon as we get inside.”

The van had stopped outside an ordinary bachelor enlisted quarters on the base, one of several in the same area. Turtle jumped out and slid the door of the van open. He reached his hand out to help Kat down, but she ignored it and simply jumped out.

Turtle led the way up to the BEQ and unlocked the door. It had all the appearance of a typical enlisted men’s quarters, until Turtle walked up to a short section of wall, that is. When he did, it slid open to reveal a passageway down a flight of stairs.

“Some kind of magic?” she asked.

“Bum ticker,” he replied with a grin, indicating she should go ahead of him down the stairs. “You’ll get one, too.” Behind them, she heard the other group members chuckle.

“You have a phone in your shoe as well?”

Turtle laughed. “Nope, but as you see we sometimes have bugs in our ears.”

“I’m surprised you know about the phone in the shoe stuff,” she said.

“We’re not all work and no play. We’ve got a pretty extensive video collection, which includes the entire “Get Smart” series from back in the ‘60s. It’s hilarious, Agent 99.”

The rest of the group had come through the upper door, which automatically slid shut.

Following me like a bunch of ducklings.

“First door on the right.”

She looked to her right and saw an office with a desk in it, occupied by a woman.

“Meet Clara,” Spud said. “She’s our legal assistant. Have a seat, Kat. She’s going to help you with your will.” Kat noted that Clara was dressed in Marine Corps CUUs and looked more like a Charles than a Clara.

“What the fuck did I sign up for?” Kat demanded.

Spud looked at her, puzzled. Then he got a surprised look on his face. “You think we’re actually going to kill you!”

“You’re the one who said I was going to die in five days, and now you’re telling me I need to get a will done.”

“Not you,” Spud said. “I thought I told you we aren’t into spy versus spy shit. Just your name is going to die. Everyone outside this group is going to think you’re dead, but trust me◦– you will be very much alive. You just won’t be Katheryn Hanko anymore.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “We conduct a very nice ceremony to go along with it, too.” He turned and looked at Edge. “How’s she going out, Edge?”

“Training exercise. Fall from a chopper while attempting a rappel to the ground. Sorry it has to be so messy, Kat. But we need your funeral to be a closed casket affair.” With a throw of his thumb over his shoulder to the others, Edge continued down the hall followed by everyone but Spud.

“There’s going to be a funeral?”

“How do you think we explain that you’re not coming back and no one will hear from you anymore?” Spud asked. “Yeah, there’s going to be a funeral. That’s part of why I asked how much you weigh, though they’ll check that during the medical as well. We’ve got to know how much weight to put in the casket.”

She stared at him.

“Kat, did you ever hear about the Special Agent who was killed in a car crash in West Virginia up in the Appalachians while chasing a suspect about ten years ago? Hit some ice and went into a ravine? Died in the crash, body burned beyond recognition?”

“Jesus. They talk about him in driving class.”

“Well, we didn’t call him Jesus, we called him Falcon. He’s living the good life somewhere. Even we don’t get to know where. You’re his replacement.”

“Agent Dunbarton is alive?”

“No, Agent Dunbarton died about ten years ago in a car crash. But the body that his name was attached to prior to the car crash is very much alive and as far as any of us knows, enjoying his retirement.” He indicated a chair at the table where Clara sat. “So, you need to let us know who gets your stuff.”

“Oh, fuck you! I’ve got to give somebody my guns?”

“Oh, we have ways of making sure your loved ones get back to you when you retire,” Spud said. “Simply bequeath them to David J. Garino, along with anything else you’re really fond of. David will pick them up, and they’ll go into storage here. Only catch is, you don’t get to use them while you’re with the unit. We can’t risk having a gun dropped at a scene get traced back to a dead person. Which brings me to the subject of your Kimber. Before you decide that’s the gun you really want as your sidearm, have a talk with our gunsmith. He can do a sweet build that will be optimized just for you and will be untraceable, given he makes them himself. One of a kind. If you don’t like his build, then your Kimber will need to have the serial numbers routed out and the spot will have to have a plug of metal welded in place. Can’t risk having a forensics lab raise the numbers, either.”

“Fuck that!”

“Then I suspect you’re going to like what Luigi will build for you.” He indicated the chair again. “Have a seat, Kat. This will probably take about an hour or so. Clara’s well-versed in wills for the soon-to-be departed. While you’re getting this done, I’ll go make sure we’ve got quarters ready for you. Clara will let me know when to gather you back up. Remember: anything you want here goes to David J. Garino. That includes anything you might want to decorate your quarters with, which you’ll find are quite spacious, so don’t be shy about that sort of stuff. Oh, and I need your handgun.”

“What the fuck do you need my 1911 for?”

“We’ve got to turn it over to the FBI, given it was issued. You see, it’ll get scraped up with the rest of your, quote, remains and go back to the Bureau. They’ll hold a nice ceremony for you, too.”

She was absolutely flabbergasted. “Do I get to go to this funeral?”

“No… way… in… hell,” he replied. “But we’ll get a video. We use it for our own little ceremony.” He held out his hand. She glared at him, unholstered her weapon, dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber, then handed it to him. “Thank you.” He smiled and ducked out the door.

“First thing you want to do,” Clara began, sliding a sheet of paper in her direction, “is write down anything you have that you want here.”

Shit. Can I even remember all the guns I have? “What if I can’t remember everything specifically?”

“It’s not a problem if it’s a collection,” Clara said. “So, for your guns, you can just say, ‘gun collection.’”

That simplifies things enormously. She wrote down “gun collection” on the sheet of paper. “Except for three of them,” she muttered. She indicated three of the guns to be set aside. Ruger Blackhawk, Stoeger coach gun, Winchester 1894 chambered for .45 Long Colt to Special Agent John A. Libbey, she wrote. He likes to go play cowboy at the range out in Edgewood, and he’s envied those guns forever, she thought. She sat back. What else? She tried to visualize her house, then wrote down the description of five pieces of artwork that hung on her walls, a set of woodcarvings that had been done by her father, and a mineral collection with the case that housed it. She was ready to slide the paper over to Clara, when she remembered something else. “And my down comforter,” she muttered, writing it down. She slid the paper across the table to Clara.

“These items go to David J. Garino,” Clara drawled out as she rapidly typed on a laptop in front of her. “Except for three of the guns, to Special Agent John A. Libbey.” Finishing typing, she announced, “Done. Now, what about the other things you own? I need to know everything except monetary items, like bank accounts, stocks, bonds, etc. We’ll handle those last.

“Let me tell you your options on your possessions. You can have them sold in an estate sale and have the money go to the R. J. Orozco Foundation, or if you like you can bequeath it to any charity you happen to like. Unless you have someone else you know who you’d like to give something.”

“I already mentioned the three guns. But what’s the R. J. Orozco Foundation?” Kat asked.

“That’s the account where we’ll be putting all of your money,” Clara said. “While you’re a part of the unit, you won’t be getting paid directly. That will be hard to do, as you won’t have your new identity until you resign or retire. So, we set up a dummy charity, which will at random times get contributions from people, quote-end-quote. That’s how you get paid. The money is invested in a secure portfolio, so by the time you either resign or retire, you’ll have a tidy nest egg to live off. Your pension will go into the foundation as well.”

“What if I want something?”

“Everything you need while serving in the unit is provided. Food, clothing, medical and dental care, and any tools of the trade. If you want something else, like, say, something for your apartment, then you order it from Mike, our quartermaster, and he’ll get it for you. The cost is then deducted from your pay.”

“Sounds good,” Kat said.

“Did Spud tell you what the pay is?”

“No. Just told me it would be more than I’m paid now.”

“Which I gather is around $140,000 a year, given you have six years’ experience as a Special Agent,” Clara said. “The pay for Field Team members is $250,000 per year, base pay.”

Kat looked at her wide-eyed. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“No, not at all.”

“And there’s practically nothing taken out of that?”

“Not even taxes,” Clara said. “It’s hard to tax someone who doesn’t exist.”

Kat shook her head. “That’s a… very nice pension plan.”

“The government doesn’t want unit members tempted. I gather you’ve been told that there are considerable risks involved in what you’re getting into?”

“Yeah, they strongly hinted that.”

“You’ve got a few days where the risk will be minimal, but after that you could die for real at any time. Training accident, mission-related event, or just plain natural causes◦– though the medical team is pretty good at determining who might fall into that last category. We did have one guy, though. Heart attack during a training exercise.”

Kat thought a moment, then said, “Sell it all. The house, too. Both my parents died of cancer, so give three quarters of the money to the M. D. Anderson Center, and if it can be earmarked for research, I’d like that. Give the remaining quarter to the National Endowment for the Arts.”

Clara looked at her and smiled. “Nice choices.” She tapped out more instructions on her laptop. “I’m going to assume you want any money, stocks, bonds, etc. to go to the Orozco Foundation?”

Kat thought a bit. “Yeah, I guess so. If that nest egg is as nice as you say it can be, I can always be a generous benefactor of some worthy charity when I retire.”

“Good thought,” Clara said, turning back to her laptop. “And just to let you know, if you were signed up as an organ donor, that will obviously be impossible to handle. The death scenes are always messy things, although fictitious. No organs in a condition to be donated. But if you want to donate your organs in the event you have an untimely death while serving in the unit, we can arrange that internally. Again, assuming you have organs in a condition to be donated and they can be harvested in time.”

Jesus, this is a gruesome topic! “Yes, I guess in the event of my untimely demise, it will be fine to use any organs capable of being used for someone who needs one.” She made a mental note to ask Spud about something when she got the opportunity.

Clara produced a document and said, “Then read this over, and sign at the bottom.”

As she read, she thought, God, I’m arranging my death. Deaths. I’m fucking twenty-nine years old, and I’m arranging my deaths◦– both of them!

Clara had turned her attention to a laser printer behind her, pulling sheets of paper from it as it printed. As she did so, she reached out and picked up a landline phone, punched out three numbers, and said, “Spud, we’re just about done here.”

Kat signed the organ donor document and observed, “Old fashioned land line? You guys don’t worry about it getting tapped?”

“The system doesn’t leave the building,” Clara said, turning with a sheaf of paper in her hand. “And it’s much more secure than cell phones. The unit doesn’t even want to risk the NSA knowing what they’re doing.” She passed the papers over to Kat. “Read this over, and if it’s to your liking, sign where indicated. If you want any revisions made, pencil them in and I’ll print up a new document.”

Kat took the document, her stomach knotting a little at the title: “Last Will and Testament of Katheryn Hanko.” It wasn’t the first time she’d had to make out a will. The Bureau insisted agents keep their wills up-to-date. But this one seemed much more imminently necessary than the one she had for the Bureau. She read it through, trying not to be distracted by the sound of footsteps entering the room. “Looks fine,” she said, signing at the bottom of the last page and passing it back across the table. Clara said, “And I will sign as a witness, and Spud, if you will do the honors as the second witness?”

Kat reflected a moment. “Wait. If you don’t have an identity until you resign or retire, how can you sign this?”

Spud put his signature at the bottom of the will and held it out for Kat to see. “Can you read that?” he asked.

She looked. It was the same swirly letters-over-letters signature she had seen him use on the plane. “Fuck no.”

“Neither can anyone else. When there needs to be a name typed down here,” pointing to a blank spot under the signature line, “they’ll give me a name that could reasonably go with this signature.”

“Is there anything you people don’t think of?” Kat asked.

Spud thought. “Not that we know of. You’re all done here, so now I’m going to escort you to your quarters so you can get yourself settled in and relax a bit. I’ll collect you when it’s time to meet the rest of our base personnel and eat.” He turned toward the door and said, “Come with me.”

While they walked, he handed her a sheet of paper. Looking at it, she saw it was a floor plan of the headquarters. “You’ve got five days to memorize this,” he said. “I suggest you actually walk around with this and make sure you know where you’re going. It’s the easiest way to memorize the unit’s building. You’re going to have a tough time if you don’t get it memorized, because in five days this goes into the incinerator.”

“You got my gun. Why didn’t you take my cell phone?” she asked.

“Because it stopped working the minute you arrived. For all intents and purposes, it’s a brick. This building is electronically sealed, with the exception of our satellite link. Like a big Faraday cage. Someone trying to find it by looking for electronic signatures is going to come up with nothing. Same for signals coming in. They don’t. It’s pretty old school. When we get an assignment, it comes in with the newspaper.” He smiled. “Ours is a special edition. Gets dropped into the mail box up in the common area of the BEQ. Voice goes through it for any coded messages that might be in there. By the way, we’re headed here,” he said, pointing to an area of the floor plan. “No time like the present for starting to learn your way around, so use the map and get us there.”

She stopped and looked over the diagram. Entrance here, legal office here, we’ve been walking this way, so that puts us right about here right now. She put her thumb at the area where she figured they were, and looked to where he’d indicated they were going. “Right, left, all the way to the end, door on the right,” she muttered. He smiled.

“So now I’ve got a question. You said Agent Dunbarton’s body was burned beyond recognition. If nobody dies, where do the bodies come from in cases like that?”

“You know how people will donate their bodies to science or medical schools? There’s even a few forensics labs◦– body farms◦– that get donated bodies for forensic anthropology studies.”

“How they can tell when a person’s corpse that’s been found actually died,” she said. “I heard of that during my academy training. Never have seen one of those body farms, though. Thankfully.”

“We get a donated body when we need one. In your case, we’re not going to need one, because you’re going to die right here at Quantico when you take your death not-so-defying fall. So, what will get shipped back to Albuquerque will simply be a weighed down casket. No cadaver necessary.”

She walked to the right. “You also told me that you don’t kill people. So, what’s the punishment if I break the rules? Say, talk to an outsider about the unit?”

“We’ve never had a unit member do that, and I don’t expect you to do it, either, but given you’re curious,” he said, “you get to go to Leavenworth and spend the rest of your life in solitary confinement. And when I say ‘solitary,’ I mean solitary. The only person you’ll ever see is the one who brings you your meals, and that person will literally slide it through a slot in the door, turn around, and leave. You don’t want to go there. People who don’t get any human contact go insane, and that’s what would happen to you.”

“That sounds like cruel and unusual punishment.”

“That sounds like a necessary evil. Any information that gets out about the unit endangers everyone in it, as well as compromises everything we do. Any contact with someone not knowing about the unit risks compromising the unit. It’s a matter of national security, so you will go to Leavenworth if you do anything that compromises the unit.”

“So, you’ve never had a rogue in the unit?”

“Nope, and I’m trusting we won’t be starting with you.”

She turned to the left. “Are there more people in the unit than the six of you I’ve met?”

“Not for the field team. The remaining people who work with the unit are support personnel. We have our medical team, legal, quartermaster, and Luigi, our gunsmith, who will probably end up being your best friend. We have a couple of couriers. You’ve probably heard the name Dave Garino already? He’s one of them. The seven of us are the only ones who actually live here in this complex. The rest go home at night, unless there’s a mission. In that case, a medical team goes with us. If someone gets hurt on a mission or at a field training location, we can’t just send them to the local hospital. So, the medical team sets up a mobile hospital at our nearest safe location, and the injured person gets evacuated there for treatment.”

“If all these people go home at night, how do you keep people from being suspicious about the activity in and out of the BEQ?”

“The BEQ above us would ordinarily house sixteen Marines. We have fourteen support personnel. We always have some of the medical team here, around the clock. So, some of the personnel come and go at odd hours. You may have noticed that Clara was dressed in cammies, and that her hair is short? That’s so she looks like a typical male Marine when she comes and goes. You’ll find out that all of the other support personnel also dress in cammies and have short hair. And yes, we’re going to cut yours, too. As far as any of the Marines in the nearby BEQs know, we’re just another bunch of Marines. Though occasionally,” he added, smoothing his hand down the shirt and pants of the business suit he was wearing earlier, “we dress up and go out. Just like the regular Marines. So far, no one’s caught on to anything unusual about us.”

She stopped at the end of the hall and turned to the door on the right. Spud took out an access card and held it to a sensor on the door. The door unlatched and swung open a crack. “For now, you’re going to need this,” he said, handing her the card. “But in the near future, the door will just open for you when you approach it.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, too,” she said.

He grinned. “Bum ticker. When you get yours, the door will open for you, as well as the hidden access above and a few other doors that, frankly, you’re not allowed through at the moment.”

“Secrets, secrets,” she said.

“You shouldn’t expect to get the explanations for everything all at once, Kat. You’ve got some hoops to jump through still. You’ve got an extensive medical evaluation, a psych evaluation, they’re even going to examine your teeth. Anything that could prohibit you from performing to the required level for inclusion in this unit and you, Katheryn Hanko, stay alive and go back to Albuquerque. That’s why you don’t die right now, but rather five days from now. We need time to find out if you’re cut out for this.”

“If I’m not cut out for it, then no one is,” she said.

“Cocky. I like that.” He smiled. “Familiarize yourself with your new digs, get a little rest, and I’ll come collect you when it’s time for dinner.”

She consulted the building map. Cafeteria, she noted, tapping her finger on its location. “Tell you what: you tell me when you want me there, and I’ll be there.”

He grinned even more. “Good enough. Be there at 1700 hours.”

He turned and walked off as she entered her quarters. Looking around, she noted that it was a good-sized apartment with living area, dining nook, kitchen, bath, and bedroom. It even had windows, which puzzled her. Thought we were underground. When she walked up to one, however, she noticed it was actually a high-definition transparency, back-lit by an LED panel. From the brightness of the panel, she surmised that somehow the light intensity was designed to mimic the actual daylight outside the BEQ above.

Walking to the dining area, she noticed a gift-wrapped basket of fruit on the table with a little card. Welcome, Special Agent Hanko. Nice. Guess they figured out I like fruit when I ordered lunch. In the kitchen, coffee pot. And not one of those stupid little one cup brewers. She opened the fridge and laughed out loud. Bagels! And everything to go on them, plus a bunch of other goodies. The toaster on the counter has a bagel setting, too. Dishes in the cabinets. Cleaning supplies under the sink. Guess Clara wasn’t lying when she said they provide everything.

She consulted the building map, making note of the laundry, library, and quartermaster store. Sitting down, she decided to study it. Cafeteria, infirmary, dental clinic, optometry, pharmacy, armory, gunsmith. Field team housing, noticing hers was one of eight, with one marked as temporary housing. She traced the path from her quarters to the cafeteria and judged from the distance she’d walked from legal to her quarters how much time it would take her to get there. Then she set an alarm on her watch and went into the bedroom. Finding her suitcase sitting on the bed, she decided to put away her clothes and toiletries, then returned and laid down on the bed. Staring unseeing at the ceiling, her mind wandered through everything she’d absorbed since leaving Albuquerque.

SHE WAS JARRED awake by the buzzing of the alarm on her watch. Fuck◦– more tired than I thought. Picking up the building map from the bedside table, she stuck the access card in her pocket and headed out the door. Left, right, left, second door on the left.

Arriving at the cafeteria, she noted her watch, minute to spare, and walked through the door.

“Pay up,” Turtle said, turning to Edge.

“Fuck.” Edge handed him a quarter. Everyone in the room laughed. Kat noted that there were more people than just the six she had already met.

“A little bet on whether you’d make it here in time on your own,” Spud explained. “Edge lost. As usual.”

Spud swept his hand around the room. “Some of these kind folks have stayed a little longer than usual so the introductions could be made. You’ll be meeting each of them a little more up close and personal over the next five days. Probably a bit more up close and personal than you’d like.” He started around the room. “Dr. Wright and Dr. Richardson are our two docs,” pointing out a man and woman, “Dr. Anderson is our psychiatrist, Dr. Keithley is our dentist, Dr. Gilman is our opthalmologist, Page, Jana, and Janet are our nurses◦– they double as dental assistants, and Janet does our haircuts as well, James is our pharmacist and also lab tech, Mike is our quartermaster, and last but not least, probably the guy you’ll see the most while serving in the unit given what you were picked for, Luigi is our master gunsmith.”

“Kat,” she said, putting her hand on her chest.

Everyone laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Kat’s gonna die,” Luigi said, “So we don’t know who the heck you are. Not yet, at any rate.” He took her in for a moment and added, “I understand you shoot, and I understand you’re very good. Nice. I like a challenge. My job is to make you a gun that can shoot better’n you.”

“We’ll see,” she said. Bet’s on.

“Hope you like chicken,” Cloud said. “I tried something a little different in honor of your arrival. Chicken cordon bleu with asparagus spears and wild rice, with a nice little peach cobbler for dessert.”

Ooooooooo went around the room as some of the personnel began drifting out. “Trying to impress the lady,” Spud remarked.

“You double as the cook?” Kat asked.

“We all take turns at cooking. Everyone except Edge, ‘cuz he can’t cook worth a shit. He can burn spaghetti.” Everyone laughed again. “We’re hoping you have decent culinary skills.”

“So, you don’t have a cook.”

“Hell no!” Cloud said. “We’re tough! We can even eat Edge’s spaghetti!” Everyone laughed uproariously, with those nearest him giving Edge a shove.

“You get the place of honor tonight,” Spud said, indicating a chair at the table as Cloud went around and set food at all the places. “Because we all know what you’re going to be going through over the next few days.”

She looked at him skeptically and sat. Looking around the table, she noticed everyone was watching her. No one was touching their food.

“Am I supposed to say grace or something?” she asked.

Everyone laughed again.

“No, we’re waiting for you to eat some first,” Turtle said.

“You won’t eat until I do?”

“Yeah. If you keel over after tasting my food, then we’re all going to skip dinner and go back home for a bowl of popcorn or something,” Cloud said, getting everyone laughing again.

She sat looking at him.

“Seriously, Kat,” Spud began. “It’s a bit of a superstition in the unit. It’s considered bad juju to eat before the new guy eats. Take a bite of something, because everyone here is starving, and frankly it smells really good. For a change,” he added, eliciting yet another laugh from the people around the table.

She picked up knife and fork and cut off a bit of the cordon bleu. They all watched her in anticipation. If they put hot chilis in it, then they all forgot I’m from Albuquerque. Putting it in her mouth, her eyes went a bit wide. She chewed and swallowed. “This is really good!”

“Hey! She likes it!” Edge exclaimed.

Everyone started to eat, share stories, and joke with each other.

Hungrier than I thought. She deliberately paced herself as she ate, knowing it would raise eyebrows if she wolfed the food down as she usually did at home. “This is really good,” she remarked.

“I still don’t see where you put it,” Spud said.

“Don’t sit still and you just burn it up,” she replied. “The Bureau isn’t big on retaining chunky monkeys.”

“If you have to eat like that now, it’s going to be fun watching you eat when you start training with us.”

She sat back, nothing but empty dishes in front of her. “Must have been good,” Cloud remarked, picking up her empty plates.

“Delicious.”

Everyone sat looking at her.

“Another superstition? Do I have to get up first?”

“No. We’re just wondering if you have any questions for us,” Turtle said.

“Well, ok. What’s this unit called?”

Everyone looked around at everyone else.

“What? I don’t get to know yet?”

“No, it’s not that,” Spud said. “It’s just that it really doesn’t have a name. We just refer to it as ‘the unit.’”

“Ok. Which one of you is in command?”

Everyone laughed.

Why is that funny?

“The unit doesn’t have a commander in the typical sense,” Edge said. “Who leads all depends on what the mission is. If it involves something with eavesdropping or computer hacking, Voice gets the honors. If it involves a bit of aerial surveillance, Crow and Cloud flip a coin. You get the idea.”

“Then why did you do all the talking during the flight?” she asked, turning to Spud.

“We literally draw names from a hat for that, believe it or not. Turtle and I got surveillance on you, and I got recruiter once we’d made you our top pick.”

“Here’s the way it works,” Turtle started. “Everyone in the unit cross-trains. The idea is that if something happens to one of us, someone else can pick up their job so the mission gets completed. You’re coming in as our firearms top dog, but if you get taken out, then I step in as your back-up guy. Whatever you turn out to be good at, besides shooting, you back up the guy who’s primary for that. So, say, you’re good with electronics, you’d back up Voice. Get the idea?”

“The whole thing centers on getting the mission done,” she observed.

“You’ve got it,” Voice confirmed. “Mission first.”

She looked around the table. Pointing, she identified each of them: “Spud, Crow, Cloud, Turtle, Voice, Edge, Dr. Wright, Jana. I take it Doc and Jana got the night shift tonight?”

“Very astute,” Dr. Wright said. “And I know it’s early, but you probably should think about getting some sleep. You report to Dr. Richardson tomorrow at 0700, and you will find over the next few days that none of us like to be kept waiting. Nothing to eat from this point until you have bloodwork done tomorrow.”

Probably all part of the evaluation. On a mission, timing is likely critical. “Not a bad idea, especially as I’m still two hours behind you. Jet lag.” She got up, made a mental note of the route back to her quarters, and headed out. Turtle, Voice, and Edge hung a left where she recalled needing to hang a right. Quarters FT1, 2, and 3. Cloud, Crow, and Spud all headed in the same direction she was. Quarters 4, 5, and 6. As she headed to her own quarters, she made note of where the other three went. Cloud across, Crow kitty-corner, Spud next door. She was determined to know the unit’s building inside and out, though she suspected she wouldn’t be getting out much, for the next few days at any rate.

5

It’s five fucking o’clock, I’m starving and can’t eat until they get the bloodwork done. And worse yet, it’s only THREE fucking o’clock in Albuquerque and my damned brain is still on Albuquerque time.

Kat finished rinsing the shampoo out of her hair and soaped up the rest of her body. They’ll probably probe every orifice, so I’d better make sure they’re all clean.

She rinsed herself off and stepped from the shower, grabbing a towel and vigorously rubbing herself dry. Going to the sink, she grabbed her hair dryer and set about brushing and drying her hair. They’re gonna cut ya, so enjoy your last few days of life on my head. She brushed her teeth, then ran a finger over them to ensure she didn’t miss any spots. Mouthwash. Fuck. I forgot to pack any. Mental note: find out if the quartermaster store has some.

She walked out into the bedroom and pawed through her clothes, trying to find some that would fit loosely in preparation for the medical exam she was about to undergo. These will do.

Checking the time, she noted that she would arrive a bit early if she left right at that moment, so she pulled the unit building diagram out and started to study it again. Dr. Richardson is in Med 2, across the hall from the cafeteria’s south entrance. Hang a left past the staircase. Or, if you’ve got time, go straight and check out the range.

She got up, grabbed the access card, and shoving it in a pocket headed out the door. Right, left, all the way down, door is on the left. Checking her watch, she noticed she had a little over three quarters of an hour to explore, and she definitely wanted to explore their firing range.

She walked along at a good clip, anxious to see what she hoped would be her most-visited area of the building. Arriving at the door, she gave it a push.

“Try your access card.”

She jumped, not realizing anyone else was present. Turning, she saw Spud behind her. “You scared the fucking shit out of me.”

“I thought you had spidie sense.”

“Not when it’s 0400 Albuquerque time and I’m not allowed to drink any coffee.” She pulled out the access card and held it up to the sensor. She made a mental note here as well, noticing all of the sensors, rather than being placed over the doorknob as was commonly seen in hotels, were approximately chest-high on the frame to the left of the door. She tapped the sensor with her access card, and was rewarded with the click! of the lock opening. Spud followed her into the range anteroom, designed to act as an airlock to keep the range’s ceiling tiles from becoming dislodged from the negative pressure produced from the range’s filtration system.

“Can I go in?”

“Please do. This is likely going to be the place you spend most of your time, as well as where you’ll be doing some training for the rest of us. So, we’d love your opinion.”

She walked through the door into the range proper and looked around. It was fairly deep for an indoor range. She estimated perhaps two hundred meters. The backstop was ballistic rubber and looked like it had been recently groomed. The sealed concrete floor didn’t have a single mark from an errant round. Neither did the walls or the baffles extending from the ceiling. Set up for tactical. And it appeared to be sound-proofed. There was no spent brass on the floor, nor any partially-burned green powder from fired cartridges just forward of the firing line.

“Do you actually ever use it?” she asked.

“There’s someone in here at various times all day, every day,” Spud said. “But, like they say in the Navy, a clean ship is a happy ship. So, we keep the range policed up. It would be a bad thing to have someone injured by rolling an ankle on a bunch of spent brass, or take a ricochet from lead in the backstop. Luigi has the task of maintaining the range as well as our weaponry, and he’s very conscientious about it.”

“It’s immaculate.”

“Thank you. We pride ourselves on every aspect of what we do, and we want every aspect to be done well.”

“I like this,” she said, noting how the booth dividers were constructed. “This design suppresses bounce back off the divider, so no hot brass hitting you in the face. The louvers just direct it to the floor.”

“Actually, to a catch bin,” he said, sliding one out of its location. “That was a suggestion from your predecessor. He designed it. We love it.”

“I gather this is designed for pistol and tactical rifle?”

“Yes, ma’am. We shoo the Marines off the outdoor sniper range when we want to go longer.”

She glanced at her watch. “Time to get over to Medical 2.”

“And how are you getting there?”

“Out the door of the range, hang a left, first right, second door on the right.”

“You’ve been studying, I see,” he said, walking with her.

“I take a lot of pride in doing things well myself.” Arriving at the medical office, she asked, “Why is it I find you shadowing me everywhere?”

“It’s my job right now, Kat. Recruiter gets to integrate the new guy into the unit.”

She took out her access card and looked at him questioningly. “Yeah, it will open it,” he said. “I’ll be back for you at 1000. The vampire in the lab will be done with you by then, and I’m guessing when the doc listens to your gut, she’s going to hear it grumbling, knowing you.”

She held the access card to the sensor and heard the door unlock. “Come in, Kat,” said Dr. Richardson. She glanced over her shoulder at Spud and stepped inside. Damn I hate medical exams, she thought, hearing the door swing shut and lock behind her.

“Don’t be alarmed by the locked door. This is going to be a very thorough exam, and we don’t want any of the gents walking in while I’m doing it,” Dr. Richardson began. “We’ll be going head to toe today, as well as doing lab work. You will need to remove all of your clothing and put this on.” She held out a hospital gown.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

I’m glad you’re a woman, then. She half considered, given she was now certain this doctor was going to see everything, meaning but everything anyway, just dropping all her clothes on the floor in front of her. But she reconsidered. Going behind the curtain is going to be the last bit of dignity I get to have for the whole damned day.

Emerging from behind the curtain in the gown, the doctor said, “Hop up,” patting on an examining table.

Oh, fuck. Stirrups. Everything but everything is right.

“We’ll start with the basics. Open your mouth, hold this under your tongue.” Kat sat with the thermometer under her tongue while the doctor continued. “Just going to put this here,” placing a pulseox sensor on her index finger, “and get your blood pressure,” applying a cuff and starting the machine that would automatically inflate it and record the reading. She pulled the thermometer from Kat’s mouth, and said, “Hal, Katheryn Hanko, temperature ninety-six-point-five. End.” To Kat, she said, “A little on the low side of normal. Your build says high metabolic rate to me, though.”

Without thinking, Kat replied, “I haven’t fucking eaten yet, for Chrissake.” Shouldn’t have cursed. And who the hell is Hal?

Dr. Richardson laughed. “You’re going to fit right in with the guys with that mouth. It’ll be fun to see who blushes first.” Then dictating, “Hal, BP ninety-six over sixty-five. End. Do you run? Swim?”

“Both. Plus, hike, bike, and do tai chi and aikido.”

“That explains your BP.” Dictating again, “Hal, Pulseox one hundred, pulse fifty-two. End. I’d say from what I’ve seen so far, you’re a pretty fit individual.”

“Thanks.” She’s recording this. That’s what the ‘Hal’ business is about.

“Step up on the scale for me.” Waiting for the reading to settle, the doctor noted, “Hal, weight one hundred seventeen. And height,” she took the measurement, “sixty-seven inches. End. Your weight’s a little low for your height. I’d like to see you have another five pounds on your frame.”

“I try. Seems like I eat all the time, but never gain weight.”

“I envy you. Sit back on the table for me. Like I said, top down, so lean your head down for me,” Dr. Richardson said. “You’d be amazed what your hair and scalp say about your health.”

Kat bent her neck so her chin touched her chest. The doctor ran her hand through her hair, then scratched her fingernails lightly on her scalp. She dictated, “Hal, hair normal, no thinning, no dandruff. End. Pretty remarkable, given you’ve been a desert dweller. I usually expect to see a little dryness and dandruff with people from dry climes.” She produced a pair of scissors and clipped a bit of hair from Kat’s head, curled it up and placed it in a bag, peeled off a label from a sheet of pre-printed ones, and labelled it.

“Drug analysis, I take it,” Kat said.

“And heavy metals. You do a lot of shooting, I’m told, and you’ve been brought in to replace our sniper. This, along with your blood work, can help us determine if you’ve got a bit too much lead in your system, as well as any potential nutrient deficiencies or exposure to other toxic metals, like arsenic or mercury. Plus, we can get an idea of what those levels looked like…” she stretched out a bit of hair from Kat’s head, “…in your case, for about the past two years. Lift your chin for me.”

Kat did as instructed and the doctor took her chin and moved her head from side to side.

“Look at me.” Again, Kat again did as instructed. It’s going to be a long fucking day.

Dictating again, the doctor noted, “Hal, Normal facial skin, no rashes, no acne, no discoloration of the sclera, no redness, eyelids symmetrical.” She reached out and turned Kat’s head to one side and looked behind her ear, then to the other side for the other ear. “No growths. End.”

Glad I washed behind my ears.

“Look straight ahead.” The doctor picked up an otoscope and shined the light in Kat’s eyes, coming in from one side and then pulling it away. “Hal, pupils brisk and equal reaction. End.” She added, “We’ll leave the fine details of your vision and hearing to Debbie. Dr. Gilman. You’ll be seeing her tomorrow afternoon. Raise your chin for me.”

Kat raised her chin and sat still while the doctor palpated her neck. “Hal, no evidence of thyroid nodules, strong carotid pulse. End.” She stood back. “When I start getting lower, things start getting a little more uncomfortable, so we’ll take a little break here and you can fill me in on your health history.”

“Uncomfortable. No shit,” Kat said, throwing decorum to the wind and pointing at a stirrup.

Dr. Richardson laughed and said, “You and every other woman on the planet. I try to tell myself all the virtues of a pelvic exam, but that doesn’t mean I like the things. For what it’s worth, though, unlike a lot of male docs out there, I at least do you the courtesy of warming the speculum.”

Take heart in the small things. Kat sighed.

“Ok. Twenty questions time,” Dr. Richardson said, opening up a laptop.

“Any medications?”

“No, unless you count a calcium supplement.”

“What dose of calcium?”

“I take a thousand milligrams right before I do a shooting session. Preventive.”

“To counteract potential lead exposure. Good idea, and happy you know about that. Any medications in the past two years that you can recall?”

“They gave me a pain killer for a sprain about nine months ago.”

“Do you remember what it was?”

“Acetaminophen with codeine.”

“Let me make a note of that,” the doctor said, making an entry on the laptop. “The codeine will show up in the hair analysis. Any allergies?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Any of the following? Just give me a ‘yo’ if the answer is yes.” Dr. Richardson then proceeded through a list that included things like diabetes, asthma, and other common ailments. To each, Kat shook her head ‘no’.

“Great. And the calcium is the only supplement you take?”

“Don’t see a reason to take anything else if you eat right. And I try to.”

“Good. You’ll probably be happy to know that I double as the nutritionist here, and I’m pretty insistent that the unit get the right kind of food. I’m pretty proud of my track record there. I don’t think I’ve had anyone in the field team whose health hasn’t improved since they’ve been here. Everything served in the cafeteria is organic whenever possible, and we try to get locally sourced things as much as possible so they’re as fresh and as nutrient-packed as can be. Just my personal peccadillo, but it seems to work, so I’m sticking with it.”

She looked over the information on her laptop. “We’ve already got the information on your family history from the medical records the Bureau sent us, so I don’t need to ask about that, nor your most recent medical exam. Smoke?”

“Can’t stand it.”

“Drink?”

“An occasional glass of wine.”

“Will you miss that?”

“Not really.”

“Good, because there’s no alcohol use in the unit. None,” the doctor said. “You’ve got to be ready to go at any moment. Even one glass of wine can dull that ability. Are you sexually active?”

“Not at the moment. But I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you need to know.”

“Ex? Lover?”

“One-time lover. Current jackass.”

Dr. Richardson laughed. “I think all ex-lovers get labelled jackasses.” She picked up a stethoscope. “Ok, here we go again. Sit up straight.” She listened to Kat’s heart. “Good. Deep breath. Again.” She continued to listen to Kat’s breath sounds from the front of her chest and the back. “Hal, apparent normal sinus rhythm, normal breath sounds. End. Drop the gown down to your waist for me.”

Kat looked at her.

“Just need to check your skin over for any growths or abnormalities,” Dr. Richardson explained. “And just a head up, I’ll be looking at the lower half as well.”

Great. I just love being buck-naked and probed. She dropped the gown to her waist.

“You know, your skin is the largest organ of the body,” Dr. Richardson said, looking her over, lifting her arms, and systematically checking over her entire upper body. “It says a lot about your general health. Yours looks great. Any surgeries? Scars?”

“You’ll find a scar on my lower right leg. Caught a nail doing a sweep of a house once. Took a few stitches. No surgeries.”

“They give you a tetanus booster for that?”

“Yeah.”

“Immunizations up-to-date?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Lie back for me.”

Here we go, she thought as the doctor reached under the gown and palpated her stomach. “A bit hungry?”

“How’d you guess?”

Dr. Richardson laughed. “From the feel of things, I can pretty much guess what I’ll hear.” She took her stethoscope and listened to Kat’s bowel sounds and laughed. “Sorry to keep you starving, but we need you fasting or the bloodwork won’t be accurate. And I’m sure you don’t want us sticking you more than necessary.”

Fuck. How many blood tests are they going to do?

“Roll over.”

Now what?

Dr. Richardson pulled up her gown. “Spread your legs.”

You’d better not!

To her relief, the doctor just looked her over, even spreading her toes. “So far, so good. I’ve not seen a single growth. Not even a hint of something benign. Roll back over, and scoot your butt down to the edge of the table.”

I don’t want to! Kat sighed and complied.

“You know the drill. Feet in the stirrups,” Dr. Richardson said, putting the stirrups into position.

I DON’T WANT TO! Oh, fuck. Just go find your happy place. Kat took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, trying to find some place to be other than the place she actually was at the moment. Feeling the pelvic exam begin, she sighed in resignation. There ain’t no fucking happy place right now.

“Ever take birth control pills?” Dr. Richardson asked as she examined her.

“I made birth control his responsibility,” she answered.

“What about your periods? Regular?”

“As clockwork.”

“Good. You can go ahead and get dressed. You might want this,” Dr. Richardson said, handing her a wipe.

“How’d you guess?”

The doctor laughed. “Been there, done that. Next you go to the lab, and after that Spud will come get you so you can get a little something to eat. Then back here. Do you know how to get to the lab?”

“Yup. Hang a right out your door, left at the end of the hall, second door on the left. Aren’t any doors on the right.”

“You’re a quick study. Every one of the field team you’ve met had to be given directions. On your way. See you in a bit.”

Kat walked down the hall to the lab. Can’t be any worse than having a speculum shoved up your twat. The door was open, so she walked in.

“How ya doin’, Kat?”

“Is it James, or do you go by Jim?”

“I prefer James. You remembered.”

“I also remember you being introduced as the pharmacist.”

“I double as the lab tech.”

“So, let me get this. Luigi is the gunsmith, and doubles as the range manager. Doc Richardson doubles as the nutritionist. You double as the lab tech. Does everyone here have double duty?”

“With a couple of exceptions. It’s a security measure. The fewer people who know about the unit, the less chance any word gets out about it. Did they tell you what happens if you talk?”

“Solitary in Leavenworth.”

“Same for us. I like my sanity, so all my talk about the unit occurs right here in this facility.” He handed her two plastic cups, one of which also sported a little plastic spoon attached to the inside of the lid. “I need a clean catch urine sample in this one,” he said handing her the cup without the spoon. “You know what I mean by a clean catch?”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Kat replied.

“Good,” he said, handing her a couple of sterile wipes to go along with it. “And in this one, if you can manage it because I know you haven’t eaten, I need a little scoop of poop.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. Everyone in Medical likes to be thorough. I’m no exception.”

She took the second cup from him. I knew I wouldn’t have any dignity left by the time this day was over.

“Toilet’s right there,” he said, pointing to a closed door to the right of what was obviously the bloodwork station.

She went in and locked the door. He says yes, but body says no. She sighed. Come on! Give him what he wants. Mind over matter. Noticing a stack of magazines on a small table in the corner, she thought maybe a distraction would help things along. Opening one up, she noted, This isn’t for helping with any kind of specimen I can give, and put it back. Her body finally deciding to cooperate, she managed to get the two required samples into their respective cups. Cleaning up and flushing, she unlocked the door and walked back out. James was waiting at the entrance to the bloodwork station.

“What do you want me to do with this shit?” she quipped. If you’ve got to lose every shred of your dignity, you might as well laugh about it.

He laughed and took the samples from her. “I’m a person who can’t say I won’t take shit from anyone. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

She looked around the room. It was crammed with analytical machinery. Huh. She went in and took a seat.

James came back in and swung a little table in front of her. “Both arms, palms up.” He felt inside her arms. Settling on her right arm and probing a bit with his finger, he said, “I think this one here is going to be best for this.”

He pulled up a rack with an array of Vacutainer tubes in it, each already neatly labelled.

“Fuck! You’re going to stick me that many times?” Kat asked, noting how many tubes were in the rack.

James looked at her and shook his head. “She messed with you, didn’t she? I wish Dr. Richardson would stop doing that. She knows I use a PIV line.” He picked up a plastic-wrapped item and showed it to her. “I’m going to stick you exactly once, and the doc knows it. This is what’s called a peripheral intravenous catheter. I get this into a nice vein, attach this,” he said, holding up another package with something in it that looked like a syringe without its plunger and with a backwards needle inside, “and just stick the tubes in to get them filled.” He smiled at her. “And the doc knows I’m pretty good at this, too, so you’ll hardly notice beyond the first little stick. Just don’t pass out on me.”

Well, that’s a relief. “You ever have anyone pass out?”

“One of the current guys. And you’ll never guess who.”

She thought and grinned. “I’m betting the big guy. Edge.”

“BINGO! The big, tough Marine-types always seem to fall the hardest. He went out so cold I couldn’t get him to come around, even with smelling salts. Just had to kneel down and draw the tubes with him lying on the floor, which in retrospect was probably easier than getting what I needed with him conscious. At least he went down before I got the line in, otherwise I’d have had a real mess to clean up.” He grinned. “Don’t let him know I told you.”

She snickered. “I understand keeping secrets is part of the job. I’ll keep yours.”

“Good deal. You can do anything you like with this arm,” he said, patting her left arm, “but I’m going to need this one.” He applied a tourniquet to her upper arm and donned gloves. Swabbing over his chosen vein, he opened the package for the catheter, leaving it inside for the moment, as well as the tube holder, and set both on the table next to her arm. Picking up the catheter, he asked, “Ready?”

“Sure.”

He probed for the vein once again, and with a deft motion, slid the needle smoothly into her arm. She watched unexcitedly while blood started to flow down the tubing and he attached the tube holder, then filled each tube. Then he grabbed a folded square of gauze and removed the needle from her arm. “Hold up your arm a bit, and keep some pressure on that for a few minutes,” he said, and disappeared into the lab.

She smiled. That was pretty painless.

“That does it for me,” James said, returning. He had a large bag in his hand. Setting it down, he put a bit of surgical tape over the gauze she was holding, then picked the bag back up. “Take this and head back to Dr. Richardson.”

She took the bag and headed out the door. Pausing in the corridor, she took a look at the contents. Oh, hell no! Sigh. If I’d had any idea….

She made her way a bit more reluctantly back to Medical 2. Going through the door, Dr. Richardson indicated she should take a seat by her desk. “So far, it’s looking pretty good, Kat.”

“Not from my perspective.” Kat lifted up the bag and plopped it on the doctor’s desk.

“Let me explain that.”

“You don’t need to explain that. I know what it’s about. But I’m twenty-nine, for Chrissake!”

“You’re twenty-nine with a family history of cancer. But it’s not exactly what you’re thinking. That isn’t for a colonoscopy.”

“Then what the hell is it for?

“A CT scan. We do a full-body low-dose CT scan on every newbie. You might have noticed I didn’t do a breast exam. That’s because the CT will give me a better picture than a breast exam will. The prep for getting a good look at the colon is the same as for a colonoscopy, though, with the exception that you don’t have to fast as long. You don’t need to be squeaky clean for the CT. Spud, who should be here any minute,” she added, looking at her watch, “is going to make sure you have a good lunch. Some doctors don’t want this level of prep, but I…”

“Like to be thorough. Joy of joys, given I’ve always heard this is the worst part of a colonoscopy.”

“I think it makes for better images. And just a little head up for you: I’ve asked Spud to check in on you while you’re prepping for the procedure. Some people have a little bit of a rough time with it. You’ll start with this at 1500. One cup every ten minutes until it’s gone. Drink plenty of clear fluids while you’re taking it. Nothing solid after lunch, and no milk.”

“Come in, Spud.” Kat heard the door unlock, but hadn’t heard a knock on the door. This one psychic? “She’s ready for lunch. Make sure she gets a good one. Her stomach’s been grumbling all morning.”

Spud gave Kat a sideways look, a lop-sided ‘I don’t want to, but can’t help it’ grin on his face. “From what I’ve seen, I think that’s a constant condition, Doc. Come on, Kat. I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

She got up and followed him out the door. “I thought we were going to eat?”

“I think you might want to drop that bag off first.”

“Oh, fuck you. While you were wooing me on the plane, you conveniently neglected to tell me that the first initiation ritual is to completely strip the candidate of any and all dignity they possess.”

“Could be worse,” he said as she opened her door with the access card. “You want to know the most dreaded sound a man can hear?” He pantomimed putting on a glove and said, “Snap!”

“Yeah, well for women it sounds like someone using a ratchet.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she said, putting the bag down inside the door and letting it close behind her as they walked to the cafeteria.

“I should let you know, by the way, Kat, that the doors automatically lock behind you. Which is just really for privacy. Any team member or support person observed entering a field team residential unit without the resident being present gets an automatic transfer to Leavenworth. This unit is built on absolute trust. Break it, and it’s adios.”

“I was gathering that. It’s the same way when you’re at the FBI Academy, only there are no locks on the doors. But how do you know if someone’s been where they don’t belong?”

He pointed up at the ceiling. She hadn’t noticed the security cameras, but there they were. “The place is full of eyes,” he said. “Everywhere but inside the residences and the medical offices.”

He indicated that she should go into the cafeteria ahead of him. “I pulled lunch duty today. Pretty convenient, actually, given as recruiter I get to make sure you make it to everywhere in Medical you need to go, and the cafeteria’s right next door. I like to make a few things so everyone gets a choice, at least until something runs out. Since you’re the one getting the medical torture treatment, you get first choice. That, and you’re here a little earlier than the others. So, what will it be? I’ve got chicken tenders with either buffalo dipping sauce or honey mustard. I’d pass on the buffalo, if I were you. It’ll bite you in the ass◦– literally◦– later. A nice minestrone soup with fresh-baked Italian bread. A pasta salad if you want something cold, and there’s always sandwich makings in there. I can even scramble up some eggs for you if you still feel like breakfast. And I’m guessing you want coffee.”

“Do I have to stick with just one thing?”

Spud laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Kat, you can have anything and everything, and as much as you want. Tonight’s a different matter. The way I’ve got you figured, you don’t even want to be near the cafeteria tonight. After this meal, it’s nothing but clear fluids, and a visit to the cafeteria would be pure torture for you.” He smiled at her. “You’re pretty much hungry all the time, aren’t you?”

“I’ve always eaten like a horse and never seem to gain weight. I figure, why mess with a good thing?”

“That is a good thing. I have to watch it, or I’m sure I’ll get paunchy.”

Maybe when you’re a lot older and grayer. He was wearing cammie pants and a t-shirt, and she couldn’t help but notice that he was buff without being bulky.

“I’ll take your advice on the dipping sauce with the tenders, a bowl of the soup, and some of the pasta salad.”

“You’re going to be able to pack that all away?”

“I haven’t had any breakfast, and I’ve got to starve again later, so yeah. I mean, don’t give me tons of the stuff, but if I’ve got to fucking starve later then I’m not going to fucking starve now.”

He shook his head. “I’ve gotta ask: where did you get that mouth?”

“My father was an aviation mechanic before he died. He spoke fluent mechanic. He had one customer with a TBM700. The thing’s made in France, and he hated working on it. He had to buy an entire set of metric tools for that plane alone. I always knew when it was in the shop ‘cuz I could hear him shout, ‘Damned fucking French airplane!’ all the way out to the parking lot.”

“Fair enough.” He got up and retrieved her food, going back for a second trip after coffee and a plate of chicken tenders for himself.

“Might want to take it easy,” he said, watching her wolf her food. “You don’t want to puke it up.”

“I’m starving, and they fucking bled me dry at the lab,” she mumbled through a mouthful of chicken tender. “This is good, by the way. All of you cook this well?”

“We do our best, especially given Doc Rich insists we have to use organic everything if it’s available. That means we have to cook from scratch a lot. That is, everyone except Edge. The guys were serious when they said he can’t cook worth shit. I used to think it was his way of getting out of cooking until one day I went over to his place. You could smell the burnt popcorn all the way down the hall. He’s the only guy I know can burn microwave popcorn by putting it on the popcorn setting of the microwave.”

“Seriously?”

“I kid you not. He can mess up peanut butter and jelly.”

“Well, that was all really good.”

He noted that all her dishes were cleaned. “Did you get enough?” He suppressed the urge to laugh, but couldn’t help grinning.

“Just right, thanks.”

“Dr. Richardson doesn’t want you back in Medical until 1300, so feel free to ask me any questions you might have, and I’ll answer all the ones I can at the moment.”

She thought for a bit. “You say Luigi makes all the guns?”

He smiled. “Figures first place you’d want to see was the range and first questions you’d want to ask would be about the guns. Yes. Luigi takes care of all our weaponry.”

“He’s got a little bit of an Italian accent. Is he an immigrant?”

“We’d have an immigrant if we were sure of his loyalties and we needed his talent, but in Luigi’s case, no. He’s from an Italian community in Connecticut. In Middletown. He says they even have a Catholic Church there where the Mass is said in Italian. His family has been in America since sometime around 1900.”

“How’d he get into gunsmithing? Do you know?”

“He worked for Colt. When they started having financial problems, we made him an offer. He was happy to join the support team.”

“I’ve got a couple of Colt black rifles. A Match Grade and an LE that I tricked out with an ACOG.”

“A Trijicon?”

“You bet. I wouldn’t have an ACOG sight made by anyone else.”

“Sounds like you invested all your spare change in firearms.”

Kat thought a bit. “Yeah, pretty much. So, back to Luigi. Is he really that good?”

Spud laughed. “Let me just put it to you this way: it won’t need to be cold in that shop to get your nipples standing at attention. If you pardon my saying so.”

“We’ll see.” But the remark already had her nipples’ attention, and she hoped it wasn’t showing. Calm down, girls.

Other members of the unit were starting to file in. “If you’re done here, it looks like we’ve got some time. Want to show me your orienteering skills?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Hey, Edge,” Spud called across the room. “I’m going to do a little familiarization with Kat here. Mind handling dish duty?”

“Why the fuck I gotta do them?”

“Because you can’t cook worth shit, so you can at least do the dishes.” Other members of the unit laughed as Edge grumbled in protest.

“You guys really razz him.”

“It’s all fun, and he knows it. You might think Edge is the unit’s comic relief, but actually, he’s our hand-to-hand combat guy. If you really pissed him off he could slit your throat in a second flat. Leave your map in your pocket and get me to the gym.”

Kat pulled up the mental picture of the unit building diagram that she’d instilled in her head. Out the west entrance, right at the corridor, past the staircase, corridor to the left, four doors, hang a left, door is at the end. She struck out, Spud keeping pace behind her. Arrived. She stood at the door.

“Use your access card.”

“You know, this is a fucking stupid place for a door sensor,” she said, tapping the card to it.

“Works perfectly for everyone with a bum ticker.”

“And what the fuck is this bum ticker shit? Everyone in this place have a heart condition or something?”

He laughed as she pushed the door open. “No one does, and you’ll find out three days from now.”

“No one has a bum ticker but everyone has a bum ticker,” she muttered. “Except me.” She looked around.

It was a well-outfitted gym, with all the typical exercise equipment. “If it wasn’t lunch time, I can guarantee you someone would be in here,” Spud said. “We need to stay in top physical condition. You can choose your routines or have Mike develop one for you.”

“I thought Mike was the quartermaster.”

“He is. He’s a personal trainer as well.”

“I guess that explains the door that goes into the quartermaster area,” she said, pointing to it.

“Good catch. Have you discovered anything you’d like from there?”

“Does he have some mouthwash?”

“Sure. Go on through and we’ll have him dig you up some.”

She surmised the door would open with the access card, which she discovered to be correct when it popped open after she tapped the sensor.

“Hey, Mike! Where you at?”

“Up here in the front. Whatja need?”

“Kat wants some mouthwash.”

Kat heard footsteps make their way around the shelves, which were all stocked with a wide variety of things, from clothing to snacks. Mike appeared around the corner of a shelving unit, a bottle of mouthwash in his hand. “Thy minty breath potion, milady,” he said, holding it out to her.

She grinned. These guys are all fun and games. “Thank you, kind squire,” she replied, taking it from him.

“Ok, now get me to the library,” Spud said.

Out the other door, go left, first right, to the end, left is the only way you can go, to the end. Once again, she struck out with Spud following her.

“Arrived.” She held up her card and gave Spud a questioning look.

“Give it a try.”

The door unlocked, and she went inside.

“We have everything from entertainment to Ops manuals in here. A lot of it is digitized. As you can guess, the digitized material is stored on the mainframes. Which are where?”

“Beyond that door,” she said, pointing.

“Go give it a try.”

She went over and tapped her access card to the sensor. Nothing happened.

She saw him tap his watch. “Unit, it’s ok. Just orienting Kat.” She looked at him questioningly.

“You’re not allowed in the mainframe bay,” he explained. “The minute you tried to enter, all the other team members got a security alert.” He tapped his watch. “They were literally scrambling to this location. Which you will do if you ever get an alert as well, unless you’re notified by another unit member to stand down. Now let’s get back to Medical 2. Dr. Richardson wants you back by 1300.”

She went back the way they’d come, stopping at the fourth door on the left.

“Your card has been programmed to open that door unless she’s got another patient in there, so go ahead in. I’ll catch up with you later at your quarters.”

She tapped the card to the sensor and entered.

Dr. Richardson glanced at her watch. “Spud got you back right on time,” she observed. “We only really have two other things to handle this afternoon, and then you’ll have a bit of time off before you have to start the prep for tomorrow’s CT and x-rays.

“I did want to go over what will be happening for the remainder of the medical and psych evaluations. Tomorrow at 0800, you report to Imaging, where your CT will be done. We’ll also do a bone densitometry on your left hand and wrist. In the afternoon, you’ll report to Dental for an exam and a cleaning if you need it, then over to Optometry and Audiology for eye and hearing exams. We’re going to be looking closely at those two, due to your marksmanship background.

“You’ll also report back here so I can remove a monitor I’ll be putting on you once I’m done running down the rest of what we’ll be doing. The next day, you go next door to Dr. Anderson for psychological testing in the morning, and the psych interview in the afternoon. Assuming everything looks good to that point, you’ll go to surgery the next day.”

“What’s the surgery for?”

“Bum ticker.”

“Ok, I keep hearing this ‘bum ticker’ business. What the hell are you talking about?”

“That will be explained right before the procedure.”

“And I can’t know now because?”

“I know your curiosity is up, Kat. But if you can’t get through all the other stuff, then we’re not going to want you to know about the bum ticker.”

Shit, I’m going to get a bum ticker just trying to figure out what the hell they’re talking about.

“If everything goes well, you’ll get your bum ticker right before you die,” Dr. Richardson concluded.

“Wha-? Oh, you’re talking about my death- inducing fall, I take it.”

“Exactly. Once you die and get your bum ticker, you’re considered a full member of the Field Team. And will get the congratulations of everyone. The guys who make up the Field Team have a little ceremony they like to do three days after your death. I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”

“So, you think I’m going to make the cut?”

“I think it’s looking very promising. I have no idea what the lab work will show, though, nor what Dr. Anderson might discover, but with other candidates I’ve been involved with evaluating, I’d say you’re a shoe-in.”

Kat resisted the urge to do a fist pump, but couldn’t resist the urge to grin from ear to ear.

“Last thing on the agenda today is getting this on you.” Dr. Richardson picked up a small device with leads attached to it. “This is a Holter monitor. You’ll be wearing it for about twenty-four hours. It will record your cardiac activity and will pick up any transient abnormal activity from your heart. We started doing this after we lost a team member to a heart attack during training.”

“I heard about that.”

“Yes, I understand Clara mentions it when she draws up people’s wills. I don’t know that we’ll never have that happen again, but better safe than sorry. The more information, the better. Pull your shirt off for me, and take off your bra.”

Kat did as asked, and Dr. Richardson proceeded to hang the device around Kat’s neck and apply the leads. “You don’t want to get this wet, so no shower, no bath. You can take a sponge bath, but be careful not to get the monitor wet. Leave your bra off◦– I don’t want the leads dislodged. Obviously, put your shirt back on. I’m glad you chose something loose, by the way. You’re all set. You can go ahead and head back to your quarters. Remember to start the bowel prep at 1500.”

Kat made her way along the route back to her quarters. As expected, Spud fell into step behind her. “Wired for sound?”

“Yup.”

“Looking forward to this evening?”

“Absolutely not.”

Spud laughed. “Welcome to the club. It could be worse, you know. You could be over forty. Then in addition to doing the CT they start doing an actual colonoscopy.”

“And you know this because?”

“I’m forty-two.”

“I had you pegged for about that,” Kat said, brushing her temples to indicate the bit of gray in his hair.

“Yeah, rub it in. Do you think it makes me look dignified?”

“Sure, what the fuck. I’ll stroke your ego.”

“Gee, thanks.” He checked his watch. “We have a little time before you need to start drinking. Want to get a little more of the facility tour done?”

“I think the only thing I haven’t seen is the laundry, and I know where it is. I think I’d just like to go to my quarters and feel miserable about everything I’ve already gone through and everything I’m about to go through.”

He laughed. “We’ve all been there, and as I’ve told you I’ve been there more than once. Beats cancer though.”

She tapped her access card on the sensor at her door and walked in. He followed her. Turning around and giving him a look, he explained, “I’m to stick with you through this, Kat. I thought Doc Rich told you.”

Oh, fuck◦– that’s right. Not enough that I’ve been poked, prodded, made to spread, and bled. Now I’ve got to have a guy I hardly know babysit me while I shit my guts out. Sigh.

She checked her watch. A thirty-minute reprieve. “Can I ask you when you first joined the unit?”

“I was a little older than you are now.”

“Is there an age limit for when a person can be chosen?”

“Nope. If you can meet the requirements and your skills are needed, then you’ll make the cut. But generally, just because of the physical conditioning required, this is a young person’s game.”

“Can I ask how many missions you’ve been involved in?”

“Sorry, Kat. What happens in the unit stays in the unit. None of us know what the unit did before we joined, and none of us will know what the unit’s doing after we leave. The only missions you’ll know about are the ones you’re personally involved with.”

She checked her watch again. Shit. Fifteen minutes.

“You look like a guy on death row trying to keep a minute past midnight from coming ‘round.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?”

He grinned and shook his head. “Kat, you know you’re going to have plenty of embarrassments doing duty in the unit. You’ll slip on the obstacle course and face plant in the mud, you’ll lose your grip and slide on your ass down a hill… a thousand things. Things we have all done before you got here, including this. You’ve got six guys all rooting for you. Just relax and roll with it.”

She looked at her watch. “I have a feeling that rolling isn’t what I’m going to be doing tonight.” She got up and retrieved the bottle of laxative. A fucking gallon, and I’ve got to drink it all. Oh, excuse me◦– four liters. MORE than a gallon. “Here goes.” She poured out a glass.

“Just chug it.”

She took his advice. With a slight grimace, she said, “That wasn’t too bad.”

“Little bit of advice. After the first few glasses, start drinking it with a sports drink chaser. I put a bunch in the fridge for you. Once the stuff kicks in, you’ll start getting dehydrated and your electrolytes will start getting whacky. Then you’re going to want to puke. You don’t want to puke. If you do, you’ve got to start all over again tomorrow.”

“Fuck that!”

“You might want to grab a magazine, too. There’s not much you can do except try to get in a little reading while you’re downing the stuff. I had Mike bring in a couple for you. How’s the latest issue of Gun Fancy sound to you?”

“Sure, what the hell.”

She sat and read while he waited for an alarm he’d set on his watch to go off. When it did, he poured a glass of the prep and said, “Ten minutes. Bottom’s up.”

She chugged it down just as she had the first glass. Wrinkling her nose at it, she asked, “When does this stuff actually start kicking in?”

“About an hour from now.”

She did some mental math. “And I’ll be drinking this stuff for two and a half hours.”

“That’s about right.”

“Shit.”

He laughed. “That’s the whole idea. If it’s any consolation, Kat, this is the worst part of the medical.”

“And so happy to be sharing it with you,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“Well, the honor of being your recruiter was simply luck of the draw, but again if it’s any consolation, you’re sitting with the only guy in the unit who’s been through this three times.”

She regarded him a moment. “You’re the oldest guy in the unit?”

“Yup. I’m the grand old man. Like I said, it’s a young man’s game.”

“So, how’d you manage to stay in?”

“I’ve got the calendar years, but I’m too stubborn to let my body get old. I love the unit. I hope I’m still here when I’m seventy.”

“Can I ask what makes most team members leave?”

“Injuries. They get a little complacent, and the next thing they know they’ve fallen and shattered a leg. Or worse. Bottom’s up.”

She chugged the stuff down. “Pretty tame so far.”

“The night ain’t over yet. You read your magazine, and I’ll keep track of when you need your next dose.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She resumed reading the article she’d started, and just continued reading after gulping each additional dose of the prep.

Seven doses into the prep, she suddenly stopped reading and stared across the room. Then hastily getting up, she said, “’Scuse me,” and headed for the bathroom.

“Poor Kat,” he murmured. “The fun begins.”

She arrived back in the living room and took her place back on the couch, looking relieved. “That wasn’t too bad.”

“Just be warned. It gets worse.”

“For real?”

“Hate to tell you. Bottom’s up.”

She was finding it harder to gulp the stuff down. “C’mon, Kat◦– you can do it.”

She finished off the dose. “I’ve never had anyone encourage me to have diarrhea before.”

“Glad you can keep a sense of humor.”

“I don’t see what else I can”◦– This time, she dashed for the bathroom. “Gaaawd,” he heard her groan.

He shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry for her. “Hang in there, kid,” he murmured.

She dragged herself back out. “How long does this go on?”

“About three or four more hours.”

“Oh, fuck that!”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’ve said. Three times.”

“Three times?”

“Yeah. They do the CTs every five years. Once you’re over forty, they do the CT and an actual colonoscopy.”

“I thought they only did colonoscopies every ten years.”

“Maybe out there,” Spud said, pointing upwards to the outside world. “Not down here.”

She made another dash for the bathroom. And stayed there.

“Kat, you ok in there?”

“Go away, Spud.”

“Kat, you’ve got to finish drinking all of this.”

“Fuck no! Go away.”

“Kat, do you want to be in this unit or not?”

“I’m not leaving here. I don’t dare.” He heard her groan again.

“Ten minutes, Kat. You’ve got to drink the next dose.”

“Spud, I am really, truly afraid to get off the shitter. No joke.”

“Then put a towel over your lap and I’ll bring it to you.”

Going over to the door, he saw it swing open a bit and she stuck her hand out.

He handed her the glass. “You aren’t going to pour that down the sink, are you?”

“I want to be in this fucking unit. I’m not going to fucking cheat. If for no other reason than I never want to see this shit again. Not the shit going in, and not the shit going out.”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. “Just keep in mind, Kat, that it could be worse. You could have a camera stuck up your ass.”

“I’m retiring from the unit when I turn thirty-nine,” she said weakly.

He continued handing a glass of the prep through the opening in the door every ten minutes, and she continued to groan and pass the glass back out. Looking at the jug of fluid, he told her, “Almost there, Kat. Maybe two or three doses more.”

“Can’t do it,” she moaned. “I’m gonna puke.”

“No, no, Kat. Don’t puke. If you do, you’ve got to go through this all over again. You’re probably getting dehydrated. Let me grab you a sports drink.”

“Fuck that shit,” he heard her say through the door. “I can’t drink another ounce of this crap. How am I supposed to drink a sports drink? Just go grab a gun and shoot me.”

He arrived back with a bottle and handed it through the door. “Seriously, Kat. Sip at it. It will make you feel better. Trust me. Remember: I’m a three-time loser.”

He heard her sigh. Then her hand reached out and grabbed the bottle. After a couple of minutes, he asked, “Feeling a little better?”

“Yeah. Little,” she replied weakly.

He held another glass of prep through the opening in the door.

“Oh, gawd, how many more?”

“One more after this one.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

After a few minutes of silence, Spud asked, “You ok in there?”

“Yeah. This stuff helps.” Her hand poked out of the opening with the empty sports drink bottle in it. “Got another?

“Sure thing.” He grabbed one and passed it in to her.

A couple minutes later, the timer on his watch went off again. He held the glass through the door. “Last one.”

“Praise the Lord.” Her hand reached out and took the glass from him. “And I’m not religious, but I’ve been praying for the last hour to hear those two little words.”

“If you’re lucky, you’ll maybe just have an hour more to contemplate the floor tiles in there. I’m going to pass you a couple more sports drinks. You want your magazine?”

“Sure.”

He passed her a couple of sports drinks and the magazine she’d been reading. “You want more sports drink, just holler.” He then went back to the living area to read as well. A little over an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom. “I think I’m done,” she said. Then she turned and retreated back into the bathroom. “My ass is a liar,” he heard her say through the door.

He got up and went to her bedroom, finding some pajamas draped across a chair by the bed. Knocking on the bathroom door, she once again opened it a crack. He passed the pajamas through. “When you’re sure you’re done, take a bath and climb into your pj’s. You’ll feel a lot better.”

“Can’t take a bath. I’ve got a Holter monitor on.”

“You can sit in the tub and sponge yourself off. Just don’t get the monitor wet.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Besides, it’s probably the lower half of me that needs the most attention now anyway.”

Spud smiled. She’s got a sense of humor. He heard the tub being run, and went back to the living area to read.

Kat walked out of the bathroom dressed in her pajamas. “You’re right◦– I feel a lot better.”

“Keep drinking the sports drink. Probably should have encouraged you to start doing that a little earlier.”

“It’s ok. The crap’s done, though I feel really wiped out.”

He guffawed and laughed out loud. “That was a really, really bad choice of words, Kat.”

“You done here?” she asked.

“Not yet. Believe it or not, the bowel prep has some potential risks to it. Like, you could have a seizure. The doc told me to hang in here until you go to sleep, just in case. If you show any signs of problems, I’m to get you to the infirmary ASAP.”

“So, you had to have the standard procedure?”

He blushed. “Yup.”

“And that’s worse?”

“Well, not really. The prep’s just as bad. But they give you the good drugs for the camera-up-the-butt procedure. The only thing that’s had me puzzled ever since having it done is the funny look the nurse who was assisting gives me every time she sees me. The drug makes you forget everything, and I figure I must have said something weird or made a pass at her or something.”

“I’m definitely retiring at thirty-nine.”

“You have ten years to convince yourself it’s not so bad. Could be worse. For me, the camera up the butt is an affair I have to go through every five years from now on.”

“Every five years?”

“They do the CT every five years until you turn forty. Then they do a CT and the colonoscopy.”

“Oh, fuck that!”

“Like I said, it’s really not so bad. Not if you want to stay in the unit, that is.”

“You figure you’ll still be here at fifty.”

“You bet.” He sat back and crossed his legs, gripping his knee with one hand.

Tense. She found herself reading his body language. He worries about that.

“You’ve made this unit your life, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I guess I have.”

“Why?”

“Because what we do is important, Kat. It’s demanding, yes. It’s dangerous, yes. But it’s also rewarding in ways you just can’t imagine right now.”

“More rewarding than being a Special Agent with the FBI?”

“Kat, being a Special Agent pales in comparison to what you’ll do here. They give us their tough cases. The ones they can’t solve. And we get the job done for them. Us. Seven guys. Or rather, if everything goes as we hope it will, six guys and one gal. No offense, because trust me: everyone here thinks the FBI is probably the best law enforcement agency in the country. But even they have cases that stump them. We’re the last ditch group for solving what appears to be unsolvable.”

The thought aroused her, and just as she had read his body language, he in return read hers. “Just thinking about it is giving you an orgasm.”

“Shut up.”

“Thought so.” He leaned toward her. “If you want this thing that bad, you are just the person we want. Don’t you forget it, and don’t let it get away. You weren’t the only person we looked at. But you are our final choice. Like I told you: You’ve got six guys rooting for you. We need your skills, and we want you on this team.”

“I’m going to be on this team.”

“Good girl. Now go to bed. You’ve got more hoops to jump through tomorrow.”

She got up and disappeared into the bedroom. He sat and continued to read until he heard her breathing change to the deep, rhythmic sounds of sleep. Then he got up and quietly slipped out the door.

6

Kat threw on her clothes and headed out the door. They’d better not take too long with this shit today. If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to die of starvation.

As expected, Spud’s door opened and he fell into step alongside her. “How did you know it was me, and not Cloud or Crow?”

“Bum ticker. That, and it’s 0750, meaning they’ve been up and out for nearly an hour.”

“Here we go with the bum ticker again.”

“Patience, Kat. I have a good feeling that you’ll find out about the bum ticker three days from now.”

“Right now, I’m not nearly so interested in the fucking bum ticker as I am in eating breakfast,” she said as they passed the cafeteria. Spud tried not to chuckle. He had heard her stomach grumble the minute the smell of food was apparent.

They rounded the corner, arriving at the door for Imaging. Approaching it, Kat pulled out her card◦– something she was getting used to. Tapping the card to the sensor, she heard, “Come on in, Kat. You can go grab breakfast, Spud.” Once again, Kat wondered how someone on the other side of a door knew who was there. Just must have been expecting us.

“Page,” she said, seeing who was in the imaging room. “I take it you double as the x-ray tech as well as a nurse?”

“And a dental assistant,” Page said. “All the nurses double as dental assistants. Jana and Janet also are dental hygienists, and Janet will be the one cutting your hair, assuming you make it that far.”

“I’m getting the impression that it’s going to be harder to remember what all of you do than remember all of your names.”

“I take it someone explained to you why we all have multiple roles?”

“Yeah.” Kat’s stomach grumbled. “Is this going to take long? Because if I don’t get to the cafeteria soon, I’m going to go cannibal on you.”

Page laughed. “Word is getting around that you’re to be hated for your ability to consume vast quantities of food without it affecting your waistline. The CT will take about a half hour, and then maybe 15 minutes for the densitometry. Now, if you’ll remove your shirt for me, I have to take the Holter monitor off you during the CT. I’ll put it back on right afterward. Dr. Wright will know what the gap in traces is about.”

“I thought I was supposed to go back to Dr. Richardson.”

“You will, but she’ll send the monitor over to Dr. Wright. He’s a bit better at cardiology than she is, at least in her opinion, so when she’s doing a medical eval on someone, she always shoots the monitor over to Dr. Wright.” Page carefully peeled the leads off and set the monitor aside. “You can put your shirt back on, if you like, or I can cover you up.”

“Just put something over me so the girls don’t get chilly,” Kat said.

Page smiled. “I call mine ‘the Boobsie Twins.’ Lie down here for me,” patting the table of the tomography machine, “and put your head up here in this rest, and I’ll go get a blanket.”

Kat laid down, feeling a bit intimidated by the CT machine’s size and having never had the procedure before.

“Before I begin, you don’t have any other removable metal on you, do you? I’m assuming your sweats are plain cloth.”

“Nope. I think you got it all when you took off the monitor.”

“How about your access card? Do you still have it in your pocket?”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.”

“Hand it to me and I’ll put it with your sweatshirt. It has a little metal chip in it which I’m sure would make Dr. Wright scratch his head, and the CT machine will wipe it clean so it would be useless to you.”

“I take it he doubles as the radiologist.”

“And the pathologist,” Page said. “I’m going to run you through the machine once, quickly, just to make sure you’re positioned correctly. Then I’m going to duck into the control booth over there. When the scan starts, you’ll hear some whirring from the machine. Don’t let it bother you. I’ll ask you to hold your breath at one point. Just take a good breath and hold it until I tell you to breathe again. When the scan is done I’ll bring the table back to this side, but just stay put until I review the images. Sometimes someone will move a hair, and then I have to redo the scan. Ready?”

“Sure thing.”

“Good. Here we go.”

The table she was lying on moved smoothly and quickly to the other side of the machine, then returned back to the side she’d laid down on.

“That’s looking good,” Page said. “I’m heading for the booth. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

Probably not as much as I enjoyed the G550. The table started its progression through the machine, accompanied by a whirring sound. Kat could see something whirling around as her head passed through the opening in the donut-shaped machine. Gotta see if I can find out a little about how this thing works. She held her breath when asked to do so. A few minutes later, the table stopped, and quickly moved back in the other direction.

“Just stay put for me while I see if the images are good,” she heard over an intercom.

A few minutes later, Page arrived back at the CT machine. “All done for CT,” she said. “The images look really good.” She replaced the Holter monitor, and while reattaching the leads, said, “Now we’ll do the densitometry, which is really just a simple x-ray of your left hand, wrist, and lower arm. Both of these things are baseline procedures. Should you have something come up at a later date, we can look back at your baselines and see what’s changed. Typical things we detect are stress injuries to bones or ligaments, so word to the wise: keep in not good, but great physical shape and pay attention to what you’re doing. The unit doesn’t like losing good team members to injuries, but unfortunately, that’s how it usually goes. You can put on your shirt, and then meet me over at the x-ray machine.

Kat slipped her sweat shirt back on and walked across to where Page was standing.

“This will be really quick,” Page said. “Basically, I’ll position your arm, duck back into the booth, and take the shot. Then I’ll check it out, and if everything looks good you can blow on out of here and get something to eat. Spud will be waiting for you in the cafeteria. Put your left arm up here for me.”

Kat put her arm up, and Page positioned it and slid a cassette under the table. “Hold still. I’ll be right back.”

Kat sat with her arm frozen in position. I don’t want to have to do any of this over. I’m starving! She heard a buzz, and then Page was back at the machine. “Sit tight a second,” Page said, removing the imaging cassette. About a minute later, Page returned. “You’re all done. Go eat.”

I’m starving. But I’ve got to go see Mike first. She made her way into the corridor, but snuck quietly past the cafeteria door on her way to the quartermaster area. Keying the door with her card, she slipped inside.

“Hey, Mike.”

“Yo,” she heard from somewhere within the quartermaster store. “That Kat?”

“Yeah. You got any 24-inch zip ties?”

She heard footsteps, then Mike showed up with a package of zip ties in his hand. “Whatcha need these for?”

“They’re useful for all kinds of things. Everything from fixing broken curtain rods to hogtying suspects.”

“Yeah, well, you gonna hogtie someone, let me know. I’d like to watch.” He handed them over.

“Better give me some laundry detergent, too.”

“Sure thing. I’ve got that right here. With all the training you guys do, the big items are detergent and clothing.” He handed her a bottle.

“Thanks, Mike. Don’t tell anyone about the zip ties.”

“Damn, I wish you’d let me watch.”

Back door, through the gym, hang a right, everything will look familiar from there. She struck out and moved quickly back to her residence. She dropped the detergent on the nearest table. Taking a couple of the zip ties from their package, she curled them into a loop small enough to fit in her pocket. I feel naked enough without my gun. I’m not going to be walking around without these. Gotta keep in mind that I really don’t know these guys that well. She put the rest of the zip ties away in the drawer of her bed stand and headed back out the door.

As she expected, Spud was right there waiting. “You needed to come back to your quarters?”

“Everyone has to piss sometimes.”

“Via quartermaster?”

How the hell did he know that? “I figured it wouldn’t be bad to actually find the laundry. I didn’t bring that much with me on the plane. And with last night’s little experience, what I brought won’t even last as long as I thought they would. I needed some detergent.”

He smiled.

He bought it.

“I’m starving.”

“You always are. The cafeteria’s pretty much empty of personnel right now, but there’s always food available. We never know quite what our schedule will be like. I’m surprised you didn’t grab something from your quarters.”

“I would have stood in the kitchen and eaten every bit of junk I could get my hands on. I get hungry, but I do try to watch exactly what I eat. Right now, I could eat a turkey. I need some serious protein.”

She took the turn through the door into the kitchen area adjacent to the cafeteria.

“I’m not sure we want you in here,” Spud chided.

“I shit my guts out last night and then they don’t let me eat until after the CT and x-ray. Give me a break.” She opened up the walk-in and looked around. “Ah. Breakfast is served. There a bowl out there?”

“How big?”

“Medium mixing.”

He passed one to her, then watched as she put cheese, ham, a tomato, bell pepper, and eggs◦– four of them◦– into the bowl.

“There an onion hiding around here someplace?”

He produced one.

“How ‘bout some bread?”

He opened a cabinet to reveal bags of bread. She selected a seven-grain bread and took out three slices.

“This is a nice working kitchen,” she said, grabbing a knife off a magnetic strip that held several of them and proceeding to dice up the ham and vegetables. “Gotta have an omelet pan here,” she mumbled, looking through the pots and pans in an overhead rack. “There you are. Come here, my little pretty.”

He watched as she made her omelet and toasted the three slices of bread.

“Fork,” she said, sliding the omelet onto a plate.

He was resisting shaking his head. “You’re going to eat us out of house and home. I wonder what’s going to happen when we ask for additional funding so we can feed a five-foot-seven-inch 117-pound team member.”

“The doc telling you all my medical results? That’s just a little violation of patient privacy rights,” she noted, her voice touched with sarcasm.

“They don’t tell us everything, but remember that your acceptance into the team requires the approval of the current team members. So, we do get some vital stats, and also some general information on the state of your health. I don’t see coffee on the table here. Do you want some?”

“No, I never drink the fucking stuff,” she said. The sarcasm wasn’t lost on him.

“You take it with cream, right?”

“When I’m desperate, I just eat the fucking grounds. Just bring me some coffee. Black is fine.”

“I do not want to cross you when you’re hungry. Or haven’t had your morning coffee.” He poured coffee into two mugs and turned around to where she was eating. He stared, wide-eyed. She was just starting on her last piece of toast. Everything else was gone.

“Are you going to bring that here, or do I have to come get it?” she asked.

He sat down, putting a mug of coffee in front of her and taking a drink of his own. “Did you chew first, or did you just inhale?”

“For Chrissake, Spud. After last night’s shit fest, my stomach’s been saying, ‘Where the fuck’s my food?’ all morning.”

“Did they let you talk like that in the Bureau?”

“Here in my head? Fine. In front of the public? Major reprimand.” She took a drink of her coffee. “But this isn’t the Bureau, and from what I gather, the unit doesn’t exactly work in public, so I figure now that what’s in my head is fair game.”

Other members of the team and support personnel were starting to arrive in the cafeteria. “Who’s got lunch detail today?”

“Turtle.”

“Do I get to eat lunch, too?”

Spud looked at her, amazement on his face. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yup. Yanking your chain. I’ll be fine until dinnertime. Then I won’t be joking.”

Other members of the team were sitting down at the same table with them. “You guys always sit together?”

“This is the Field Team’s table, and yes. We always sit together. We’re one, big, happy, seven-member family.”

“Yeah, but I’m not past the hurdles yet.”

“We’ve got high hopes,” Edge said.

Kat looked at him. “You know, Edge, you’re a bit of an enigma to me.”

“How so?”

“I know you do hand-to-hand combat, but I’m also learning that each team member has two jobs. At least two. So, I’ve been trying to figure out what you do when you’re not twisting a gun out of someone’s hands.”

Edge grinned. “You’d probably never guess. No one does.”

“Well, I think I’ve got it. A covert team like this always has one or two people who do this job. I’m guessing intelligence.”

The team members all started an appreciative nod. “See? She knows I’m not dumb.”

“Turtle, you’re another intelligence guy.”

Turtle nodded in appreciation.

“And you, Spud. You’re the last of the intelligence guys.”

“You’re good at reading people,” Spud said.

“I’m guessing there are only two guys here who don’t do anything other than their primary assigned job as well.” She pointed to Crow and Cloud.

“The lady’s good. You got it right, Kat. Cloud and I just fly the birds,” Crow said. “Though we’ve been known to do a little photography as well.”

“I’m betting you’re the sniper, too, Turtle.”

“Close, but a little off. You’re the sniper, Kat. I just back you up. I’ll be spotting for you, but you’ll be doing the shooting.”

“Newbie gets to be lead sniper?”

“Kat, I watched you sit and hit a steel Ivan on a hill 1100 yards from the firing line, consistently, with the damned thing painted camo. I couldn’t even see it with my binoculars, but I could hear you hitting it. Honey, no way I’m that good. Yeah, you’re lead sniper.”

Kat felt herself having a familiar physiological reaction that most people wouldn’t associate with marksmanship.

“Look at her,” Voice said, quietly. “She’s gettin’ wet.” The others snickered.

She felt herself turn bright red. “You guys,” she protested. But it’s true.

“Come on, Kat. Let’s get you away from these lechers.”

She looked at her watch. “I can make it on my own,” she said. “Just dental, eye, and audiology this afternoon, and they’re right down the hall. Catch up with you later, Spud.”

Once Kat had left the cafeteria, Edge said, “We’ve got to have a little talk, guys.”

“About our new recruit, I take it?” Spud asked.

“Yeah, about our new recruit. I’m still a little concerned at how she’ll react if she’s compromised.”

“Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she’ll give the rest of us up,” Voice said.

“I’m just a little concerned that just because she’s a woman, she’ll get raped and tortured. Look at her. Doc Rich says she just breaks 117 pounds. Are we sure she can hold her own?”

“You’ve got a point,” Voice said.

“We could maybe do a little test and see how she does,” Spud suggested.

“What do you have in mind?” Crow asked.

“I’ve already told her the unit operates on absolute trust. What say we break that trust?”

“By doing what?” Edge asked.

“By having one of us try to assault her.”

“You’re going to get us all thrown in Leavenworth,” Cloud said.

“Not if we run it by Doc Andy first and get his approval.”

“Who’s going to get the honors?” Turtle asked.

“Maybe Edge. He’s our biggest guy.”

“No, I think it should be me,” Spud said.

“Why you?” asked Turtle.

“You all remember how you felt about your recruiter, right? When you first come in, your recruiter is the one who’s always right there, helping you get through everything. That’s the guy who’s your best friend when you first come in, and often stays your best friend. So not only can we see how she might react to an assault, we can also see if she’ll cover it up because I’m her recruiter.”

They all sat silently.

“Everyone in agreement?” Spud asked.

They all reached out and tapped knuckles on the table.

SPUD WALKED up to Dr. Anderson’s door. He heard the lock pop, and walked inside.

“What can I do for you, Spud?” the psychiatrist asked.

“The guys on the team and I would like to do a little test of our new recruit. There’s some concern about how she might react if she’s compromised.”

“You’re afraid she’ll get raped.”

“Doc, you see her stats. Looking at her weight alone, she’s only half the weight of a couple of the guys.”

The psychiatrist strummed his fingertips against each other.

“What are you proposing?”

“That one of us try to assault her.”

“Interesting. Which one?”

“Me.”

Dr. Anderson regarded Spud for a moment. “Why you?”

“Because I’m her recruiter. I’m the one she trusts. She’ll have to deal with being assaulted as well as being betrayed. And because she trusts me, we can see if she’ll try to sweep it under the rug or if she’ll report it to someone.”

“How far do you intend to go with it?”

“Just far enough for her to think it’s real.”

The psychiatrist picked up a pencil and twiddled it in his fingers, lost in thought. “Ok. I’ll approve. When?”

“Tonight. After dinner.”

“Ok. I’ll hang in here in case she’s a bit traumatized. If she is, we can figure out how we want to handle it.”

“DID YOU GET ENOUGH, Kat?”

She scowled at Crow. “I can see you’re all jealous that I can eat and not pack on the pounds.”

Oooooooo! went around the table. “The lady strikes back,” Edge said. “And you know,” he added, “you and I are going to have to have some kind of eating contest someday.”

“Ghost peppers,” she said.

“Now that’s fighting dirty,” Voice said. “’Specially since you’d have an unfair advantage, coming from the land of Mexican food.”

She grinned. “Wait ‘til it’s my turn to cook. You know, I wanted cartel taskforce, based out of El Paso. Albuquerque has some good Mexican food, but I tell ya: Tex-Mex is the real spicy stuff, and you get that in El Paso.”

“What’d they do to you today?” Crow asked.

“CT, densitometry, audiology, eye, and dental. My teeth are now squeaky clean, no new cavities and my implant is still ok, they say I’ve got better than normal hearing along the whole range◦– thank you to the makers of my hearing protectors, my eyesight is actually 20/10 in both eyes with a smidge of astigmatism in my left eye. Which I don’t give a shit about, because that’s my nondominant eye anyway. Oh, and I got to ditch the monitor.”

“You’ve got a dental implant?” Voice asked.

“Yeah. I had a fucker hit me once during an apprehension and knock out a tooth. I threw the bastard to the ground and cuffed him before the court threw his ass in jail. Never found my tooth, so they put in an implant.”

“Your eyesight explains how you were picking off that Ivan way the fuck up on the hill,” Turtle remarked.

Can’t help it if I’m good.

“So, tomorrow has got to be the psych eval,” Turtle said. “You don’t impress me as ‘nucking futs,’ so I’m guessing come day after tomorrow we’re going to have seven in the team again.”

Everyone reached out and tapped on the table with their knuckles while Kat grinned from ear to ear.

She got up to leave. “I guess this means I don’t have too many days before I have to start cooking and doing dishes. So, I’m going to enjoy the time left while I’m free.”

Spud got up to accompany her.

“What’s on your agenda for tonight, Kat?” he asked as they walked.

“Shrinks make me nervous. I’m not trusted with a gun yet, otherwise I’d head to the range. I figured I’d go to the gym and work off a little nervous energy.”

Perfect, he thought. “Have fun. Catch up with you later.” Once she was out of sight, he tapped his watch. “It’s going down in the gym, guys.”

Sequestered in the security office, the rest of the team adjusted the main surveillance feed to cameras in the gym. “Let’s hope this goes ok,” Turtle said.

KAT JOGGED ON THE TREADMILL. Feels good to work out the kinks. She felt the prickle on her neck right before she was grabbed in a bear hug from behind.

“You know, it’s been torture for me right next door to you,” Spud breathed in her ear, his tone brutish. “I’ve thought you’re the hottest little thing ever since you boarded the plane in Albuquerque.”

Kat struggled against his hold. “Put me down, Spud.”

“Oh, I want to put you down. All the way down on your back on the floor.” He set her on her feet and ran a hand under her sweatshirt.

Suddenly, he felt her shift her weight slightly, and before he knew it, she’d thrown him over her shoulder and onto the floor, knocking the wind out of him. Before he could react, she grabbed his wrist, and jamming a thumb into the gap between some of the bones, twisted it, making him roll onto his stomach involuntarily to avoid the pain. She pinned his wrist, grabbed the other one, and ran a zip tie over his crossed wrists. Then she sat on his butt and reached down, hogtying his ankles with a second zip tie.

She stood up and walked toward his head. He felt her place a foot on his neck and press down. “Say, ‘I made a mistake,’” she hissed.

“I made a mistake,” he said, his face pressed against the floor.

“For fuck’s sake, Spud. Why did it have to be you?” she said, taking her foot off his neck.

He leaned over and got a look at her face. She looked defeated, and like she was about to cry.

She sighed heavily. “I hate this. I’ve got to report it, and the thought of having the one guy I trusted the most go spend the rest of his life in Leavenworth makes me sick to my stomach.”

“It’s ok, Kat,” she heard from behind her.

She turned to see the other five members of the team standing just inside the door of the gym.

“It wasn’t for real,” Voice said.

She looked at him incredulously.

“We were a little concerned about how you would react to an assault,” Edge said.

“So, you decide to put me through this?” she demanded.

“It was just a test,” Spud said, still hogtied on the floor. “It was approved from higher up.”

“I don’t fucking care if it was approved by God Almighty Himself!” she shouted. “You’d all better be happy I don’t have a gun, or I’d fucking shoot the balls off every one of you!” She stormed toward the door of the gym.

“You going to get me out of these?” Spud asked.

“NO!” She stormed out the door.

The guys watched her go, then turned their attention to Spud, who was still on the floor.

“I’d say she passed that one,” Crow said.

“I think I’m going to stop worrying about her getting raped,” Edge said.

“I guess we can all stop worrying about that,” Cloud said.

“Someone going to cut these zip ties?” Spud asked.

“I’d say the turkey’s all trussed up for Thanksgiving,” Crow said. Throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward the door, the rest of the team filed out of the gym.

“Guys! Guys? Oh, hell. How am I going to explain this one to Mike when he comes in tomorrow? Shit◦– and what happens if I need to take a piss? Guys!”

He heard laughter from outside the door of the gym.

“Aw, hell,” Edge said, coming back to him. He looked down and laughed, then flipped open a knife and cut the zip ties.

Spud massaged his wrists. “I guess I’d better go tell Doc Andy he can go home.” He got up and walked out the door. The other four team members were standing there, and laughed out loud. “I guess I just got an example of what ‘trust, but verify’ means,” he said. “Catch up with you guys later.”

He walked through the building, making his way to Medical 3. The door lock popped open as he approached. “Come on in, Spud.”

He walked in and sat down.

“What happened?” the psychiatrist asked.

“I got my ego bruised. Along with my back, which is what I landed on after she threw me over her shoulder before hogtying me with zip ties.”

The doctor chuckled. “And then?”

“And then she got the worst look of betrayal on her face I’ve ever seen.”

“And?”

“And she said she had to report me, and it was making her sick to think I’d spend the rest of my life in Leavenworth.”

“I take it you explained what was actually going on.”

“And that’s right about when she got really pissed off and stormed out of the gym.” Spud sighed. “She left me hogtied on the floor.”

The psychiatrist laughed out loud. “Just remember it was your idea.”

“It was all Edge’s doing. He was the one all concerned about her getting compromised and raped,” Spud protested.

“You know, there was a reason I approved this, Spud. Edge wasn’t the only one having those kinds of concerns. I could see it in all of your faces. But now that you all know she can hold her own◦– a fact I’m glad to hear, you can all start worrying about how to do a mission and not how to protect a member of the team. You can’t be distracted by thoughts like that.” He sat back, gauging Spud’s reaction. “I think I’d better go home, and I think you’d better go make amends. Don’t let her stew over this all night, or she’ll never trust any of you. And that would be the loss of a good team member.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll bet she won’t talk to me, though.”

“I’m betting she will. She wants to be part of the team, and she wants to trust all of you - especially you. Go explain things to her, and if things are still a little rough around the edges, I’ll try to smooth things out tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Spud made his way back to the residence area. Standing outside Kat’s door, he began to second-guess whether he should try to talk to her. “Don’t be a chicken shit,” he muttered to himself. Then he remembered something he had in his quarters. He went next door and retrieved a chocolate bar. Then he walked back to her door and knocked.

“Go away, Spud.”

“Come on, Kat. Talk to me.”

“I said, go away.”

“You still want to be in the unit, don’t you?”

Silence.

“Don’t you?”

Silence.

Time for the carrot. “I’ve got a gift for you. By way of apology.”

Silence.

“It’s chocolate.”

She opened the door and grabbed the chocolate bar from his hand. “Oh, fuck you, Spud!”

“Does this mean I can come in?”

“Mom always told me to beware of geeks bearing chocolate, but yeah, ok. Come on in.”

She went and sat on the couch in the living area. “Who’s big idea was this? Like I need to ask.”

“Yeah, it was mine.”

“I should have kicked you in the balls while I had you zip tied.”

He cringed. “Thanks for not doing that.”

“Do you have any idea how I felt? The guy who was supposedly helping me and encouraging me to hang in there? The guy who sat and put up with me shitting for six hours straight last night? Jeez, Spud.”

“It was only five. You didn’t start shitting until about an hour into the prep.”

She threw a pillow from the couch at him. “Dammit! Why can’t I stay mad at you?”

“Because you know I wouldn’t have done it if there wasn’t a reason for it.”

“Just let me guess who the guy was who thought I’d freak out if someone laid a hand on me. I’m guessing the big guy. Edge. ‘The little girl will get compromised. The little girl will get raped.’”

“Edge was the one who voiced it, but we were all concerned to one degree or another.”

“Did you guys not vet me? I’m the one who wanted drug cartel taskforce. Do you know what the cartels do to you if they find out you’re a fed? Let me give you an example. One of the agents got his head bashed in with a ball peen hammer. Can you say ‘permanent brain damage,’ boys and girls? And he was lucky. These guys will grab you, take you across the border, hack you to pieces while you’re still alive and leave your body parts in a heap in the street.”

“I can tell you, Kat, that no one is going to have any doubts that you can hold someone off after tonight. Much as I know you hate me for it, this was a good thing. These guys know how tough you are now.”

She sat silently while he watched her, hoping to see the ice melt.

“You know, they threatened to leave me hogtied on the floor.”

He saw a smirk form on her lips.

“I’m never going to live it down. ‘Hey, guys, remember the night Spud got thrown on his ass by someone almost half his size? And a girl, too.’”

The smirk got more intense. “Karma, baby.” She unwrapped the chocolate and took a bite.

“Can I have a square of that? I really got it for myself, you know.”

The smirk broadened into a smile. “Nope.”

She looked at him while munching the chocolate, and then made a show of licking her fingers. “Mmmmmmmm. That was good.”

“Forgiven?”

“Sure, what the fuck. You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

She went to the kitchen and poured two cups, then came back and placed both of them on the coffee table. He took it as an invitation to sit.

“Is what happened going to get to the shrink?”

“Uh, well, he approved it.”

“Fuck that!” Her eyes flashed with renewed anger. “I guess you flunk the psych eval if you cut the motherfucker’s balls off with a letter opener.”

Spud barely managed to not have coffee dribble down his chin as he grinned and swallowed the mouthful he had before lowering the cup from his mouth. “That’s my Kat.” He drained the cup and said, “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better let you get some sleep before the psych eval tomorrow. We ok?”

“Yeah, I understand why you did it. But don’t ever try any shit like that again. I really thought you were trying to rape me. Especially when you put your hand up my shirt. If I hadn’t managed to get you restrained, I would have kicked you in the balls. I would have done anything to get you subdued.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He walked to the door and stood in the door frame when it opened. “Catch up with you tomorrow, Kat. I’ve got breakfast duty, so I’ll make sure it’s a good one.”

The minute her door closed, Crow and Cloud stuck their heads out theirs. “She still pissed?” they asked simultaneously.

“Nah. But I had to sacrifice my chocolate bar. One of you guys got one?”

“Sorry,” they both answered.

“Some friends you are,” he said, and walked into his residence.

7

Kat made her way to the cafeteria. It’s about time they let me have some fucking breakfast. She swung through the door to the smell of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast.

“G’morning, Kat.” Voice was already sitting at the team’s table, as were the other members of the team, minus Spud.

“Did I get up late?”

“Nope. We got up early so we’d make sure we got something to eat before you ate it all.” The team members all laughed.

“Oh, ha, ha, and fuck you,” she said. “This is the first day I’ve gotten to eat breakfast with everyone else, so tell me how this works.”

“For you, madam,” said Spud from behind her, “and for today only, you sit and we serve you.”

The other team members all got up and went to the kitchen. Arriving back at the table, each one placed an item in front of her: a plate of eggs, bacon, and sausage, pancakes, juice, coffee, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a glass of milk. Then, standing in a line and proclaiming in unison in loud enough a voice to attract the attention of the few support personnel also eating in the cafeteria, they said, “We, the members of the Field Team of the unit, would like to sincerely apologize for the events of last evening.”

“Oh, sit the fuck down,” she said.

“I think that’s as close as we’re going to get to ‘apology accepted,’” Crow observed, garnering a laugh from the rest of the team.

“Today’s the big day,” Voice said. “If you get past Doc Andy, then you’re officially FT7.”

“Should I be worried?”

“All depends. Are you batshit crazy?” Cloud asked.

“I hope not.”

“Then you might have a problem,” Cloud said. “’Cuz we’re all batshit crazy. Goes with the turf.” The rest of the team laughed.

“It’s not a huge deal,” Spud explained. “He’s going to run you through some tests in the morning. Two are done on a computer◦– the two personality tests. The other one he administers◦– the IQ test. You’ll break for lunch, and then you just go back and he talks to you for a while.”

“Sounds simple enough. But I’ve never had a shrink sit down and talk with me before. They just did testing for the Bureau, then a chat with a team of agents.”

“It’s just like a chat with your dad,” Turtle said.

“Unless he pisses me off,” she said through a mouthful of pancakes. “Well… then I guess it’s still like a chat with my dad, because we both cussed up a storm.” The team members all laughed.

They all sat and watched her eat while finishing their own breakfasts. “What? Do I have a pimple on my nose that wasn’t there yesterday?” she asked.

“No, we’re all just fascinated by the way you can pack away food. I’m starting to think that when they look at the CT scan they’re going to see that the only organ in your body is one big stomach.”

She swallowed another forkful of pancakes and said, “You know full well I’ve got intestines, Spud. You had to babysit me while I emptied them.”

“That’s it for me,” Edge said. “I’m done eating.”

“Yeah, we all know you’re the squeamish one, Edge,” Turtle said. “You’re the one…”

“Don’t tell her about that!” Edge protested.

“Hey, she’s not the one that passed out on the floor the minute she saw the needle for her bloodwork.”

Kat laughed. “I didn’t realize that was common knowledge.”

“It was hard for it not to be,” Voice said. “He hit the floor and everyone in the building and for a five-mile radius around it said, ‘Was that an earthquake?’” The team members all laughed uproariously.

“Yeah, everyone make fun of the big guy,” Edge said. “We’ll see who laughs when they need someone to come get their ass out of a grinder.”

“Now, Edge. You know we all love you,” Cloud remarked, and made as if to give him a kiss.

“Yeah, I do,” Edge said, pushing him away. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted to smother someone in their sleep sometimes.”

Kat smiled and got up. “I’m enjoying this, but I’ve got to get to Med 3.”

“She’s got to be nervous,” Voice remarked. “She left half a strip of bacon.”

“Fuck off,” she said, and headed out to make her appointment, then turned, grabbed the bacon and popped it in her mouth, and headed back toward the door.

Arriving at the psychiatrist’s office, she heard the door pop open. I’m almost getting used to that. “Come in, Kat.”

“Dr. Anderson,” she said, coming in. “I understand the guys refer to you as ‘Doc Andy.’”

“They seem to give all of us in Medical nicknames,” he said. “Have a seat over at the table, and I’ll explain what we’ll be doing today.”

She sat. He came over and sat on the opposite side of the table. “This morning, we’re going to be doing some testing. There will be three tests in total. The first will be a test called the WAIS-IV. I’ll be administering it, as some of the tasks require manipulating objects. This is an intelligence test. Have you ever had it before?”

“No.”

“I think you’ll find it interesting. Next will be two tests that will be given by computer. The first is called the MCMI-III, and the second is called the MMPI-2. Both of these are personality tests. These three tests will take until lunch time to complete, and we’ll take a break for lunch. After lunch, I’d like to sit and chat with you a bit. I might step out for a bit during the computerized tests, just to give you an advanced notice of that, as there’s something I need to handle during that time.”

“Ok.”

“If you’re ready to begin, we can get started with the intelligence test.”

BACK IN THE CAFETERIA, the team sat drinking coffee and talking.

“You look worried, Spud,” Voice said.

“And you know why I am,” Spud replied.

“Something the rest of us should know about?” Crow asked.

“Doc Andy wants her to know about her brother.”

“Fuck,” Edge said. “She’s got a brother? That complicates things. I thought she didn’t have any close surviving relatives.”

“She had a brother,” Spud said. “He died. Doc Andy wants me to tell her. And it’s the last damned thing I want to do, because we’re pretty sure she doesn’t know.” Spud cupped his hands around his coffee mug. “I thought Doc Andy would tell her, but he thinks it will come better from me.”

“What if the news does her in?” Crow asked.

“Then we’ve got to find another sniper,” Spud said. “She showed us she was tough last night. I sure as hell hope she’s tough enough to take this news.” He got up. “I’ve got about an hour before Doc Andy wants to brief me on how we’re going to go about it. I’m going to go off to the library and take in a few cartoons.” He walked off.

“He’s really worried if he’s got to watch cartoons,” Turtle said.

“HOW’D IT GO?” Crow asked as Kat sat down with a burger to eat lunch.

“Seemed ok. The intelligence test was interesting. Get to build puzzles and play with little blocks,” she said, twiddling her fingers in the air. “The personality tests? You never know what they consider normal or abnormal for those. I did the same thing I did for the Bureau test. Just answered it the way I would answer it, and hope my answers don’t show I’m some kind of psychopath.”

“They might, the way you took Spud down and hogtied him last night,” Voice said.

She laughed. “Did you tell them about that, Spud?”

He pointed to the ceiling where a security camera was mounted. “A fly on the wall did.”

“Yeah, we all sat in Security and watched while Spud got beat by a girl,” Edge said, getting the team laughing.

“And,” began Voice, pulling a flash drive from his pocket, “it’s all on video.”

Kat grinned hugely. “You’ve got to promise me that if I make it in, I get a copy of that video.”

“Deal,” Voice said.

Kat polished off her burger. Sitting back, she looked around the table. Everyone seemed to have a somber expression on their faces. “What? No one going to comment on the fact that I don’t waste food?”

She watched as the team members looked around at each other. “Everyone’s dog just die?” she asked, starting to feel worried that they might have gotten word that she was out.

“We’re all just a little tired, Kat,” Spud said. “Doc Andy wants you back at 1300, and it’s just about that now. Let me walk you back over.”

“It’s practically just across the hall, Spud. I think I can find it.”

“I’m going to head to the library, so I’ll walk with you and drop you off.”

Dr. Anderson opened the door as they arrived. “Come in, Kat. And Spud, if you would come in as well.” He closed the door, and she heard the lock engage.

“I didn’t make it,” she said.

“No, Kat◦– that decision hasn’t been made yet,” Dr. Anderson said.

“Then why is Spud here? It’s not enough I had to shit my guts out in front of him, now I’ve got to spill them in front of him, too?” Fuck. Shouldn’t have cursed. Great way to get it off to a good start, Hanko.

“There are a few questions I’d like to ask you right from the start for which I’d like Spud present,” Doc Andy said. “Have a seat, Kat,” he added, indicating a comfortable couch. He sat as well. Spud stayed standing, looking like he really didn’t want to be there.

Kat sat apprehensively, wondering what this was all about.

“First, Kat, let me ask you about your family. What did your father do?”

“He was an aviation mechanic.”

Doc Andy poured her a glass of water. Placing it in front of her, he asked, “And can you tell me what happened to him?”

“He died. Cancer. Glioblastoma. He had a tumor the size of a baseball in his head when it was discovered.”

“Were you close to your father?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“And how did his death affect you?”

“My father suffered horribly before he died. He lost the ability to walk. Then he lost the ability to speak. He was in terrible pain. I loved my dad, but I hated what the cancer did to him. They put him on a demand morphine system. When it stopped being effective and he was still in pain, they removed the overdose restriction at his request. I didn’t object.”

“Do you feel guilty about that?”

“No. He got to choose when he’d go. I loved him. He always lived life on his own terms. He also got to die on his own terms.”

“And what about your mother?”

“Same thing. Cancer. Breast cancer. She died before he did. She fought it tooth and nail, but in the end, it won.”

“Do you worry that you might get breast cancer as well?”

“I had the DNA testing done. They say I don’t have either of the two genes that show up in people who develop breast cancer, so though they don’t guarantee I won’t develop cancer, they say the chances aren’t high.”

“So, you don’t worry about that.”

“Not especially. I do a self-exam every so often. And I understand the CT scan they did here will likely reveal any cancer if it’s there.”

“And what about your brother?”

“I don’t know what happened to my brother,” she said. “He left home before I finished high school and I haven’t seen him but once or twice ever since.”

“And was there a reason he left home?”

“Yeah. My dad threw him out,” she said with a touch of annoyance.

Hearing the tone in her voice, Spud glanced at Doc Andy, who simply went on.

“And why did your father throw him out?”

“Because he was a junkie,” she said, now more angry than annoyed. “He was into everything. Meth, crack, smack… he even dropped acid. He let drugs totally fuck up his life, so my dad decided his drugs weren’t going to fuck up our lives as well. For all I know, he’s dead.”

“Spud?” Doc Andy looked up to where Spud still stood, his head hung. “Would you tell her what happened to her brother, please?”

“Kat, I really didn’t want to be the one to tell you this,” Spud began.

“He is dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Kat.”

He saw her lip quiver. “How?”

“Drug deal gone bad. He was stabbed. In LA. He had no ID on him, so he’d been recorded as a John Doe. It took Voice and Clara a while to figure out where he went and confirm his identity. He was exhumed, and a DNA test confirmed that the body is that of your brother.”

She sighed, her shoulders shuddering. Then she stood up, grabbed the glass of water, and flung it against the door, smashing it.

“Damned fucking drugs! DAMNED FUCKING DRUGS!” Tears streamed down her face. “You know? This is why I wanted cartel taskforce,” she said, angrily. “This is why I wanted FBI. To get rid of all the scum out there that make people’s lives miserable. To lock them all away where they can’t hurt anyone anymore. Dan chose to take the fucking things, but if they hadn’t been there maybe his life would have been a different story. Maybe without the fucking damned shit in his system, he wouldn’t have fallen into such a deep hole that he couldn’t get out.” She paced back and forth in the room, eyes looking to the floor. Then she walked up to Spud, looked him in the eye, and said, “This is why I want in. The country doesn’t need a bunch of self-serving scumbags, and neither does the world.”

“Damn, Kat, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. I really didn’t,” Spud said, choking on the words. He reached out and gathered her into his arms while she sobbed. Looking over at Dr. Anderson, he said, “Fuck you.”

“Kat,” the doctor began, “if you would like to just sit for a moment and recompose yourself, I have just two more topics I’d like to discuss with you. Spud, thank you. If you don’t mind, these last topics I’d like to discuss with Kat privately.”

Spud took his arms from around Kat, glared at the doctor, and walked out of the office.

Dr. Anderson indicated that Kat should sit back down. He reached over and placed a box of tissues in her lap. She grabbed a couple, wiped her face, and blew her nose. “I guess this means I pack my shit and head back to Albuquerque.”

“No, Kat, it doesn’t,” Doc Andy said. “What I just observed is what I consider a normal reaction to some rather devastating news. I would have been more concerned if you hadn’t reacted as you did. What impressed me was that you didn’t say you wanted to run out and kill all the drug dealers, but rather that you wanted to see them all locked up. What you just showed me is that you value justice over vengeance. Justice is what the unit is all about. But I do have two other things I’d like to discuss.”

Kat grabbed another tissue, wiped her nose, and said, “What the fuck do you want?”

“Well, first I’ll observe that you have the mouth of a longshoreman,” Doc Andy said, calmly. “But I did want to ask you about last night.”

“Yeah, I understand you were behind that little event, too.”

“I approved it, but it was Spud’s plan. I’d like to know what you think about it.”

She wiped her nose again and said, “At first, I thought it was real. I just defended myself. Then when I found out it was a ruse, I was royally pissed. But I understand now why they did it. And I hope they can see now that I won’t be a weak link in the team.”

He smiled. “Undoubtedly, you won’t be. And that brings us to our last topic. You understand that the unit is built upon absolute trust in all of the team members and support personnel?”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that.”

“Do you understand what effect fraternization would have on the cohesiveness of the unit?”

She hadn’t thought about it, but she was thinking about it now. “It would… create real problems.”

“That is likely an understatement. So, the unit has a rule: no fraternization. Absolutely none. Not even a kiss. This is going to be very difficult for you and the other team members. We know this, because there have been women in the team previously.

“The penalty for breaking this rule is automatic removal from the team, with confinement in Leavenworth. Do you understand this?”

“Yes.”

“If one of the men touches you, he is out. If you initiate the contact, you are out. Failure to report advances will result in both being removed from the unit. We will find out. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“You are a normal, healthy, young woman, Kat. I am dead certain there will be a time when following this rule will be exceedingly difficult for you. If you find that your own… self-gratification… isn’t sufficient, all you need to do is come to me and ask for a prescription.”

“What? You going to have me put saltpeter in my food?”

He smiled. “Not exactly.” He slid open a drawer of his desk, and motioned for her to take a look.

It was full of sex toys and lubricant jelly.

She stared, not quite knowing whether to believe what she was seeing. Then she looked at him coolly and said, “I think I can tough it out.”

“That’s what every person who has ever been in the team has told me since I accepted being the unit’s psychiatrist. And yet, I have to keep restocking this drawer.”

She had turned bright red. “Are we done?”

He slid the drawer closed. “Yes, Kat, I believe we are.”

THE THREE DOCTORS and Spud gathered in Dr. Anderson’s office.

“As you know,” Dr. Anderson began, “Katheryn Hanko has completed her physical and psychological assessments. Spud is here as her recruiter to represent the team as we make this decision. I’ll just go around the room. Dr. Wright?”

“Her Holter monitor showed no cardiac abnormalities. Her CT also showed no abnormalities. Her densitometry indicates that she actually has very good bone density compared to what you normally see these days, especially in women.”

“Very good. Dr. Richardson?”

“Her laboratory work all came back normal, with the exception of a slight bit of serum lead, which is to be expected, given her favorite pastime. She’s currently at five micrograms per deciliter, and as long as we can keep her under ten, she should be fine. She already knows to take a calcium supplement as a preventive measure, so I’ll make sure James provides her some. She’s in great shape physically from my assessment. She’s a tad underweight, but from the reports I’m hearing about the way she eats, I think once she starts the physical conditioning with the unit members, she’ll put on some weight in the form of a bit of extra muscle.”

Everyone in the room laughed a bit. Kat’s reputation for eating was becoming well-known.

“Spud?”

“The team wants her. ‘Nuf said.”

“And my take. I’ve looked at the results of her tests, and the MMPI and MCMI both reveal no psychological pathology. The Wexler puts her right about where the other team members are at an IQ of one hundred and thirty. Not a super-genius, but a bit higher than the average. Intellectually, she fits right in with the group. And she’s got a mouth, as you all have also probably heard if you haven’t experienced it first-hand, so we only have to hope she doesn’t make the men blush too often.”

The others in the room laughed again, with Spud muttering, “Understatement of the year.”

“As you may know, the men of the unit put her through a little test of her fortitude last night. She reacted appropriately, including when she found out the assault was a ruse to gauge her reactions. The good news here is, she’s talking to Spud again.”

Spud added, “The bad news is, Spud has a big bruise on his back where she tossed him on the floor.”

Everyone laughed once more.

“You may also know that she learned of her brother’s death today. She reacted normally to that as well, showing an appropriate degree of grief, and appropriate anger over the cause of his death. She did not express a desire for revenge. Instead, she claimed to want to, quote, lock all the scumbags up. It’s my opinion, based on my psychological assessment, that she is fit to serve in the unit. Everyone?”

They all reached over and tapped with their knuckles on his desk.

“It’s unanimous. Spud, would you please bring her in?”

Spud walked out of the office to find Kat pacing the corridor. “Kat? You want to come in?”

She looked at him anxiously, his expression revealing nothing to her, then strode over to the office.

“Kat,” Dr. Richardson said, “I hate to do this to you again, but nothing other than clear fluids for the rest of today and nothing at all after 2000. We need to get your bum ticker taken care of.”

“I’m in?”

“You’re in,” Dr. Richardson confirmed.

She turned to Spud. “I’m in?”

“Yes, Kat. You made it.”

“I’m in!” Her little voices said, You’re a Special Agent. Show some restraint. Oh, bullshit! She started to jump and whirl around the room. “I’m in! I’m in!” She went up to Spud and kissed him, then went down the line of doctors and kissed each of them as well. Reaching Dr. Anderson, he admonished her, “No fraternization.” “Oh, fuck you!” she said, and kissed him the longest.

She looked back at Spud. “I’m really in?”

“Pinch yourself, Kat. You’re really in.”

She did exactly that. “Ow! Wake up, wake up! Yeah, I’m awake!”

She looked back at Spud. “Get,” he said.

She ran out the door, shouting down the corridor. “I’m in! I’m in!”

“She’s going to get lots of sleep tonight,” Spud remarked, and everyone laughed once again.

8

“Ok, Kat. You know the drill.” Dr. Richardson held out a hospital gown to her. “Everything off.”

“Shit, you’ve seen it all before,” Kat said, stripping her clothes off where she stood in the infirmary. “Plus some.” She put on the gown.

“Sit up here on the bed for me. I’d like to check your vital signs.” Doc Rich listened to her heart and lungs, took her temperature and pulse, then her blood pressure. “Your BP is up a bit, and so is your pulse. Feeling anxious?”

“I’ve never had surgery before. The closest I came was when they did the dental implant.”

“We’re going to put you under, so you really don’t have to worry about anything. You’ll be unaware of everything that’s happening.” She noticed that, rather than reducing Kat’s indications of anxiety, they seemed to increase.

“Do I have to be put under?”

“The whole procedure will take three to four hours, Kat. You’d rather be awake for that?”

“You know, it impresses me that ‘being put to sleep’ is what they do to your pet when it’s time for them to die. The idea of going to sleep and perhaps not waking up… kind-of bothers me.”

“Ok. If it’s making you that anxious, we can do the surgery under local anesthesia.” She noticed Kat visibly relax. “Just stay sitting up for a bit. I’m just waiting for Voice to bring us the bum ticker.”

Just as she said that, Voice walked into the room. “G’morning, Kat.”

“Is it ready?” Doc Rich asked.

“All programmed for her and ready to go,” Voice said, handing over a device sealed in a plastic package. He then headed out the door.

“Ok, Kat◦– here’s the thing that’s had you so curious.” She showed Kat the device.

“It’s a pacemaker,” Kat said. “I thought I didn’t have any problems with my heart.”

“And you don’t. Plus, this isn’t a pacemaker, but I’m glad you thought it was. It fools even doctors who see it in x-rays, which is the whole idea. The bum ticker is actually called a bum ticker because it mimics a pacemaker, making anyone outside the unit who sees it, say in an x-ray, think you have a bad heart◦– a bum ticker. But this is actually a communications device. It can relay your position, biometrics, information, and even voice communications. It works in conjunction with these things.”

Doc Rich extracted a tiny device from one ear. “This is a communications link for voice communications. As a receiver, it will act like the earpiece on a set of Bluetooth headphones. As a transmitter, it contains a very sensitive microphone that can actually pick up your voice as vibrations produced by your vocal apparatus◦– voice box◦– that travel through your body as you speak. It’s so sensitive it can pick up a whisper. We put it in your ear so it doesn’t pick up your heartbeat too strongly, although when the communication is sent to the mainframes for routing to the person on the other end, the mainframes can filter out heart sounds and even the sound of your pulse. You control what you see and hear through this.” She tapped on her watch and held it for Kat to see. “Right now, the watch face is displaying the locations of all of the team members. Where you see ‘6,’ for instance, is where Spud is right now. If a map of your location is available, it shows on the map, as you see here. Spud is currently in the library. If there’s no map available, then it will show distance and bearing to each person you want displayed, with the center of the watch face being your position. The number corresponds to your residence unit number. Once your bum ticker is activated, you’ll show up on the display as ‘7’, given your residence is FT7. That is, for everyone’s display but your own. You can usually guess where you are.” She grinned at Kat. “If you can’t, we need to go back and have a chat with Dr. Anderson.”

“So, this is how everyone knows who’s outside the door.”

“Precisely. But not the only way.” She fingered a wire attached to the device that could be seen through the plastic wrapping the device was in. “If this were a pacemaker, this would be the lead that shocks the heart back into normal rhythm. But this is actually an antenna. The bum ticker also communicates via a satellite link. If we need to transmit information to you while you’re in the field, we can do that. We can send text communications, maps◦– whatever info you need and our mainframe computers possess. Plus, we can monitor biometrics on you from here and track your position. If you get snatched, we can tell where you’re being hidden so we can extract you. Because we make the bum ticker look like an actual pacemaker, we place the antenna so it looks like an actual cardiac lead. I can do it, but Dr. Wright is the real expert, and as you’ve probably guessed we always let the person with the most talent do the job. I’ll be assisting, and one of the nurses will be handling the anesthesia once the surgery begins.” She consulted her watch. “He’s on his way.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Yes, but there’s a learning curve. The bum ticker can do a lot more than what I’m telling you now. And it takes a while to get used to working with it. Which is ok, because you’ll need four to six weeks of recovery time before you can do all of the physical training you’ll need to do with the unit.”

Kat threw her head back in disappointment. “Aw, you’re kidding. You mean I have to sit around for a month?”

Doc Rich laughed. “Not exactly, Kat. You’ll be very busy during that four to six weeks with knowledge acquisition◦– classroom, if you will, learning how to use the bum ticker, getting fitted for duty clothing, learning SOPs◦– standard operating procedures of the unit, etc. Plus, Mike and I will be formulating a physical training regimen for you to keep you as fit as we can until you can resume full activities. You’ll be back and forth to Medical as well so we can assess how well you’re healing and increase your activity level accordingly.”

Dr. Wright walked in, dressed in scrubs. “How you doing this morning, Kat? I understand you’re a little anxious.”

Kat looked questioningly at Doc Rich.

“That’s right◦– he’s been listening in,” she said.

“Do I even need to answer, then?” Kat replied.

“If it helps ease your mind, I’ve done dozens of these surgeries successfully.”

“Yeah, but how many have you fucked up?”

He laughed. “I’ve never had a patient with a complication. I don’t expect you to be the first. Right now, I’m going to give you a little more detail about the surgery you’re about to have.

“Ordinarily, for a man the bum ticker goes here.” He pulled the neck of his scrubs aside to reveal a small, horizontal scar on his upper left chest. Below it, the outline of the device could be seen under his skin.

“For women, we do a little different procedure. You gals have an advantage over us when it comes to hiding the bum ticker. It’s a standard procedure being used for regular pacemaker implantation, though, so it doesn’t raise any eyebrows. Lois, if you could let her see your implant?”

Doc Rich pulled up her scrub top.

“For women, the bum ticker is placed under your left breast.” Doc Rich pulled her bra up a bit to reveal a scar. “We make the incision just above the crease in your skin under your breast. That keeps your bra from irritating the scar. There is also another incision here,” he pulled Doc Rich’s top aside and revealed a small incision within a fold of skin near her armpit, “so we can pass the antenna down through a vein. It’s just like getting a real pacemaker. Thanks, Lois.”

“So, everyone in the unit, including support personnel, has a bum ticker?”

“It’s a regular cardiac rehab outfit,” Dr. Wright said, smiling. “You’re about to join the club. Your advantage, as you can see from Dr. Richardson’s implant, is that there’s no visible lump and the scars are well-hidden. Unlike us guys, you can still wear a swimsuit and no one will know you have an implant.”

He patted her shoulder. “Just lie back now. We’re going to get a line in, and then we’re going to give you a little something to help you relax. Then we’ll take you over to the surgical suite.”

As she laid back, she saw James walk in. “Good morning, Kat. I’m here to put your IV in.”

“They don’t have one of the docs or nurses do that?”

“I’m better at getting into veins than they are,” James said, “as you know.”

“He’s right,” Dr. Wright said over his shoulder as he prepared something at a counter in the room.

“Back of your hand this time,” James said. She laid her hand palm down. He rubbed the back of her hand. “Nice. You have a good vein here.” He applied a tourniquet and, just as deftly as he had done when doing her blood work, inserted a catheter and attached an IV to it. After taping a loop of the line in place, he announced, “My work is done. Relax, Kat.” He tapped over his upper left chest. “It’s a piece of cake.”

She had a sudden realization. “That’s why the sensors are shoulder high and to the left of the door. The bum ticker opens the doors.”

“Very good, Kat,” Dr. Wright said, coming over with a syringe of something in his hand. “But it’s always a little disappointing when a new recruit figures out it’s not really magic.” He injected the medication through a port in the IV line.

“What was that?” Kat asked anxiously.

“A sedative called midazolam,” Dr. Wright replied. “It won’t put you to sleep, but it will get you nice and relaxed. We’re just going to give that a little chance to kick in, and then we’ll be going next door.” He turned to Doc Rich and raised an eyebrow. Walking over to her, Doc Rich quietly told him, “She’s really nervous about being put under. You heard her.”

“We’re not doing this under local,” he whispered.

“Of course not, Mark,” she quietly replied, showing him the medication she had prepared for the actual anesthesia. “But she doesn’t need to know that.”

He came back over to Kat. “Feeling a little more relaxed?”

“Yeah. Is this why I keep hearing people who’ve had surgery talk about the good drugs?”

“That’s right. Now scoot your butt onto this gurney for me.”

She hadn’t even noticed that a gurney had been brought next to the bed she was in. They gave her a hand and got her settled on the gurney, then wheeled her into the operating room.

“Ok, Kat, now we’re going to get you up on the table and attach some monitors to you so we can see how you’re doing during the surgery. Move on over here for me.”

Once again, they helped her, getting her off the gurney and onto the operating table. Her little voices started to argue. You should be scared. Why? This buzz isn’t bad at all. Because they’re going to cut you, that’s why. Who gives a damn? She was only semi-aware of her IV being hung, a blood pressure cuff being put on her arm, a pulseox clipped to her finger….

Doc Rich looked down at her. “Doing ok, Kat?”

“Suuure.”

“Good girl.” Doc Rich reached over and injected another drug through the IV port.

“What was that?” Kat asked, no sign of anxiety in her voice.

“Just another little something to help you relax, Kat.” She smiled at her. “Feeling sleepy?”

Another stroke of realization hit Kat. “You fuckers lied to me,” she slurred, drowsily.

“Yes, we did. Nighty night, Kat.”

It was the last thing she heard.

KAT ALERTED to the sound of something beeping. Groggily, she tried to get her eyes to focus. “What the fuck is that friggin’ beeping?” she slurred out.

A familiar voice said, “The cardiac monitor, Kat.”

“Spud?”

“’Tis I,” he replied. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll tell you just as soon as I can shake out the damned cobwebs. What time is it?”

“A little after 1600.”

“I thought this surgery was only supposed to take three or four hours.”

He laughed. “Kat, you were so high last night that I don’t think you even slept. You danced around your quarters all night long. They gave you a little something extra to keep you asleep so you could make up for lost time.”

“Explains why I feel so fucking groggy. And if you know I was up all night, that means you were up, too.”

“While you were napping on the operating table, I was napping in my quarters.”

She tried to raise herself up on her elbows.

“Don’t do that, Kat. Supporting yourself on your arms can mess up the surgery.”

“I want to sit up.”

He handed her a controller. “Top button sits you up, bottom lays you down.”

She raised the bed up so she was semi-sitting. “I’ve got to piss.”

“Actually, you don’t Kat. They put a catheter into your bladder. That’s what you’re feeling.”

She noticed there was still an IV hung next to her. “What’s in that?”

He took a look. “It says it’s 0.9% sodium chloride.”

“Which tells me fucking nothing. Why are they giving me this shit?”

“It keeps you hydrated, Kat. Basically, it’s just weak salt water.” She looked toward the voice to see Janet, one of the nurses, entering the room. “Spud, you need to explain to this very difficult patient that she needs to relax.”

“Kat, you need to relax.” He knew what kind of response he’d get.

“Fuck you both.”

“Sounds like at least your mouth is well on the way to recovery,” Janet said. “Here’s the deal, Madam I’ve-Got-to-Get-Out-of-Here-So-I-Can-Go-Shoot-Things. You do exactly as the doctor ordered, and you’ll heal as quickly as your body lets you. You decide you can overdo it, and the best-case scenario is it takes longer for you to heal. The worst-case scenario is you rip out some of your stitches and you have to go back to surgery. Are you awake enough at the moment to appreciate what I’ve just told you?”

“I don’t know why you’re being so pissy,” Kat replied. “I just woke up, for heaven’s sake.”

Spud grinned. “Actually, you’ve been half out of it for the past half hour and being a royal pain in the ass, which is why I’m here. They thought maybe I could help. They were wrong.”

“I was ready to call Doc Rich and ask her to prescribe duct tape,” Janet said. “Now here’s another deal: start drinking some fluids for me from this cup,” she indicated a plastic cup with a straw poking out of its lid, “and we can see if Doc Rich will let me take out the IV.”

“Deal.” Kat reached for the cup.

“Sip, don’t gulp, Kat,” Spud advised. “You’ll make yourself sick if you gulp.”

“And you’re an expert because?”

“I’ve had this surgery three times.”

“Oh, fuck that! Do these things fail that often?”

“They hardly ever fail. But when there’s a hardware upgrade, they replace them.”

“And what do they do if the unit gets a fucking mission while everyone’s on their ass for a month?”

“They stagger the surgeries so we’re never more than one man down.”

“You people sure put up with lots of shit to be in this unit.”

“’You people’ now includes you. And you’ll put up with it. And you know why? Because you’re going to love doing duty in this unit as much as I have, and still do.”

“Ok,” she said with a resigned tone. “So, I just kick back for a while.”

“Not exactly, Kat. There’s really no time for you to kick back. Once you’re physically able, even if not all the way up to speed, if we get a mission you have to go.” He turned and grabbed a tablet from the bedside table. “This is your tablet. You can access anything on the mainframe that you’re allowed to access. That’s true for both now and the future, for as long as you’re in the unit. I’ve pulled up a reading list for you of our SOPs and other information concerning how the unit operates. The other field team members and I will all be training you during your recovery from the surgery. There is a lot of information. It’s going to be like drinking a month’s worth of water all at once from a fire hose. I’m letting you have it now just so you have something to occupy your time for the rest of today and tomorrow, but right now your system is still loaded with the drugs they gave you during surgery, as well as a painkiller. So, like this old man’s telling you, you’re not going to remember half of it, and you’ll have to read it over. Which is ok.”

She took the tablet from him. “Got ‘Angry Birds’ on this?”

KAT RESTED in her bed in the infirmary, at the moment doing nothing. She’d been reading all morning, trying to absorb all of the information her access to the unit’s documents had to offer. Spud was right◦– it’s a drink from a fire hose.

She looked up as Voice came through the door. “How are you doing, Whatsername?”

She looked at him quizzically.

“You made the news.”

“How can I make the news if my ass is stuck in this bed?”

He grabbed her tablet from the bedside table and brought up a video.

“See for yourself.”

She started the video playing. The news anchor said, “An FBI agent was killed this morning in a training accident at Quantico. An FBI spokesperson reports that Special Agent Katheryn Hanko fell when the helicopter she was in experienced a mechanical problem and unexpectedly pitched. Agent Hanko was preparing for a rappel and had not yet attached to the rappel line when the accident occurred. Hanko was on temporary assignment from the FBI’s Albuquerque field office.”

“This feels so fucking weird,” she said.

“Hey there, Whatsername.” This time it was Spud coming into her room. “I see Voice let you know that Kat died today.”

She stared at him. “Kind-a fucking strange watching that.”

“I bet it is. But I’ve got some good news for you: Doc Rich says you can return to your quarters today. I’m to wait while you get dressed and then walk you back home.”

“Hot damn,” she said. “This place gives me the creeps.” He handed her clothes to her and she went to change in the restroom. Coming back out, she declared, “I feel human again.”

“Pretty good for someone who’s in the tomb. We’re supposed to stop by the pharmacy. Doc Rich wants you to have a prescription for a painkiller while the wound is still healing, plus some supplies for changing the bandages when they need it.”

They walked around the corner to the pharmacy. James greeted her with, “Hey there, Whatsername. I’ve got your script ready. This one here is your pain meds. Just take one as needed, no more than six per day. This is actually your calcium supplement. Once you’re approved for firearms, take one tablet twice daily. When you start getting low, see me for another bottle.”

What’s this ‘Whatsername’ shit?

He put the medications in a bag that already contained items for wound care and handed them over.

As they passed by the cafeteria on her way back to her quarters, she noticed the other five field team members sitting at the team’s table. They all looked at her, got up, and walking toward the door, began to exclaim, “Hey, look! Whatsername’s up. How’s it going, Whatsername?”

“What the fuck is this ‘Whatsername’ shit?” she demanded. “Have all you idiot fucktards forgotten that my name is Kat?”

From behind her, she heard Doc Rich say, “I think you’re forgetting that Kat Hanko died today. We’ve got no idea who you are.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to get some cutesie name, aren’t I? Ok◦– let’s pick one.”

“Not yet, Whatsername,” Spud said. “Right now, you’re in the tomb. You don’t get resurrected for three days.”

“Did they call you ‘Whatsername’ for three fucking days?”

Spud pulled out the waistband of the cammie pants he was wearing and looked down inside. “From the look of things, I’d say they called me ‘Whatsizname.’” The other team members slapped their knees and laughed uproariously.

“Come on, Whatsername. Let’s go home.”

As they continued to walk the corridor to her quarters, she remarked, “You guys have all these little rituals that you do when someone new comes into the unit, don’t you?”

He watched his feet for a moment as they walked. “It’s there for a reason, Whatsername. It all helps create cohesion in the unit. Everyone goes through the same thing, so everyone has something in common.”

“It all throws me a bit.”

“Here’s how I handled it. It’s like a game of ‘let’s see who can make who laugh the most.’ You realize when they include you in this game that it means they accept you in the group. And it’s a practice of wits. Who can come up with the best retort that will make someone laugh the quickest? You notice what I did, for instance, when you asked me if I was called ‘Whatsername.’ Now, if you had looked down my pants and said something like, ‘No, I’d say that’s not a ‘Whatsername’ I see down there,’ I can guarantee: you would have won the game.”

She laughed. “So, I’m just supposed to do whatever comes to mind?”

“Well, if you had checked by physically examining Whatsizname, you’d probably have gotten thrown in Leavenworth. There are limits, but not a lot of them. The main thing is to keep it fun and not actually insult anyone. It gets easier when you start to actually know people in the unit better. Edge, for instance, is honest as he can be, and brutally honest when it comes to his own failings. We never told him he couldn’t cook worth shit. He cooked, and he butchered everything he tried to cook. We smiled and ate it. We tried to teach him how to cook. Edge is a very bright guy, but he just can’t cook. One day he told us, ‘Look, I can’t cook worth shit and you guys are all suffering because of it. Why don’t you just have me do the dishes?’ I mean, the man’s got his own taste buds, so he wasn’t unaware. So, we agreed that he’d not get cooking duty, but would rotate doing the dishes for each of us. Notice he does dishes two meals in a row, because otherwise he’d cook one meal and do the dishes for that meal. He makes a show of complaining about it, but everyone knows it’s all just fun. Especially since it was his idea in the first place. And now when someone new comes in, we always tell them that Edge doesn’t get cooking duty because he can’t cook worth shit, everyone has a laugh, and we all dig in.”

As they approached her door, she started feeling in her pockets. “Damn, I don’t have the access card. I’m going to have to go back to the infirmary and see if I can find it.”

“Whatsername, just walk up to the door.”

She walked up and the door popped open. “That just… blows my mind.”

“Step back.”

She did, and the door latched shut again and locked. “Something tells me that I’m going to get lazy, never having to open a door. Either that, or the first time I find myself trying to get through a door that doesn’t have a sensor, I’m going to smack and break my nose on it.”

“That’s part of the learning curve for working with the bum ticker,” Spud said. “You’ll learn that when you’re not either here or in one of our remote locations, the only thing the bum ticker will do for you is what would happen in places with no sensors. The only reason the bum ticker opens doors here and in our remote locations is that it controls access to areas that you’re allowed in, and restricts access to others◦– like the mainframe bay. Now let’s try this one. You stay standing where you are, and I’m going to approach your door.”

He walked up to her door. When he got to a certain proximity from it, she felt a tap under her breast that made her jump. “Shit!”

“Haptics. You don’t have your watch yet, so the bum ticker taps you. Once you have your watch, the haptic defaults to your watch, and you’ll get the tap on your wrist instead of directly from the bum ticker. Now watch what happens when you walk up to my door.”

She walked up, and he held his watch out to her. On its face, she saw “7” and her picture. “This is how you know who’s at the door,” she said. “Doc Rich showed me a different one◦– one with a map.”

“Correct. For this one, though, because you’re asking for entry to a residence, it will show your picture. When you get your codename, it will show here, right after the 7. Notice how all of our codenames don’t exceed six letters? Has to do with the size of the watch face. As you learn how to use the bum ticker, you’re going to see that you can cram quite a bit of info on the watch face, but it does have its limits.”

“Right now, my stupid watch, which the company that makes it calls a smart watch, is telling me it’s time to eat. Let me put these things in my quarters. Who’s cooking tonight?”

“I don’t know who it is, but it’s not Edge,” Spud said with a laugh.

She dropped off the items she’d brought from the pharmacy, and they headed back to the cafeteria. Serving themselves from the steam table, they went and sat with the rest of the team.

“I wonder if Whatsername eats the way Kat did,” Voice said as she sat.

“Look, guys,” she began. “I’m not going to put up with any more of this shit with people not knowing my name. It’s not WHATSername, it’s WhatsERname. Accent on the second syllable.”

The guys all laughed and clapped.

I’m in!

9

Whatsername grabbed a sheaf of papers from the coffee table and headed for the door. About five feet away from it, she heard the lock release and the door popped open a crack. She stepped backwards. The door closed again and locked.

“Open sesame!” she said, and stepped forward. Once again, the lock opened and the door popped a crack. “That is just going to fucking blow my mind every time,” she said to herself.

“Talking to yourself now, WhatsERname?” Spud asked as he fell in step next to her. “You know that I’m supposed to report any unusual behavior to Doc Andy, right?”

“This bum ticker just warps my mind,” she said. “I never even imagined in my wildest, sci fi-loving dreams that something like it even existed.”

He snapped a finger against the papers she held in her hand. “I see you found your itinerary for the next few days.”

“This is for just a few days?” she asked.

“We’ve got to get you up to speed quickly, WhatsERname. If we get a mission, we don’t mind being a man down because you’re recuperating, but it will piss us off if we’re a man down because you didn’t get your uniforms or field clothing done in time. If you’re the weak point in that process, there’s going to be a whole lot of glaring in your direction, accompanied by some very tense silence.”

“I’m not intending to let anyone down. Besides, having an enforced period of relative inactivity is not my usual operating stance. My palm is itching something fierce.”

“You think you’re going to get some money?”

“No. It’s allergic to air. I usually have a gun in it to keep air from touching it. I’m anxious to get back to what I was recruited for.”

“Wear a pair of shooting gloves if it will make your palm happy.”

They swung into the cafeteria. “Damn, I’m starving. They did not give me enough to eat while I was in the infirmary.” Grabbing a plate and utensils, she went to the steam table and mounded the plate with scrambled eggs, then went over and procured one, no, two Danish, perching them on top of the eggs.

“Looks like Whatsername◦– oh, excuse me, WhatsERname eats like Kat did,” Cloud remarked as she sat down.

She put her hand over her heart. “May she rest in peace,” she intoned solemnly. Digging into the eggs, she added through a mouthful, “Who made these? These are good.”

“WhatsERname talks with her mouth full just like Kat did, too.”

“Oh, fuck off, Spud.”

“WhatsERname uses the same kind of language Kat did,” Turtle remarked.

“And you can fuck off, too.”

“I don’t think we’ll miss Kat much,” Spud said. “Not with WhatsERname so much like her.”

It was obvious from the banter and the grins that the men were all enjoying the exchange. And Whatsername herself was beginning to feel more and more a part of the group.

“What’s on your agenda for today, WhatsERname?” Cloud asked.

“First thing on my agenda is a cup of coffee,” she said, swinging off her chair and going over to the coffee pot. Arriving back at the table, she continued, “and second is over to Mike in quartermaster.”

“No, second is to Med 2,” she heard Doc Rich say behind her. “I want to check your incisions. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“No problem, Doc Rich.”

“Getting a good breakfast?”

The guys all laughed.

“Guess that answers that question,” Doc Rich observed. “Whatsername is going to be good for the team. If she’s hungry, she’ll keep you moving quickly to keep from being eaten.”

“It’s ‘WhatsERname’,” the entire group said in unison. “Accent’s on the second syllable,” Whatsername added.

Doc Rich grinned. “Apologies.” She went over to the coffee pot and filled her mug, then headed back. “See you in a bit,” she said to Whatsername.

“You’ll get your watch today,” Edge said. “Then the learning curve will really begin.”

“I’m really looking forward to seeing everything this thing can do,” she said, tapping her left breast.

“The incision is still sore, I see,” Crow remarked.

“Not especially. Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s up here,” he said, tapping higher on his left chest.

“Maybe yours is,” she said, standing and draining her coffee cup and putting her dishes into a bin of those to be washed. “But in case you haven’t noticed, when it comes to this team, one of these things is not like the others,” she concluded, indicating her crotch with both hands and getting the guys laughing. “Mine’s buried under this girl,” pointing back to her breast.

“Really!” Edge said. He tapped on his watch.

Whatsername jumped a little when the bum ticker tapped her, and the team laughed. “Cut that shit out, or I’ll get you for sexual assault,” she said. “Remember what happened to the last guy who tried that?”

“Yeah, he got his ass tossed over your shoulder and still has a bruise the size of Texas on his back,” Spud muttered.

“Aw, it’s ok, Spud,” Crow said, giving him a slap on the back.

Spud winced. “Sonuvabitch!”

Whatsername laughed and said, “Next time, try grabbing me from the front and we can see how that one goes.”

Spud held up his hands in surrender. Then, envisioning what the consequence might be, he put his hands over his crotch.

Whatsername made her way from the cafeteria across to Med 2. She started to reach up to knock, but the door popped a crack just before she could. Gotta get used to what the bum ticker does.

“Come on in, WhatsERname,” she heard Doc Rich say.

“Reporting as ordered.”

“Up,” Doc Rich said, patting the examining table.

Whatsername stood, her back to the table and sidled herself up, being careful not to lift herself using her left arm.

“Good. I’m glad to see you’re also following orders regarding lifting yourself with that arm. Strip your shirt off for me.”

“I want to get healed as quickly as possible,” she said while pulling her shirt off.

Doc Rich noted she was braless. “Bra irritating things?”

“A bit. I figured going without for a while wouldn’t hurt.”

“Going without for the rest of your life wouldn’t hurt,” Doc Rich said, removing Whatsername’s bandages. “Things are looking very good here. Nice, clean incisions, no redness. I’ll put on some fresh dressings and you’ll be ready to go.”

“Go braless? I don’t want saggy boobs.”

“Current research says the bra just might be promoting getting saggy boobs,” Doc Rich said as she put fresh dressings on the incisions. “I’m not going to recommend to you that you not wear a bra, though. What I will recommend is that, before you go letting Mike decide what kind of bra you should have, you come back here to me and let me help you get fitted with a good sports bra. The physical demands of being in the unit will put some wear and tear on your ‘girls,’ as you call them, and frankly Mike isn’t going to know what’s best for them. He’ll know how to admire them◦– that’s about all. When you’re not training, though, I recommend you let the ta-tas go free.

“Step down, don’t jump.

“I’m enjoying the fact that we have a woman on the team immensely. I don’t often get to have a little girl talk with a patient. Most of the team members that have come through since I got here have been men. So, one thing I’ll promise you right now is that I’ll be taking very good care of you.” She held out Whatsername’s shirt. “Off you go. Don’t let Mike get fresh with you while he’s measuring you for duty clothing.”

Next, she made her way to the quartermaster store. Once again, the door opened for her. I’m going to so love seeing everything this thing can do.

“WhatsERname. Right on time.”

“There’s an obsession with time around here.”

“You haven’t seen obsessed yet. Wait until you start with the training missions. Then you’re going to see obsessed. And not just with time◦– with everything.”

He picked up a small box and placed it on the counter. “Item number one to get you outfitted with: your watch. I take it you’ve been told that this is an interface that works with the bum ticker?”

“That’s what they tell me. Spud gave me a little demo yesterday. Amazing.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Right-handed?”

“Yup.”

He put the watch on her left wrist. “Ok. Let me give you a little run-down on this puppy. First thing is, you don’t have to enter any kind of code to activate the watch. Notice it’s already displaying its home face, which is always the time. You can change how that face looks, but Voice always sets them to default on that one because just about every team member we’ve ever had likes that one best.

“The watch is programmed to work with the bum ticker. Once you put it on and it registers a pulse, which it does via a biometric sensor array on the back, it will look for your bum ticker. Once it finds it, the two devices are paired and the interface becomes active. It will learn you. So, say, you drop your watch somewhere, no one who picks it up will be able to use it to communicate with your bum ticker. Everything on it, aside from showing the time, gets erased in five seconds if someone else puts it on.

“Right now, it’s in learning mode. Like I said, it will get to know that you are the person wearing it, and not someone else. It does that both by recognizing your biometric pattern when you first put it on and by finding your bum ticker. Once your bum ticker and the mainframe computers determine that it knows you and won’t mistake someone else as you, it will automatically switch to operational mode.”

“The mainframes?”

“Yeah. I think you already know about the mainframe bay and the fact that you can’t go there. Only the I.T. folks are allowed in the mainframe bay. The mainframes are in constant contact with your bum ticker via satellite link, or while here in the base, via secure Wi-Fi.

“There are eighteen immediate access points on the face: top, bottom, left, right, the four corners, and the center.”

“That’s nine.”

“Yes, but each of those spots allow access to two data sets. Tap once on a spot and it brings up the data set you’ve programmed into that spot. Tap twice within three seconds, and it brings up the second data set you’ve programmed into that spot. The key to getting what you actually want is to be accurate about where you tap the face. A little hint for you there is to tap the four sides on the edge of the face, and the four corners on the very edge of the corner. Getting the center is easier than the sides and corners. You’re going to want to practice to make sure you can get the right area, as sometimes you need info in a hurry and you don’t want to be having to hit multiple times to get the right spot.

“If for any reason your earpiece gets dislodged, you can use the watch for comm. Just swipe up with your finger and talk. When you want to talk with someone, always say their name or designation first. There’s no squeal in the unit’s comm system if two people talk at once, but you’ve still got two people talking at once, so, y’know… If you want to talk to, say, Edge, you say ‘Edge, come here’ or whatever. If you need to talk to someone here at the base, you’d for instance say, ‘Medical,’ and let them know what you need. The system recognizes who you want to talk to and isolates the signal to that person, so multiple people can be communicating at once and you don’t step all over each other. You can talk to Spud while I talk to Edge.”

Whatsername thought for a moment. “You say their codename first. So, tell me if I’m wrong. Clara’s phone doesn’t do a damned thing, does it? I noticed when she called Spud back to the office that she said ‘Spud’ first.”

Mike smiled. “You picked up on that. You’re correct: the line to that phone stops right at the wall in her office.”

“What happens if you want to talk to everyone at once?”

“If you want everyone in the field team, say ‘team.’ If you want field team plus, say, medical, then say ‘team’ and right after that ‘medical.’ The bum ticker will open up a channel to both groups. If you want the entire unit, which is going to get everyone in the Field Team and everyone at the base, then just say ‘unit.’”

“I thought comm was through the earpiece.”

“It is, but you’re not going to have that until tomorrow. The earpiece has to be fitted exactly to your ear, otherwise the microphone won’t pick up your speech correctly. Everything will sound garbled. That’s what comes next. I’ll be taking a mold of your ear canal. Most people have some little ridges in there that help keep the earpiece in place, so when your earpiece is made we’ll try to get it so it seats in a position to take advantage of that. But it can still get dislodged. Say, you take a kick to the face.”

“Ouch. Question: How hardy is the watch?”

“You can’t drive over it with a tank and have it survive, but then in that event, you’re not going to survive, either. But they’ve set them on concrete and driven over them with some pretty heavy trucks and they make it. They also handle water to a pretty good depth, though I don’t remember just how deep. The operating manual you’ll find accessible from your tablet can tell you that, and about a hundred other things that the watch and the bum ticker can do. The earpiece is the dumb part of the system. All it knows how to do is send and receive voice. And by the way, there’s a little gizmo for removing it. But it’s all made to look like one of these little hearing aids they make these days, so anyone outside the unit sees it they just think you’re deaf. Which is really handy when you want to ignore someone’s shit.”

“This system is simply amazing. I sure wish we’d had it when I was a Special Agent.”

“I mentioned to you, too, about the bum ticker linking to the satellites?”

“And that’s amazing, too. I can’t wait to play with this thing.”

“One more thing, though. Like I told you, the haptic defaults to the watch, so if you get some kind of message or an alert you’re going to feel the haptic on your wrist. But there’s one exception. If your bum ticker is within five feet of a sensor that controls something you’re not allowed access to, you’re going to get the haptic on both the watch and the bum ticker simultaneously. In that event, you’ve got three seconds to move your ass out of range before a security breech alert goes out and you find yourself answering a whole lot of questions at gunpoint. You get that double haptic? Move your ass pronto.

“Learning the bum ticker is something you’ve just got to practice, practice, practice. Everyone sets up the watch the way they find most useful. But it’s learning how to get to what’s most useful that takes practice. Don’t be afraid to use it, and don’t be afraid to make mistakes at first. So, say, you need some more mouthwash from here, just either speak when you’ve got your earpiece or use the swipe on the watch and say, ‘Quartermaster, heading your way, mouthwash,’ and I’ll be here with your minty breath potion in my hand by the time you get here.”

“What if two of us want something from here at the same time?”

“You’ll get a tone, or the watch will double tap you if your earpiece isn’t in. Means you’re on hold, basically. If it’s a priority, when you get the tone, press the face of the watch for three seconds and your comm will override the other one, assuming it wasn’t also a priority call. Say, for instance, you need some coffee◦– which I understand is a priority.”

She laughed.

“Ok. Like I said, practice. Now let me get this out,” picking up a kit, “and we’ll get the mold done for your earpiece.”

While he made the mold for the earpiece, he said, “Next thing up is going to be getting a whole shitload of measurements for all your gear. That’s going to involve a bit of touching places you wouldn’t ordinarily get touched.”

“I was told not to let you get fresh.”

“You see, though, WhatsERname, everything you get outfitted with is made specifically for you. Right down to the combat utility uniform. Injury is what takes FTs out, so all your clothing and other gear has to be made so it’s loose enough to let you move freely, but not so loose that it catches on things. And in your case, we’ve got to make it so that it hides the fact that you’re not a guy as well. So, I’ve got to do some measurements you’ve probably never had done before. Or maybe never done by a guy. I’ve got to measure around your ladies there, and I’ve got to measure around your waist and then from a point through your belly button to a point at the small of your back, stuff like that.”

“You mean, you’ve got to put a tape measure from one side of my crotch to the other?”

“Yeah, sorry, WhatsERname. If you want another woman here, you can get your first comm practice by saying, ‘Nurse, to quartermaster.’ Belay that, nurses,” he added, realizing he may have just made the call himself. “I won’t mind. I’ve had to do worse. That suit Spud was wearing when he met you in Albuquerque? Custom-made. He didn’t know what I meant, so I had to find out whether he dressed left or right. Which has to do with which way he hangs, if you know what I mean. And he’s kind-of generous there, so it was important for me to know.”

Whatsername laughed. “I tell you what: You don’t do anything fresh, and I won’t fucking kick you in the face and dislodge your earpiece.”

“You know, Voice has been showing everyone that video of you hogtying Spud with the zip ties you got from me, so frankly, I don’t want to touch you at all. And I’m betting you’ve got two new ones in your pocket.”

She reached in her pocket and showed him.

“I never figured quartermaster for hazardous duty before,” he muttered. “I swear, no funny business.”

FEELING ONLY SLIGHTLY VIOLATED, Whatsername made her way to her next stop. It was the one she’d been waiting for: the gunsmith. Walking up to the door, she muttered, “May you always open for me” as she heard the lock unlatch and saw it pop open.

“Ah, WhatsERname, I been waiting for you,” Luigi said with a huge smile. “I been tellin’ everyone all day, ‘You get the fuck outta here. My new girlfriend and I have a hot date.’”

Whatsername looked around the shop. It was clean and well-organized, something she had learned from her mechanic father was a sign of a person good with their hands. “I’ve been anxious to get here as well, Luigi.”

“You know, I get everyone in here. They all want a good gun, and I give them a great gun. But you? You’ve got a reputation got here ahead of you. You want a great gun, so I’ve gotta make you a perfect gun. An’ I like that challenge.”

He went and picked up a jar of something that looked like blue putty. “We’re gonna need this. Now you come with me, ‘cuz first thing is find out what guns you want. What cha want to start with? You wanna start with your sidearm? Or you wanna start with a rifle?” He was smiling. He already knows. She simply smiled.

“Ok. I’m gonna show you a gun I think you’re gonna love. I already got it here. Come on back.” He grabbed the blue putty and had her follow him.

“I got this gun in special for you. Those guys watchin’ you told me you can hit pretty good with a Savage, but I’m not gonna show you no Savage. I’m gonna show you this.”

He brought down a rifle case. Opening it up, her heart leapt. She began to feel that same physiological reaction she’d had once before, only to a much higher level. I’ll have to learn how to settle that down, or I’ll never be a good sniper with this or any other gun.

“I know what cher thinkin’ right now,” Luigi grinned. “You’re thinkin’ if you were a guy, you’d have a hard-on the size of the Devil’s Tower.”

“I think I have the female equivalent,” she confessed. She stroked the rifle as if it were a lover, and sighed. “A Sako TRG M10. I’d have loved to have bought one of these for myself, but at over $10K, I couldn’t afford one. I can’t lift with my left arm, Luigi. Can you take it from the case and set it up on the floor for me?”

“For you, Sweetheart, anythin’.”

He set the rifle on the floor and balanced it via its bipod.

“Help me down,” she said. “Just grab me around the waist and set my butt on the floor to the right of it. Then lower me down onto my back.” No way I’m going to fuck up the surgery. I’ve got to get behind this sweetie as quick as I can.

Once Luigi had her on her back, she rolled over so that she was now prone and positioned at the rifle. She laid her cheek on the comb like a gentle kiss, and sighted across the mount where the scope would be fixed. “I’ve heard so much about this gun,” she said. “It’s light. You can change calibers. All the tools are integrated into the stock. And it’s accurate. The Finns made a good one with this one.” Locked into a relaxed shooting position, she felt at one with the weapon.

“Help me back up, Luigi,” she said, rolling back onto her back. He sat her up and then picked her up by her waist, setting her back on her feet.

“So, you’re gonna marry me?” Luigi asked, a sparkle in his eyes.

“I do mean to tell you, that’s one fucking sweet engagement ring,” she replied. “That is a great rifle.”

“Yeah, but chu forget. For you, this rifle has-ta be perfect. And I’m gonna make it perfect for you. First thing I do is I modify the grip,” he said, picking the rifle from the floor and putting it up on a workbench. “That’s what the blue goo is for. Right here, I’ve got a smaller version of the grip I made myself. I put this putty on it like so.” He molded a handful of the putty into a sheet and wrapped it around the grip. “Now you take it and you hold it, squeeze the putty until your hand feels nice and relaxed, like you’re holdin’ on, but not too tight.”

She took the putty-covered grip in her hand, and leaning down with her arm on the workbench as if she were holding the rifle, made an impression of her fingers in the putty.

“That’s perfect. When I get done with this rifle, you’re gonna have a grip shaped just like this. Now you tell me what caliber you want me to set up for right now.”

“I like the .338 Lapua Mag.”

“So, we set up for that one, but we’re gonna get you to try all the calibers so you know which one you want for which mission. You’re gonna spend a lot of time with this gun so you know exactly what you want when you need it.”

“You’re singing our wedding song, Luigi.”

“Once I get the grip done, we’re gonna spend a lot of time to get this to fit just right. This cheekpiece? I’ll make you a new one so you get the best cheek weld you can get on it. We make sure this stock is the perfect length for you. We’ll get a scope on it. I’ve got a whole bunch of Leupolds back here, an’ I already know you like those, but I’ve got others as well you might want to try. We get ’er all together, then we take it to the range an’ give it a try. Then we tweak some more. When I’m done, it’s gonna be just like Baby Bear’s porridge: jus’ right.” He looked at his watch. “You know we jus’ worked straight through lunch?”

“Who the fuck cares,” she said.

“I tell you what: Those guys never let me in the kitchen, but I wanna make you something special. I’ll make you a hot oven grinder like you never had.”

“What’s a hot oven grinder?”

“Oh, I could describe it. But I rather jus’ make it for you. I knew you were comin’ today, so I made sure I had everything I need for it. I guarantee you, you’re gonna love it.”

They made their way over to the kitchen to find Spud waiting there. He walked up to her and felt her forehead. “Just wondering if you’re sick◦– as is everyone else, WhatsERname. Given that it’s 1430 and you didn’t make it here for lunch.”

She went into the cafeteria and grabbed a cup of coffee with Spud on her heels. “Luigi says he’s going to fix me up with a hot oven grinder. I’ve got no idea what he’s talking about, and he says it’s easier if he just shows me by making one.”

“Luigi, you trying to edge in on my girlfriend?” Spud called to the kitchen.

“She loves me more than you,” Luigi sang out. Spud turned to see Whatsername nodding a vigorous “yes.”

“Ok, I’ve got it all put together. An’ if this here pizza oven is hot, we’re ready to get it cookin’.”

“So, this thing is some kind of pizza?” Whatsername asked.

“No, this thing is some kinda sandwich,” Luigi said. “We put all kindza stuff in it. Roasted peppers. Pepperoni. Ham. Black olives. Basically, if it can go on a pizza, then it can go on a grinder. Then we hit it with a little olive oil, an’ a lotta cheese. You’ve gotta have some provolone an’ some mozzarella on it for sure. Then you pop it in the pizza oven”◦– he took a peek◦– “an’ you cook it ‘til the cheese is all bubbly an’ brown on the top. When it’s done”◦– he took another peek and opened the oven◦– “an’ it is, then you take it out, like this, an’ you close it up, like this, an’ you take it, like this”◦– holding it out on a plate for her◦– “an’ you go sit down an’ eat.”

“Am I mistaken, or is that thing made with a loaf of Italian bread?” Spud asked.

“My girl’s gotta eat,” Luigi said. “She’s gotta be able to haul around the big gun I’m gonna make for her.”

“Ohhh,” Whatsername moaned through a mouthful of food. “I’m having an orgasm.”

“You like it?” Luigi asked.

She simply took a huge bite in answer. Then, pointing at it, she told Spud through the mouthful, “It’s crunchy. The bread’s all toasted. The cheese is all melty-gooey, and the stuff he put inside is just plain awesome.”

“You see that, Spud? I show her the gun I’m gonna build up for her, an’ she tells me she’s got a lady hard-on. Then I give her a hot oven grinder an’ she tells me she’s got an orgasm. Sorry, buddy◦– you ain’t got no chance.”

Whatsername laughed through a mouthful of food.

“You finish eatin’, Sweetheart. Then you come back to my shop this afternoon. Luigi’s gonna talk to you about a nice tactical rifle an’ a sweet, custom 1911,” he said seductively.

“Oh, Baby,” she said, still talking through a mouthful of food. “I just love your brand of bedroom talk.”

WHATSERNAME WAS FINISHING up her morning coffee when she felt a tap on her wrist. Looking, she saw a message: “FT7, report to quartermaster.” This thing is just too fucking cool.

She got up and deposited her empty coffee mug in the dirty dish bin and headed down the hall. She still smiled every time a door opened for her. Don’t know why they call it a bum ticker and not a magician. Oh yeah, that’s right◦– looks like a pacemaker.

“Whatcha want, Mike?”

“It’s not what I want, but what you want. I’ve got a few of your things ready for you. First things first,” bringing up a small case, “your earpiece.”

“That was fast. You just did the mold yesterday.”

“Yeah, Voice is pretty good at fabricating and programming the electronics, so Clara lets him handle it. And I think you’re getting to know how things work in the unit. When something is needed, it’s needed now. Whoever has to get it done gets on it right away.”

“I thought Clara was Legal.”

“We don’t get a lot of call for making up wills, WhatsERname. Clara is head of I.T. Voice works under her.”

“You know, the thing that amazes me the most is this,” she said, tapping her left breast to indicate her bum ticker. “But what’s right up with it is the amount of talent that’s spread among so few people. Every time I start to wonder how the team manages to have everything it needs with just fourteen people supporting it, I find out that someone isn’t one person◦– they’re three.”

“Pretty much.” He had her earpiece in his fingers. “I’ve put a little electrolyte gel on this, which is what you’re going to want to do before you put it in as well. It helps make a really tight seal with your ear canal so the mic works at peak performance. Just a tiny bit. Take it on your finger like this,” showing her a teeny dab the size of a pinhead, “and rub it between your fingers until they just feel like they’re a little slick. Then just roll the earpiece in your fingers, and position it in your ear. You’re going to find that it will usually seat itself, but if it doesn’t, just rub your ear and it will shift until it does. Take this little stick with the knob on it and insert the unit in your ear. To remove the earpiece, just grab the little knob with your fingernails and pull it out. If at any time you find it’s irritating you or getting uncomfortable, first thing you do is see Dr. Gilman so she can see if you’ve got some kind of ear infection. Second thing you do, if there’s nothing obvious that’s making it an irritation, is see me to get another mold of your ear canal done so we can make you a new one.” He handed it to her. “Put it in, and then stay here while I walk to the back of the room here, and we’ll give it a try.”

She inserted the earpiece as he walked off. About a minute later, she heard, “Whatsername, how do you hear me?”

“Quartermaster, loud and clear.”

“Whatsername, good deal. Coming back to you.”

When she saw him arriving, she said, “This is just fucking amazing. I take it when you put it in your ear it automatically pairs with the bum ticker?”

“You’re a fast learner. Indeed, it does.” He handed her a small tube of gel, a larger bottle of something, and an ear syringe. “This is your electrolyte gel, and ear lavage. Don’t leave your earpiece in overnight, or you will get an ear infection. Take it out, use this bulb to rinse out your ear canal, and you’re ready for sweet dreams. Keep the earpiece clean as well. You can do that with the same solution,” tapping on the bottle, “that you use to clean your ear.”

Picking up a duffle bag and opening it up, he said, “Now we’re going to put a few things in here for you.” Picking up a stack of clothing, he said, “These are your cammies. And your exercise togs, your field wear, undies, and the sports bras Doc Rich said you’d decided on. Luigi’s still working on the plates for your bullet-proof vest, and I’m still working on your boots. I’ll let you know when those are done.”

“I gather Luigi does fabricating?”

“For metals and other hard objects, yes.”

“And you do the boots?”

“Yeah. I like working with leather as well as the softer materials. I did all the clothes you’ve got in here, too. I don’t just measure someone for clothing◦– I sew it. Did you like that suit Spud was wearing? I really enjoyed making it.”

“For real!”

“You bet. That’s why they recruited me. They needed a tailor.”

“But you didn’t die.”

“Oh, hell no. I just folded my tailoring business. And in spite of a lot of what I do being the same style over and over, I like this work better. You see, I’m a bespoke tailor.”

“Bespoke?”

“A bespoke tailor makes clothing for a specific person. All hand-made, all custom-fit. I’ll spend a week on a really good suit. Spent a week on that one of Spud’s. And I’m really proud of that one. It fits him like a glove. I can crank out duty wear a lot quicker, but then I’m really practiced at it now. When I had my business, most customers just didn’t want to pay for a piece of clothing that might take fifty to a hundred hours to make. They really just wanted a glorified suit of the same kind they could just get off the rack and have tailored to fit better. Like that one you came in with.”

She cringed. I always thought that was a really nice pants suit.

“So, it didn’t break my heart to close the business. Plus, before I got into the tailoring business, I was in the Navy, stationed right next door in Little Creek. This gives me a way to do what I love and continue to serve my country as well. It was a sweet deal. I jumped at it.”

He zipped up the duffle bag. “And I’ve got one more thing for you.” Going over to a rack, he retrieved a dry-cleaning bag.

“That’s my come to Jesus meeting suit.”

He thought a second. “How very appropriate! We picked it up while you were in the infirmary. I dry-cleaned it for you, but I didn’t bother to do any tailoring. You’re only going to wear it once more. Specifically, tomorrow.”

10

Why the fuck did they want me to wear this suit for breakfast?

Whatsername walked through the door of the cafeteria and was immediately swept up off her feet.

“What the fuck? Spud, put me down.”

“Oh, hell no. Last time I did that you tossed me on the floor, hogtied me, and left me to get laughed at by the rest of the team.”

Hearing the laughter, she realized that the room was entirely full of people. Everyone was there: the entire team, and all of the support personnel.

“Give me a hand, Cloud. We’ve got to get her laid out here, and she’s still not supposed to put weight on her arm.”

He took her over to one of the tables, which was draped with a black satin cloth and had a fringed pillow on it. Behind it, a large, flat screen monitor was set up. Spud laid her down, with Cloud supporting her back, so that she was stretched out on the table with her head on the pillow. “Cross your arms over your chest,” Spud said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re dead.”

“What? Now I’ve got to fucking die again?”

“No. You’re already dead, Kat. This is your funeral.”

“What the fuck you say.”

“Be quiet, dead woman.” As he walked forward, she noticed he was dressed in the suit Mike had made him, and all of the others were dressed in black, some with black satin arm bands.

“Dear friends,” he began, folding his hands in front of him, “we are gathered here today to honor the memory of Katheryn Hanko, who, with fidelity, bravery, and integrity, served our great country as a Special Agent for the FBI.” He took a controller from his pocket and turned on the monitor. Hearing a video begin to play, she turned her head to watch.

On the screen, she saw a flag-draped casket with her picture on an easel in front of it. Flowers adorned the bier on either side. Standing at a lectern was her former superior from the Albuquerque field office. She recognized many of the agents she had worked with in the crowd of mourners.

“Oh my God.” They’re showing me my fucking funeral!

She listened through the details of what was described as “her exemplary service,” how deeply her death had affected all of her coworkers, how greatly she would be missed. Then she watched as the casket was lifted by six of her former coworkers and walked solemnly to a waiting hearse.

Spud turned off the monitor. “And now, if any of those present would like to make a tribute of their own, please come forward.”

Edge came forward, carrying a white rose. Laying it on her, he intoned, “I’ll miss you, sweet princess.”

Turtle came next. Laying another white rose on her, he said, “I’ll miss the sweet way she talked to us all.”

“Fuck off, Turtle.”

“I swear, I hear her still!” Everyone laughed.

“I’ll miss not getting breakfast because she got here before me,” Voice said, laying another rose on her.

She decided it was time to play along. “Which reminds me: I haven’t eaten yet, and where the fuck’s my coffee?” More laughter.

“I’ll miss the sensation of flying through the air,” Spud said, laying his rose on her. Those gathered chuckled, breaking out in laughter again when she said, “All depends on when Doc Rich says I can use this fucking arm again.”

“The mortician did a great job,” Cloud began, placing his rose. “She looks so lifelike for someone who fell from a helicopter.”

“I was pushed.”

“Probably,” Cloud said. More laughter.

“I wonder who’s getting her guns?” Crow said, placing his rose.

“No one better touch my fucking guns. Put them in the casket with me.”

“Won’t fit.” She could hear Luigi laughing the loudest.

The support personnel also filed by, each one placing a white rose, until she was covered with roses, each one saying “farewell,” “you’ll be missed,” “gone, but forever in our hearts,” or some other appropriate platitude.

Her funeral over, Cloud and Spud came back, gathered up the roses and put them in a vase, got her up, and sat her down in a chair as some of the support personnel filed out to their duty stations. They took the black satin drape from the table and wrapped it around her with the overlap to the back.

“Janet, would you like to come forward to do the honors?”

She saw Janet get up and come forward, a tote of hairdresser’s clippers, scissors, and other paraphernalia for cutting and styling hair. “What’s it going to be?” Janet asked.

“Give her a buzz cut,” Edge called out.

“You’d better fucking not!” she said.

“No, an Ivy League,” Voice suggested.

“Yeah, an Ivy League.” The team members began to chant. “Ivy League! Ivy League!” They stood up and gathered around her, chanting, “Ivy League!”

Janet looked at her. “You’ll like it,” she said, and started cutting hair. Hank closed her eyes, not wanting to watch her wavy shoulder-length hair as it fell.

“Open your eyes,” Janet said, handing her a mirror, “and take a look.”

She opened a tentative eye. Short, but it doesn’t look bad at all. The haircut was cropped close on the sides, with the hair on top long enough to still hold some of the natural wave in her sandy blonde hair.

“That’s going to work well for you, too,” Janet said. “It’s long enough to be stylish for a woman, short enough for the surrounding BEQ residents to think you’re a guy, and it will stay out of your eyes when you’re shooting.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks,” Janet said, removing the satin cloth and shaking the hair off of it and onto the floor.

“So then, WhatsERname?” Turtle asked.

“I dunno,” Cloud said. “What is ’er name?”

“I say we call her ‘Mouth,’” Spud said.

“We’ve already got ‘Voice,’” Edge said. “Try something else.”

“How ‘bout ‘Eagle’? Short for ‘Eagle Eye’?” Voice put forward.

“They usually codename the President ‘Eagle,’” Cloud said.

“Look,” she said. “When Kat worked with the Bureau, she was just another agent◦– just one of the guys. They didn’t call her ‘Kat.’ They called her ‘Hanko.’ ‘Hey, Hanko, get over here!’ In this unit, I want it to be the same. I’m just one of the guys. So why not just shorten ‘Hanko’ to ‘Hank’?”

“Hank,” Turtle said.

“Hank,” Spud repeated.

“Sounds good. Fits the six letters or less rule,” Voice observed.

“I like it,” Cloud said. “All in favor?” The team members all reached out and tapped their knuckles on the table.

“Can I eat now?” Hank asked.

“We actually have something special prepared,” Edge said. He and Spud went to the kitchen and brought back a cake. It sported a single candle, and had “Happy Rebirthday” written on the top. Edge said, “This isn’t cooking so they allow me to do this one.” He took up a piping bag full of icing and wrote “Hank” on the cake, and then lit the candle.

“Blow your candle out,” Cloud said.

She puffed at it, and it went out… then relit. She went to make a remark, realizing it was one of those trick candles, but Turtle beat her to it. “That’s kind of the way your life just went,” he said. “She’s dead, but no! She lives!”

“Let’s all have some cake,” Spud said.

“All? All I see is one piece here,” Hank quipped. “Just pass me a fork.”

11

Hank drank down the last of her breakfast coffee and made her way across the hall to Med 2.

“Come on in, Hank,” Doc Rich said as the door opened.

“Time to get the bandages changed again?”

“We might just be able to take them off and leave them off today,” Doc Rich replied. “You know the drill.”

Hank sat herself on the examining table and pulled off her CUU undershirt.

“This is looking really good, Hank. I think we can let these incisions get some air, and if nothing goes amiss in a couple more days we can get these stitches out.”

“Great. Because they itch like a sonuvabitch.”

“Which I know you think is a bad thing, but it actually tells me you’re healing. Most incisions itch like a sonuvabitch, as you put it, while scar tissue is forming. Just don’t scratch at them.” She reached for the counter next to the examining table and handed Hank a tube of hydrocortisone cream. “If you find the itching is really annoying, just use a little of this. Done here. Off you go.”

Hank slipped off the examining table. “Can I make a request?”

“You can make the request, but whether I approve is another matter.”

“Naturally,” Hank said with a resigned tone.

“Ok. Whatcha want?”

“I feel like I’m getting flabby. These squishy ball hand exercises for my left arm and walking that you and Mike have me doing just aren’t cutting it for me. Can I throw in a little tai chi?”

Doc Rich thought. “You know? I don’t think there’d be any harm in that. Just don’t overdo it and tai chi should be fine.”

“Tai chi is kind-of like the old joke anyway,” Hank said, raising her right arm. “‘Doc, it hurts when I do this.’ ‘Then don’t do that.’ If I feel any discomfort, I just won’t do that movement.”

“Good. Now get out of here.”

Hank smiled and headed out to the gym. Standing in a relaxed pose, she began by stretching and loosening her body, then began with one of the simple, gentle movements that are the hallmark of tai chi. Oh, feels so good to get the kinks out.

She was barely into a warm-up routine when her earpiece became active. “Hank, report to quartermaster.”

Sigh. Just about the time I think I’ve got a few minutes. She smiled. But this is what I signed up for. She walked from the gym through the back door of the quartermaster area.

“Come on up front, Hank.”

How the hell? Oh yeah◦– the bum ticker can show him where I am.

“First things first: If you want to talk to me, how do you do it?”

“I say, ‘Quartermaster’ and make my request.”

“Can you just say ‘Mike’?”

“No. Support personnel have to be addressed by their designated function. Field team members are addressed by codename or team designation. For instance, you can call me Hank, or you can call me FT7.”

“What about Medical?”

“You just say ‘Medical.’ Whichever doc or nurse has been designated for response will answer. If you want a specific doctor, you address them as Medical 1, Medical 2, or Medical 3.”

“And in order of one, two, and three, who are they?”

“Doc Wright is Medical 1. Doc Rich is Medical 2. Doc Andy is Medical 3.”

“So, let’s say you want Doc Rich. Can you say, ‘I need to come in, Medical 2?’”

“No. The mainframes won’t understand that you want to initiate a conversation with Medical 2 unless you start the contact with her designation. You have to say, ‘Medical 2, I need to come in.’”

“And what if you were to use ‘Medical 2’ when you don’t really want to talk to Medical 2? For instance, you’re talking with someone and you say something like, ‘I can’t do that tomorrow morning because I have to go see Medical 2,’ and then you keep talking?”

“The mainframes understand context. Rarely, they’ll make a mistake and open a comm link when you don’t want one, in which case you simply tell whoever that it was a glitch.”

She was getting used to answering questions that tested her knowledge of the bum ticker’s functions each time she talked to someone. With the bum ticker being the most complex system used by the unit, it made sense.

“I’ve got the last of your gear here,” Mike said. “Boots, bullet-proof vest, helmet, gloves. Try everything on and let’s see how they fit.”

“Note to self,” she said as she pulled off the cross-training shoes she was wearing and slipped into the boots, “see Doc Gillie about shooting glasses.” Putting on her bullet-proof vest and helmet, she continued, “I don’t want the glasses to pinch when I put this helmet on.” She chuckled as she pulled on the gloves. “Mike, these fit like a glove.”

“You’re kind-of a smart ass, you know that?” he said, checking the fit of the vest. “This is good. Luigi made the plates right to spec.”

“It’s really light.”

“You think that’s good, get a look at how it behaves when you pull the plates out.”

She removed them, then twisted and bent her body. “It’s flexible. It’s not stiff like the vests we have in the Bureau.”

“That’s because it’s not Kevlar,” Mike said. “This vest is something that, in this country at any rate, is only available for us. For this unit. They’re still pretty pricey. It’s made of graphene.”

“No shit? I’ve heard about that stuff.”

“No shit. The lenses of your shooting glasses will be made of it as well.”

“I thought you couldn’t make big sheets of it, though.”

Mike smiled. “That’s what the civilian world thinks. But we’ve got a contractor who figured out how to do it and how to make laminated sheets of it as well, for little applications like,” he tapped her vest, “this. And another little bonus is that it conducts heat very nicely, so you can actually heat the vest in cold weather and cool it in hot weather. Just requires the underlayer you see in it to be plugged into an environmental controller you carry in one of the pockets of your cargo pants.”

“If this stuff is so strong, why does it need the plates, then?”

“Because just like Kevlar, you can cut it. The plates are for when someone decides to take a stab at you. Which is why the plates are made of composite, not a ceramic/composite, which also keeps the vest light. If you liked the vest the Bureau issued you, you’re going to be in love with this one. Everything looks like it fits well. How does it feel to you?”

“Fits like a glove, though I have to apologize on those. I don’t like this one.” She pulled off the right-hand glove.

“I’m offended. What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong is I won’t get a good trigger feel through the material. Can you either mod this one or make me a new one that doesn’t have a trigger finger? I don’t want to send a round until I actually want to send one. Triggers on sniper rifles are really light. Breathe on it, and it’ll send one.”

“Sure thing.”

“And Mike? I’m wondering if you could make something for me. Not on the company dime.”

“All depends. Whatcha want?”

“A dress.”

Mike was taken a bit aback. “For real?”

“Yeah, for real. I’ve got this haircut,” she began, ruffling her hair with a hand, “that makes me look like a guy, I’m dressed in duty clothes that also make me look like a guy, and I work with a bunch of guys. But I’m not a guy. I’d like something I can dress up in and feel like a woman every so often.”

Mike smiled at her. “Believe it or not, we can do that on the company dime.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. You being the only woman on the team, it’s almost guaranteed that at some point they’re going to want you to infiltrate. So, I make all kinds of clothing. I can make you a dress that’ll get every guy on the team running to their quarters so they can jack off.”

She laughed, blushing a bit. “You know, Mike, sometimes I can’t believe some of the,” clearing her throat, “candid talk that goes on around here.”

He shrugged. “We work together, we eat together, and the only people with whom we can share anything about what we do are the people who are right down with us here underground. We trust each other with a trust that’s absolute. Talking about anything and everything just goes along with all that. You’ll get used to it. And then you’ll start doing it yourself, although you’re pretty good at it already.”

She smiled. “That’s more a defense mechanism than anything else. When you choose a career that has you working with mostly men, you’ve got to let them know that they don’t need to pussy foot around you.”

“See? Right there you just told me something I’ll bet you never told one of your Bureau buddies.”

She smiled and cocked her head in a way that said, Gee, I guess you’re right.

“Come on back here to my cutting room so I can find a nice fabric and color for you.”

When Hank walked into the cutting room, it was like entering an entirely different world. As she expected, most of the area was devoted to duty uniforms, with bolts of camouflage material, spools of web strap, and other items for their construction. But along another wall were bolts of material for street clothing: everything from suit-weight wools to satins and silk chiffons.

“I’m thinking satin,” Mike began. “Maybe a wine, or a burgundy…” He looked through the bolts of cloth that were neatly stacked in cubby holes along one wall. “Or this,” he said, a satisfied look on his face. “This will be perfect with your hair and your skin color. Silky satin charmeuse in solid lipstick red.” He pulled the bolt down. Coming over to her, he draped it over her shoulder and let it cascade down her body. “Yes,” he sighed out. “That’s going to be perfect for you, and you’re going to absolutely love it. It flows, it’s absolutely luxurious, and the feel of it on your skin will make you want to screw the shit out of someone. And with the dress I’ve got in mind for you, I hope that will be me.” She turned bright red. “It’ll even go with your color when you blush like that.”

“You’re not going to let me give you an idea of what I’d like?”

“No, no, honey. My fantasies have already started. You just leave this one to me. I’ve got all your measurements, but I’ll need you back here every so often so I can fit the dress just right. I’ll have it showing off everything you’ve got. This fabric even makes some delicious undies, which I will do. You’ll never want to take them off. They’ll give you a constant orgasm. Trust me. Can you walk in stiletto heels?”

Hank was starting to get an idea of just what kind of fantasies Mike was talking about. “Sure can.”

“Excellent. I’ll make you a nice pair of heels to go with it. Now get out of here, because I can’t function with a hard-on and it’s giving me one just thinking about this dress.”

HANK WALKED INTO THE CAFETERIA. Six heads turned in her direction. “Where you been, Hank? We were starting to think about checking the infirmary,” Spud said.

“Ha, ha, ha. I was tied up with Mike in quartermaster. Getting the rest of my duty gear.”

“She probably got excited about the vest,” Crow said. “I know I did. I wonder how many people out there realize that there are sheets of graphene big enough to make a piece of clothing from?”

“Just about everything I’ve encountered so far has me fucking amazed.” She took a generous amount of everything being offered for lunch and sat down.

“Watching you eat has me fucking amazed,” Cloud said.

“But before we let you eat, show me how to change a map scale from statute to nautical miles,” Crow said.

She tapped out commands on her watch and showed it to him.

“Good. And why would you want to do that?” he added.

“Because you airheads in the birds don’t know how to bring up the statute scale on the GPS installed in the cockpit.” She gave him a shitty grin and dug into her food, accompanied by the laughter of the rest of the team.

“You know, you guys need to start putting me in the rotation for cooking detail.”

“You’re supposed to be recuperating,” Turtle said.

“Doc Rich approved some tai chi. I figure if I can do tai chi, I should be able to slice an onion, but I’ll clear it with her first.”

“Fair enough,” Crow said. “The rotation is simple. We just go by our residence number, so you’ll be cooking the meal after when Spud cooks.”

“Great.” She did a little calculation on her fingers. “That will give me a little time to get together what I need. I gather I just give a grocery list to Mike?”

“Yup. What are you planning on making?” Edge asked.

“If I got my calculations right, that has me cooking tomorrow’s dinner. I’m thinking enchiladas.” She started setting out an imaginary meal in front of her. “Red and green. Cheese, chicken, and beef. Chips and salsa, refried beans and rice, and a little different than what you’d get in your typical Mexican restaurant, a nice salad on the side. Empanadas for dessert. Pineapple, apple, and cherry.”

“Sounds yummy. So, clear it with her then,” Turtle said.

She stood up as if to walk to Doc Rich’s office, then hung her head back. “Doh!” Remembering that all she needed to do was use the bum ticker’s comm link, she said, “Medical 2.”

“Hank, what do you need?”

“Medical 2, I’d like to know if I’m cleared for kitchen duty.”

“Hank, just remember◦– no heavy lifting. If you feel any discomfort, get someone to help you.”

She sat back down. The rest of the team was grinning at her. “We’ve all done it,” Spud said.

She picked up her coffee cup and drank down half of it.

“Tell me,” Edge said, “how do you manage to hold steady when you drink so much coffee?”

“It doesn’t seem to have any effect on me other than keeping me from getting drowsy and giving me enough of a kick in the ass to get awake. I actually think I shoot better when I’ve got a little caffeine in my system. Helps me focus better.”

“Isn’t that somewhat contrary to what they say coffee does?”

“Actually, I did a little reading on this, because I also wanted to know why coffee didn’t seem to affect my shooting. And it turns out that for some people it affects them, and for others it doesn’t. Seems I’m one of the others.” Her earpiece came to life. “Hank to the armory.”

“They want me in the armory,” she said. “Later.”

“She left food on her plate,” Voice noted.

“Yeah, but we all know what’s in the armory,” Turtle said.

“Guns,” the others said in unison.

ENTERING THE ARMORY, she found Mike struggling to get a pallet jack through a passageway under the landing of the entrance staircase and into the armory. “Thank God we’ve got a freight elevator. At least we didn’t have to carry these things down the friggin’ staircase,” he muttered. The pallet was loaded with four large, wooden crates. Sitting atop them was another smaller crate and four smaller, cardboard boxes.

“Hank, meet your beneficiary, Dave Garino.”

“Thanks for whatever this stuff is,” Dave said, holding out a clipboard. “Sign here.”

Hank hesitated. “What do I sign? I can’t sign ‘Katheryn Hanko.’ And I’m betting ‘Hank’ isn’t going to be acceptable, either.”

“Oh yeah◦– no one told you about how to do that, huh?” Mike said. “Here’s what you do. Think of a couple of words. Anything. Maybe something like ‘Cucumber pickles.’ Then write it really squiggly, or with the letters all overlapping. Helps to try and write it as fast as you can. The idea is to make it completely illegible.”

“Ok.” She thought a bit, then scribbled something down onto the bill of lading.

Mike took a look. The signature looked mostly like a series of vertical lines ending with a line trailing off to the right. “I think I can make out maybe an ‘H’ and an ‘a’ in that. What were you thinking of?”

“’Hank’s a hottie,” she said.

“No ego in you, is there?” he said, grinning.

“You’re the who’s making me a dress that will get the guys all jacking off,” she grinned back at him.

“Good point! What’s packed in here? Gotta be more than your guns.”

“These four,” she said, indicating the large crates, “are for sure my guns. This smaller one has got to be the case for my collection. The flat cardboard box is the five pieces of artwork I asked for, two of the others are for my mineral collection and my father’s wood carvings, and this one,” she said, indicating the last box, “has got to be my blankie.” She peeled the strip of sealing tape off the box and pulled out her down comforter. “I’ll sleep much better now that I’ve got my blankie. And the nice thing is that the beds in the residences are queen size, and so is this.”

Mike looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll get you figured out just about the time I retire, Hank. Every other word is ‘fuck,’ but you’ve got to have your blankie.” He pulled down the cardboard box and handed it to her. “Do you want to drop those off at your quarters, or should we dig into these crates first?”

“My fucking guns are in these crates,” she said. “What the hell do you think I want to do first?”

“Alright, already! Let me go grab a crowbar.”

“The fuck you will! You put one fucking scratch on one of my guns and I’ll come in here and stab you when you least expect it.” She took a look at the top of the crate nearest to her. “Besides, they put the lids on with screws.”

“Electric screwdriver it is. And you don’t want to kill me until the dress is done, so I’ll have plenty of time to get out of town.”

Coming back with the screwdriver, Hank held out her hand and demanded, “Give it here.”

“Fine by me! If you’re going to take the lids off, I don’t have to make myself a bullet-proof vest.”

She pulled the screws from the crate’s lid and carefully opened it. “My babies.” The guns were all packed in protective sleeves and nestled in racks that were constructed to keep them from contacting each other during shipping. She took them out one by one. “My Colt LE. Only one with an ACOG. Then this one has to be the Match Grade. This one’s a lever gun.” She set it butt down on her shoe without taking it from its sleeve. “Gotta be the Marlin 336XLR. Nice 30-30.”

“You can tell just by feeling them which ones they are?”

“With very few exceptions,” she replied.

Luigi came through the door from the gunsmith shop. “Someone told me we got a bunch-a guns just got here.”

“My babies,” Hank said again.

“You maybe need some help gettin’ them out?”

“I think first I need to know where they’re going to go.”

He looked at the four crates. “All guns?”

The look she gave him had ‘what the hell do you think’ written all over it.

Luigi laughed. “I knew your collection had to be pretty big. I got a place all cleared out for ’em, Sweetheart. You let me an’ Mike get these put away.”

“I want to…”

“You don’t wanna do anythin’ but sit on this crate once we get it empty. You’re not supposed to be liftin’ guns right now, remember?”

In her enthusiasm, she had completely forgotten about the restrictions on lifting. Can’t screw up the surgery. “You’re right, Luigi. I should just sit here like your good wife and watch you be manly for me.”

“That’s my girl.”

She watched as each gun was brought from a crate and each crate emptied, until she saw a case that piqued her interest. “Bring that one here.”

“You got a special pistol in this one?” Luigi asked.

“A very special pistol,” Hank said. She opened the box slowly. “Ah, my precious! I saved up a lot of pennies for you.”

Luigi took a look. “Oh, Sweetheart. Right there you got one of the finest pistols ever.”

“I know. I’ve never even taken a shot with it. It’s a collector.”

“Yeah, well you hold onto that Hammerli. I never seen that 125th anniversary gun before. Heard about it, never seen it. Can I touch?”

“For you, Luigi? Have at it.”

He went over to his workbench and slipped on a cotton glove, came over, and just touched the gun without taking it from its box. “Thank you, Sweetheart. I just know touchin’ that gun’s gonna give me good luck for the rest of my life.”

“Somewhere in the last two crates I’ve got a 215 as well. I hunted all over for a 208, but anyone who has one doesn’t want to part with it. I got this one just because it was so pricey. I paid $3500 for it.”

“You’re shitting me. You paid $3500 for a pistol that shoots .22 long rifle?” Mike asked incredulously.

Hank and Luigi just looked at him, scowling.

Mike decided the best course of action would be to continue helping to empty the crate. “I’ve got another case says Hammerli on it,” he said.

“Pass it over,” Hank told him. She opened up the pistol case. “This is the one I shoot all the time for precision pistol. I got it from a guy who was in the Army Marksmanship Unit. Sad case. He was an older guy, but still had a great eye. Until he was diagnosed with macular degeneration. He eventually went blind. He sold it to me when he was still competing. Said he wanted it to go to someone who would appreciate it.” She thought a moment. “I wonder if Doc Rich would let me shoot it?”

“Thought she didn’t want you lifting with your arm yet,” Mike said.

“She doesn’t want me lifting with this one,” Hank said, waggling her left hand. “But for precision pistol, you stick your non-shooting hand, which for me is the left one, into your pocket and you shoot one-handed.” She thought a second more, then said, “Medical 2, could I ask you to come to the armory?”

“Hank, answer is no. No shooting.”

“Medical 2, could I please ask you to just come to the armory?”

Doc Rich considered a moment. She can be insistent, and I can be insistent. Maybe I can be more insistent doing it in person. “Hank, on my way.”

When Doc Rich arrived, she took one look at the crates and asked, “Who’s emptying these?”

Hank took two fingers and pointed at Mike and Luigi.

Doc Rich turned to them. “She’s not lying,” Mike said. She turned to Hank. “Hank, I’m going to be very emphatic on the ‘no’ front.”

“Just hear me out, Doc Rich.”

“Ok, make your case. But just be prepared to hear ‘no’.”

“This gun is used for a specific sport,” Hank said, standing. “You shoot it like this.” She stuck her left hand in the left pocket of her cammie pants and held out her right hand as if holding the pistol. “It’s not all that heavy, and it shoots .22s. Very little recoil. And see? My left arm is actually supported while shooting.” She looked at Doc Rich, her eyes pleading.

Doc Rich decided compromise would be best. “You can shoot tomorrow. But only that gun.”

In spite of the spontaneity of it, Hank made sure the fist pump was done with the right arm, not the left.

“I think I’ll let you guys get the rest of the guns put away. Luigi won’t let you ding one, Mike, so I can leave them in your capable hands.”

“And that sounds good to me as well,” Doc Rich said, turning to leave.

Using the bum ticker comm link, she asked, “Spud, if you’re not busy could you come to the armory?”

“Hank, on my way.”

“Mike, do you have another pallet jack?”

“Sure thing, Hank. I gather you want this other stuff in your quarters?”

“I’ll get Spud to help me with them. Got a hammer and tacks or some of that removable putty they use for hanging stuff on walls?”

“I’ll grab some removable hooks and bring them with me when I grab the pallet jack.”

“What do you need, Hank?” Spud asked, coming through the door.

“I’ve got a few things here that I requested for my quarters. Think you can help me get them there and put away?”

“Sure thing.”

Mike arrived back with a second pallet jack, and Spud commenced to load the things for her quarters onto it. She followed him down the hall and to her quarters.

“The big one is going to go there,” she said, pointing. “Be careful opening the crate. It’s got a glass case in it with glass shelves.”

“Sure thing. Don’t bust the case.” Looking at it, he said, “Good thing I grabbed this on the way to the armory,” he added, yanking a screwdriver from his pocket.

She sat watching as he removed the screws from the crate, back to her. Her little voices started talking to each other. Nice butt. Why is it women always have to check out a guy’s butt? You know why. A nice butt means good muscles for◦– Stop that! She shook herself. I shouldn’t be looking at his butt in the first place.

“Looks like they got everything in here packed so an elephant stomping on it wouldn’t break it,” Spud said.

She got up and peered into the crate. Every shelf had been packed inside cardboard sleeves lined with Styrofoam sheets. “Some assembly required,” she said. “Do you have time?”

“Sure, Hank. This is all part of being your recruiter. I woo you in, I snag you, then I make you nice and comfy so you want to stay for a long, long time.”

And with that butt◦– CUT THAT OUT!

As he worked at assembling the case, she checked out the other boxes, giving each one a little push. “This has got to be part of my mineral collection,” she said, noting the heaviest of the boxes. Pushing on another one, she said, “And here’s the rest. I hope they were as careful packing these as they were with the case.”

Putting the last of the glass shelves in place, he remarked, “You wanted them to make sure your rocks don’t break?”

She had opened the box and lifted out a container, plastic, filled with what looked to be nothing but fibrous packing material. Carefully picking the material out, she lifted a spray of delicate, white crystals from it. “Scolecite, from India. Yeah,” she added with a hint of sarcasm, “I didn’t want this to come out of the box looking like a bowl of sugar. I went to Quartzite one year and bought this one, but a good many of the specimens in this box I hiked all over Arizona and New Mexico to get. Just set this box over by the dining table for me. I’ll have to get everything out and find the stands for them.”

“Any of them really heavy?”

“No, they’re all what are called ‘cabinet pieces:’ fist-sized or smaller. I won’t have problems handling them.”

Picking another box, she said, “These are my father’s woodcarvings. He carved in his spare time. Great little caricatures. They always remind me of the good times we had before the cancer got him. They’ll go on top of the case, so just put them down next to it and I can get to them later.”

She tapped on the flat box. “These are the paintings I asked for. Can you help get them on the walls for me? This arm still protests when I lift it above my shoulder.”

“No problem.”

“Just take them out and unwrap them, and lean them against the case so I can decide where each one’s going.”

She looked them over after he’d done so. “Ok, that one,” indicating the one she wanted, “is going on that wall over there. Mike gave me some of those removable hooks that are supposed to stay put until you actually want to remove them. Let’s take one and put it right here,” she said, walking over to the wall and indicating where she wanted it.

He grabbed a hook and the painting and joined her. Sticking the hook on the wall, he then hung the wire on the back of the painting on the hook and straightened the painting.

She stood back. “It’s not quite straight. Nudge it up a little on the right.”

He did so.

“Now it’s too high on the right. You gave it too big of a nudge.”

He reached up and brought the right side down a hair.

“Not enough. A little more.”

He looked at it before he touched it. Looks level to me. Does your eye have a micrometer in it?

“Now it’s too far down on the right again.”

He sighed with exasperation. “I tell you what, Hank. Why don’t we just get the rest of these hung, and you can fuss with getting them straight later?”

She looked at him with annoyance. “That probably would be faster.”

After hanging the last of the paintings, she reopened the last box. “And this is my blankie,” she said, pulling the comforter from it. She wrapped it around herself. “I love this. It’s all full of fluffy down, and so snuggly and warm… I’m going to sleep really well tonight, now that I have my blankie.”

She has this insane side. Wonder how she hid it from Doc Andy?

Spud gave her a look. “Ok. We done?”

“Sure,” Hank said, setting about straightening the paintings. “See you at dinner.”

12

“Gunsmith, meet me in the armory.”

Hank was headed there herself. It’s been too damned long since I’ve had a gun in my hands. I probably would have strangled Doc Rich if she’d told me I couldn’t shoot for another week.

She swung through the door just as Luigi came through from the gunsmithing shop. “I’m guessing you want the 215,” he said.

“You’re guessing right, dear husband,” she said.

“Ah, Sweetheart, you make my heart go pitty pat. The docs are gonna be running here thinkin’ they need to replace my bum ticker with a real pacemaker.” He opened the locker where the Hammerli was stored and retrieved it for her. “You need ammo?”

“That’s one thing they didn’t let me give to Dave Garino.”

“I dunno why they think he couldn’t have it. He’s just a nice Wop like me.”

Hank eyed him. “You call yourself a Wop?”

“Sure, why not? Me, I’ve got all Italian blood in me. My family came here over one hunderd years ago, but we’ve always been a good Wop family. Even keepin’ the language, as you can tell.”

She shook her head. “Isn’t ‘Wop’ a bit derogatory?”

“Maybe to you, but to me? Hey, I’m Italian and damn proud of it. I think, someone says I’m a Wop, they’re givin’ me a compliment. You know where it comes from, right? Guappo. Means a dude, a stud. You don’t think that’s a compliment? Someone calls me a stud, I’m thinkin’ that’s a compliment. What about you? What cher family?”

“Hanko is Slovak, but my family came from Germany.”

“Ah, so you’re a Kraut. Ain’t you proud of that?”

She chuckled. “I guess so. And I even like sauerkraut.”

“From what I’m hearin’, you like anything doesn’t move too fast.”

She laughed and said, “Just give me some ammo to go along with this,” picking up the case with the pistol in it.

“Ok, I got lots for you to choose from. What cha want?” He put a box of each make of .22 ammunition he had on the counter.

“I’ve never tried some of these,” she said. “Give me ten rounds of each of these five, and I’ll see how it likes them. Once I have an idea of which one it likes, I’ll want another box of it. Do you have that much for each of these five?”

“Sweetheart, one thing we can’t afford around here is not enough ammo. We’ve got pallets of it over in the warehouse.”

They walked out through the hallways to get to the range. As they walked, Hank said, “You know, it’s a little stupid to not have the range right near the armory. Or the armory near the range. Why the hell did they put the range way the fuck down here when the armory is back there?”

“Sweetheart, this here complex has been growin’ as the need arises. The firin’ range was added after the gym and quartermaster store. Prior to that, they just used the Marine Corps ranges. But it started gettin’ a little complicated between the unit and the Marine Corps. Even though the unit is small, they train a lot. So, they decided they needed a small arms range. The unit still has ta shoo the Marines off the rifle ranges when someone like a sniper,” he said, giving her a wink, “wants a little practice.”

Hank thought a bit as they entered the range. “How do they get a contractor in here to add to the complex? Wouldn’t that compromise the unit?”

“They get our pals over at the CIA to come in with their guys. Those stupid CIA guys just think we’re CIA, so we don’t give a shit if they’re here. And because they think we’re CIA, they keep their mouths shut.”

“I guess that works.” She laid her gun case down on the bench in one of the firing booths, opened it, and neatly arranged gun, magazines, and ammunition.

“You’re very organized,” Luigi said.

“In my opinion, you need an organized mind to shoot well, especially if you like to shoot competitively. I used to go out to the Albuquerque range to shoot this.” She reflected. “I wonder what happened to all my trophies?”

“I think I heard they’ve got ’em at the FBI office there in Albuquerque,” Luigi said. “You heard ’em say at your funeral how you were an avid marksman. They were evidently pretty proud of you for that.”

“I guess that’s why the Bureau recommended me for this,” she said, loading magazines. Looking at the items she had laid out, she said, “I think I’m about ready to rock.”

She ran the target carrier to the firing line. “Luigi, I’m going to want a backer and five B8 repair centers. I’m just going to rattle these five magazines off, just to see how the ammo works.”

The target assembly ready, Hank ran it out to twenty-five yards downrange. Taking aim with each magazine of ten rounds, she took ten shots to each of the five targets, then ran the assembly back to the firing line. “Well, this one’s crap,” she said, grabbing one of the boxes with its forty remaining rounds and turning to look for a trash can.

Luigi took the ammo from her. “Someone who can’t shoot like you will think it’s ok.”

Looking over the targets, she decided on a particular ammo to shoot. “Give me another box of this.”

“You’re only gonna shoot ninety rounds?”

“Yeah, that will give me ammo for a typical 900 match. Plus, much as I’d like to stay here all day, I have other things I’ve got to do. And I don’t want to overdo it, or Doc Rich will give me the ‘no shooting’ dictum again. I’m going to want three B6 repair centers and six B8’s this time, husband of mine.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

“You know that’s not gonna work here.”

“It won’t work anywhere, Luigi. I’m dead, remember? My service contract will have been nullified. But it will still run this app.” She showed it to him. “It plays the range commands. Any way we can pipe this through the range’s PA system?”

“Sure thing, Sweetheart.” Luigi took the phone and headed for the range officer’s booth.

She ran the target assembly out to fifty yards.

“You don’t need to tell me,” she heard Luigi say over the PA. “I like me a little bullseye myself.” Then she heard the range commands played over the PA: “Ten rounds, slow fire. Ten rounds in ten minutes. Load.” Seating a magazine into the pistol’s magazine well and turning on the electronic red dot sight, she stood with the gun resting on the bench in front of her, left hand stuck in her pocket, taking deep, methodical breaths. “Is the line ready? The line is ready. Ready on the right, ready on the left, ready on the firing line.” Then a horn sounded.

She raised the pistol and let it slowly settle on the target while taking a last deep breath. She let air ooze from her lungs and placed all her concentration on the target.

In her office, Doc Rich suddenly got an insistent tapping on her wrist. In her ear sounded, “Medical alert, Hank. Medical alert, Hank. Medical alert, Hank.” Oh, shit! She looked at her watch to see where Hank’s location was marked by a flashing red dot, then grabbed an emergency kit by the door and ran out, nearly bumping into Dr. Wright as he dashed out of his office with another emergency kit. As they ran, followed by two of the nurses, she said, “Did you get a look at what’s happening?”

“Her biometrics show her heart rate and respiration plummeting,” Dr. Wright said as they arrived at the range. Dashing through the door, they opened the door to the range proper before the outer door to the anteroom had a chance to close. The suspended tiles on the range ceiling rattled.

Hank was standing perfectly still, pistol in her hand, arm raised, aimed at the target. She smoothly pulled the trigger, sending the round downrange. Then she raised her chin and closed her eyes. “If you caused me to shoot a nine, whoever the fuck you are, I’m going to hurt you.”

She turned around to see the medical team standing behind her. “What the fuck is this? Luigi, hit the home icon on that. Because,” she said with annoyance, “I’m going to have to shoot a nine-round alibi.”

“Your biometrics sent out a medical alert,” Doc Rich explained.

“The fuck you say. I’m perfectly fine.”

Doc Rich checked Hank’s biometrics on her watch. They showed that indeed, Hank’s biometrics had returned to what was normal for her. She thought for a moment and said, “Hank, could you take another shot for us?”

“I’d have taken another nine shots if you hadn’t come busting in here making the ceiling tiles rattle. You know the range is under negative pressure, right? You don’t open the inner door when the outer one is open.” She looked over to the range officer’s booth. “Luigi, do you keep smokers for checking the ventilation?”

“Sure thing, Sweetheart. I’ll bring you one.”

Luigi came into the range and handed Hank a small glass vial with a wad of cotton on one end. Hank took it and broke it where the cotton was. It erupted with a puff of smoke that then traveled downrange and disappeared through a gap above the bullet stop.

“That air flow pulls the lead vapor generated by the primer away from me so I don’t get a shitload of lead exposure. It’s why the range is under negative pressure.” She watched the last of the smoke disappear. “And the ventilation on this range is excellent. I love how the flow is laminar.” She sighed. “So, you want me to take another shot. My pleasure. Luigi, bring up slow fire again.”

Once again, she readied herself at the firing line and the firing commands played. Doc Rich watched as her breathing slowed and her heart rate dropped. The alert again sounded. Hank’s biometrics bottomed out as the shot was made, then quickly began to return to normal.

“It’s nothing abnormal. It’s her,” Doc Rich said to the rest of the medical team.

Hank turned around and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Whether you have ever noticed it, Hank, you can control this,” tapping over her heart, “with this,” Doc Rich said, tapping her temple. “It usually takes a lot of training for snipers to be able to do it. You do it naturally. Which is why your biometrics alerted us. The bum ticker and mainframes interpreted it as abnormal.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You mean I’m going to have four people running in here every time I want to get in a little practice?”

“No. We’ll get I.T. to program the mainframe to understand your biometric pattern when you’re shooting. It’ll only be a pain in the ass for us until they get it done.” She turned and looked at the other members of the medical team. “Guess this means we can stand down, folks.” The medical team picked up their gear and filed out of the range.

Once they were gone, Luigi laughed. “I guess they’re gonna have t’ learn that you’re not learnin’ to be a sniper, you already are one.”

“Yeah. Maybe now the clown troop is gone, I can get some practice in.”

HANK AND LUIGI walked back from the range after her short practice session. “Bet chu wish you’d had me bring more ammo,” he said.

“You know I love to shoot, Luigi. But I have to admit that Doc Rich has a point. If I push it too hard, it can all fall apart. So, I think the best thing is going to be to just get Doc Rich and Mike to work my shooting in as part of my physical rehab.”

“I think that’s best, Sweetheart. An’ in the meantime, I can do a little work on that Hammerli.”

“You know you can’t have finger ridges on a precision pistol grip, Luigi,” she said as they walked back into the armory.

“That’s true, but you set that case down here an’ I’ll show you what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Take out cher gun for me, and hold it up like you’re shootin’ it.”

As she held the gun, he examined her hand. “You see right here, Sweetheart? How the side of your hand an’ your fingers don’t all meet the baseplate on the grip with the same amount of pressure? If I tweak this baseplate just a little, the grip will fit cher hand like a glove. Then maybe you won’t throw any more nines out there.” He took the gun from her and put it in its case. “An’ I’ll do that for you, jus’ as soon as we take a look at these guns I made that ain’t for play. Come on in the shop.”

Hank followed him through the doorway that led from the armory into the shop. Sitting on a workbench were three guns: the Sako she’d seen earlier, a tactical rifle, and a 1911-style handgun.

“We’re gonna start with the 1911, ‘cuz it’s the lightest and Doc Rich ain’t gonna come in here an’ beat you up for holdin’ it.” He picked the pistol up from the bench and handed it to her.

She took it with her right hand and held it in a typical two-hand stance. “Sweet. Feels like it grew in my hand.”

“I told you, Sweetheart. You’ve got a reputation, so I’ve gotta make you perfect guns.”

As she turned it over in her hands admiring it, her little voice said, There’s something not right about this gun. She looked it over more carefully. Then she realized what it was.

“There’s no serial number on this gun.”

Luigi laughed. “You think we wanna gun the unit uses to trace back to here? Sweetheart, the unit is extremely undercover. We don’t get no gun from the local gun store. Right here, this guy,” indicating himself, “makes all the guns from scratch. Why do you think this shop’s all full-a machines?”

“What about the Sako?”

“Oh, well, the Sako’s a different matter. It’s still got no serial number, but that’s ‘cuz we get our good friends at the CIA to talk with our good friends in Finland ‘bout buyin’ a gun before they stamp a number on it.”

“This unit has tendrils everywhere.”

“Well,” Luigi shrugged, “maybe not everywhere. But we’ve got all the tendrils we need to get the job done.”

Hank handed the pistol back to him. “I’m pretty sure Doc Rich will say no to my firing any of these guns yet. But let’s see the M4.”

“I’m gonna hold it for you, an’ you can just put your body on it same as you would if you could hold it yourself.” He held the rifle in one hand, balancing it on its fore end in front of the magazine. She put her shoulder against it and positioned her hands, rested her cheek on the cheek piece, then turned to him with a smile.

“I thought you were gonna like it. We’ll see when Doc Rich quits makin’ you miserable by keepin’ you from shootin’ if it’s balanced right. If not, I can put a little weight on here, take a little weight off there so you’re completely happy. You can get on the floor, or do I need to help you like before?”

“I can do it, Luigi.” She knelt, then shifted her weight so that she was supported by her right arm. Lying down on her right side, she then rolled into a prone shooting position.

Luigi put the Sako on the floor in front of her. She lifted it with her right arm and held it as best she could without using her left, sighting down through the rifle scope. “Something tells me,” she said, face on the cheek piece and continuing to sight through the rifle scope, “that I’m not going to appreciate this gun until what I see through the scope is at least five hundred yards away.”

“You’re probably right,” Luigi said. “But for now, does that cheek piece feel right to you? I get the right amount of curve in it? And the stock is right for you?”

“I’ll know more when I shoot it, but I’d say you got it just like Baby Bear’s porridge, Luigi. Doc Rich better not keep me away from him much longer, or there’s going to be trouble.”

Luigi grinned a huge grin. “Ok, then. We’ll wait for Doc Rich to stop bein’ an old hen, then we’ll go to the range outdoors.”

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Hank looked up to see Mike practically standing over her. “What’s up, Mike?”

“If you’ve got a little time before lunch, I’d like to get a fitting on the dress.”

“Sure, Mike. I think we’re pretty much done here, given I can’t shoot any of these right now.” She eased herself back up off the floor and followed him from the gunsmithing shop around to the cutting room.

Set up in the cutting room, she saw a plain cotton dress set up on a mannequin. “I thought this was going to be done in satin.”

“It is. This isn’t the final dress. This is a toile. A mock-up of what the dress might look like.” He looked at her and sighed. “Hank, can I impose on you a bit?”

“All depends.”

“Don’t take this wrong, but could I get you to take off the cammie pants?”

“You want me to fucking do what?”

“Take off the pants. I need to see what your body looks like, and there’s no way I can do that while you’re wearing those pants. I promise you◦– I’m not getting fresh. For one thing, I don’t want to find myself hogtied on the floor.”

She looked at him suspiciously. What the fuck. Half the support team is the medical staff, and they’ve already seen everything, so why shouldn’t he? She pulled off her boots and dropped her pants to the floor, kicking them to the side, then stood in her underwear and t-shirt.

He stood looking from her to the toile, one hand on his chin. “Just stand next to the mannequin for me, facing the same way the dress faces.” He studied her some more, his eyes passing from the toile to her and back to the toile. Then he walked behind her, doing the same. Coming back in front of her, he sighed and said, “Hank? Ummm… I’d like to just check a couple of things, and it’s going to involve some touching. Please, please don’t hurt me.”

“I swear to God, if you’re getting fresh with me, hurt won’t begin to describe what I’ll do.”

“Honest to Jesus, I just want to check something out in a couple of places.” He reached for her, vacillating back and forth. Standing back without having touched her, he said, “I really want to check the shape of your belly. I’m not happy with the way this bodice looks, and depending on your curves there I think I can do a better job.”

She scowled at him suspiciously. Relenting, she said, “Ok. You may touch my belly.”

He reached for her again, watching her as if she was a cat about to pounce and he was a mouse. He tentatively placed his hand at her waist, then smoothed it across her belly. Standing back up, he said, “Yeah, that’s not going to work. This bodice needs to look like this.” He took a blue marking pencil from his pocket and redrew the bodice line from a straight waist to one that curved from the arch of the hip to a point below her navel. “You’ve got marvelous lines here. I want to show them off.”

He walked behind her while she stood stiffly, wondering what he was up to. Looking over her shoulder, she saw he was chin in hand again, scowling at the back of the dress. “Gonna touch you again, Hank. Down your spine and across your hip and butt.”

“You’re a perv.”

“No. I’m a bespoke tailor with a vision in my head of the perfect dress for you.” His voice was all business. With not a hint of hesitation, he reached out and ran his hand down her spine from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. Then he ran his hand across her hip and down one side of her butt. Reaching back up, she felt him put a thumb against the small of her back. His eyes then flashed back and forth from the dress to her, the dress to her.

“Yeah, this ruching isn’t going to work, either. It can’t go down that far.” He reached out with the blue pencil and made a mark on the back of the dress. “Needs to stop there. And I think I want a slit from here,” making a mark, “to here. You’ve got great legs◦– let’s show them off. And, I think I should add a little fabric along the hem in back. Let a little of it drag on the floor.”

He stood back and looked from her to the toile once again, then announced. “Ok. That’ll do it.” He then yanked the toile from the mannequin and went off with it to the cutting table, becoming oblivious to her presence.

“I take it I can get dressed now?” she asked.

“Oh yeah. Sure.” He was ripping the toile apart with a seam ripper, hardly paying any attention to her.

She pulled on her pants and boots and meandered off to the cafeteria.

“Look who decided to eat,” Cloud said.

She grabbed some food and sat. “I was tied up with Mike.”

“Seems like you’re spending a lot of time with Mike. You sweet on him?” Spud asked.

“No, he’s doing something special for me that I asked him to do.”

“What?” Spud asked.

“He’s making me a dress.”

The team members all looked at her as she ate. Looking up, she said, “What? Haven’t you ever heard of a woman getting a dress?”

“Well, it’s just…” Crow began.

“Just what? You cut my hair, you put me in a man’s uniform. Do you just expect that I’m going to grow a penis as well?”

“No, Hank, but a dress just seems a little out of character for you,” Spud said.

“Well,” she said, standing up and acting flirtatious, “I am going to have a dress.” She twirled as if she were actually wearing one. “And I’m going to wear it every so often so I don’t forget I’m a woman.” She turned and looked over her shoulder at them, batting her eyelashes. Grabbing the rest of her food and bolting it down, she added, “And now if you assholes are done, get the hell out of here so I can make enchiladas.”

PEOPLE STARTED FILING into the cafeteria as Hank directed Edge to put various items for the meal in their spots in either the steam table or the cold table.

“This could be bad,” Spud muttered to Turtle. “She’s got Edge helping her cook.”

Overhearing it, Hank said, “The only thing Edge is helping me with is getting the trays into the serving tables, smart ass. Have you forgotten that I’m not supposed to lift things?”

“So, what is all this?” Voice asked.

“This is Mexican food. Tex-Mex, to be specific. Enchiladas. There’s cheese, chicken, and beef, and you can choose either the green sauce or the red. The green is the hotter one, though I tried to keep it toned down for you. Rice, refried beans, flour and corn tortillas. I suggest take a couple of the tortillas in case the spice gets to you. Salad and empanadas are on the cold table.”

“She’s shittin’ us, right?” Crow whispered to Edge. “The red chili is the hot one, I think.”

“Got me,” Edge said. “I didn’t taste any of it◦– I just helped her put it out.”

The team members helped themselves, then sat down to eat. They all waited, watching Hank.

“What? Is this one of those ‘newbie’ goes first’ things?”

“Exactly,” Voice said. “It’s bad juju otherwise.”

“Fine, I’ve got no problem with that. I personally like the heat, so I grabbed some of the green. Mike was able to scare me up some genuine Hatch chili. It’s the best there is.” She took a big forkful of the enchilada on her plate that was smothered in green chili sauce. “Oh,” she said through a mouthful of food. “Hank, you done good!” She then proceeded to dig into the rest of her meal.

“Told ya,” Crow said. “The way she’s putting that down, the green’s got to be the mild one.” He took a big forkful of his own green enchilada.

“Holy fucking fires of hell!” he exclaimed, and grabbed the glass of iced tea he’d brought to drink.

“No! Don’t…”

He gulped some down and exclaimed again, “HOLY FUCKING FIRES OF HELL!”

“…Drink the tea. Too late.” She watched him while he fanned his mouth. “Try some of the rice. Or a tortilla.” Looking around the table, she addressed the others with, “Word to the wise: don’t try to quench chili with a glass of water.” Taking another mouthful of her own, she added, “You get used to it, and then it doesn’t seem so spicy. Try it. Just go easy at first.”

She noticed the uninitiated all then tried the red first, then gravitated to the green.

“She’s right,” Edge said. “You do get used to it.”

She sat back after finishing her own, saying, “I was really missing some Tex-Mex.” Seeing that the others were also finishing theirs, she added, “But I should have warned you about something.”

They all looked at her.

“It burns twice, if you know what I mean.”

They all stared at her, their mouths frozen in a half-chew.

She got up and started gathering up the dishes that needed to be washed. “Don’t worry, guys. It won’t be much worse that a CT prep.” She grinned. “Gotcha.” Turning and heading to the dishwasher, she said, “Edge, want to give me a hand with the dishes?”

13

“Hank, report to Medical 2.”

“Doc Rich is calling,” she said, getting up from breakfast. “I’m hoping she’s going to pull these stitches today. They’re driving me crazy.”

The men all looked at her with an annoyed look.

“Hey, don’t blame me. No one wanted to believe me when I channeled the spirit of the late Katheryn Hanko, former FBI Special Agent from Albuquerque, New Mexico when she said the green was the hot.”

“It’s not how spicy the food was,” complained Cloud. “It was the fact that you didn’t warn us ahead of time that we’d be lighting afterburners this morning.” He added, muttering, “I’d like to stick an ice cube up my ass.”

Hank laughed and got up. “Duty calls.” She smiled. “And for the rest of you, I understand Mike stocks toilet paper in the quartermaster stores.”

Walking out and across the hall, the door popped ajar for her at Medical 2. “Come on in, Hank. Let me see your incisions.”

She sat on the examining table and pulled off her CUU undershirt.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Been driving you nuts?”

“Gee, how’d you guess?”

Doc Rich pulled her scrub top aside to reveal the scar at her left armpit. “Been there, done that.” She donned gloves and brought a small plastic bowl over that held a pair of suture stitch scissors and forceps. “This will be quick.”

Hank watched as she snipped through the stitches at each incision and then pulled them out, one at a time, with the forceps. “That’s done.”

“That was painless,” Hank remarked.

Doc Rich was continuing to examine the incisions. “You know, ordinarily I’d put some strip closures on these, just as a precaution, but you’ve healed up so nicely that I think I’m going to just skip them.”

“Nice. Free at last. I still feel a little sore, though.”

“That’s to be expected. When we do the implant of the bum ticker on a woman, we have to go under the breast and create a pocket there, as well as a channel to thread the antenna to the bum ticker from the incision in your shoulder, so you’ll have a little soreness for a while. Keep me updated on how you feel after doing the exercises and activities we’re allowing, and we can step things up a bit as you feel more comfortable.”

“I’m feeling pretty good with what you’re allowing now. Can I start doing a little a little more shooting?”

“Yup. Stay away from anything that might give you a lot of recoil. Now get out of here.”

“Can I ask you a silly question first?”

“Sure. I’m full of silly answers. Let’s see if I have one to match your question.”

“It seems like all the docs here in Medical have nicknames except Doc Wright. Doc Rich, Doc Andy, Doc Gilly, Doc Keith… and Doc Wright. Why no nickname for him?”

“We thought about ‘Doc Wrong,’ but that just sounded… wrong.” Doc Rich smiled. “Now get out of here.”

She looked at her training schedule and headed for the gym. Let’s see what Mike has for me today. Arriving, she found him sitting on a bench, looking exhausted.

“You ok, Mike?”

“Yeah, just putting in some long hours.”

She did a mental shrug. “What kind of paces are you going to be putting me through today?”

“Hank, before you get all sweaty, do you want to come with me to the cutting room? I’d like to get a fit on the dress.”

She gave him a tentative look and followed him from the gym through the back door into the quartermaster store and into the cutting room.

She gasped when she saw the dress. “Damn, Mike, when did you find the time to get it all done?”

“It’s not done, and I’ve been working late hours on it. I can’t tell you how excited I’ve been about this dress, Hank. Most bespoke work for women is things like bridal gowns and bridesmaid’s dresses. I’ve always wanted to do a really sexy dress for a woman.

“First things first: the stilettos are done. Wanna yank off your cross-trainers and socks and give them a try?” He held out a pair of stilettos, the high, pointed heels tapering down from a partial leather upper that connected by straps that crossed over the foot to a point near the arch. She pulled off the cross-trainers and socks while he undid the buckles on the straps, then lifted her feet to put on first one, then the other shoe. She stood while he walked around her, then she walked around the cutting room.

“Those are going to look a lot sexier when they’re not worn with gym shorts,” he said. “Want to try the next bit for me?”

He held up a pair of satin panties, low cut, with an edge of delicate lace at the top. “And don’t hit me, Hank, but I’d like you to shuck everything else as well. Bra, too. Just get into the panties and stand with your back to the door. I want to get the dress on you.”

“This sounds seriously like a pass at me,” she said.

“Hank, I’m too tired to make a pass at you. I’ve been working on this dress almost all night.”

She believed him. You actually look like hell. He stepped out of the room, and she dropped her gym shorts and undies, replacing them with the satin panties. “Oh my God.”

“I take it the panties are on,” he said, coming back into the room. She was smoothing them against her skin. “Pull off your t and get out of your bra. Don’t worry◦– all I’m going to look at is the back of you while I get the dress on you.”

He gathered up the dress and walked up behind her, putting it over her head and letting it slide down over her hips. “Put your arms through here for me,” he said, guiding her hands between the bodice and thin straps that divided from where the bodice covered her breasts. She felt him zip up the back of the dress, and thought nothing of it when he smoothed the cloth over her derriere and hips, then came around in front of her and adjusted the bodice over her breasts.

He stood back from her. “Walk for me,” he said.

She walked around the room, the stilettos making her body sway, the offset slit that extended from the floor to half-way between her knee and her waist in the dress revealing her legs as she did so.

“That is the look I wanted.” He went over and pulled out a full-length mirror from between two cabinets. “Tell me what you think.”

She walked up to the mirror, then turned and walked away from it while looking over her shoulder at her reflection. The bodice plunged between her breasts, with the cut of it leaving her arms naked as well as her back to nearly her waist, which was accentuated in back by the soft gathers of the ruching and the thin straps coming over her shoulders, two forming a “v” and attaching to the waist at her spine, two attaching farther toward her sides. The fabric clung to the curves of her hips and buttocks, hugging her in a luxurious grasp, and the back of the dress draped slightly on the floor in an elegant sweep.

“I can’t believe you got it done so quickly,” she said. “It’s gorgeous, Mike.”

“Oh, it’s not quite done,” he said, coming over and looking at every line of the dress. “I’m going to want a little tighter fit here,” he said, giving a little tug at the dress on either side of her waist, “and here,” he concluded running his fingers along the edge of the bodice where it plunged between her breasts. “Then it will be perfect.”

“I think it’s perfect now,” she said.

“Ah, but you aren’t a bespoke tailor. A truly good garment fits the client like their own skin. This is close, but I can do better. The good news is that it won’t take me that long to do the alterations, so I can get home and get some sleep tonight.” He unzipped the back of the dress. “Let’s get it back off, I’ll get it altered, and it will be ready for you to make a whole bunch of guys horny as hell tomorrow. Good thing it’s a crash day.”

“I was meaning to ask about that. I saw it on my schedule. What is it?”

“A day of rest and relaxation,” he said, going behind her and lifting off the dress. “All work and no play, you know. Go ahead and change back into your gym gear. I’m going to need those panties back.”

“Do I have to? You were right about not wanting to take them off. Delicious was definitely the right word to describe the sensation.”

He smiled. “I knew I should have made two pair.”

HANK WALKED INTO THE CAFETERIA, a towel around her neck, fresh from the gym. The other team members were already seated, eating lunch.

“Look who finally showed up,” Turtle said.

“It’s the dress. Mike gets her off schedule because he’s got to play with his scissors,” Spud said, making a cutting motion with two fingers. “You’ll find out the day they send you to woo someone into the unit. I think he spent a week getting the suit he made me done. Wasn’t happy with this, wasn’t happy with that, wasn’t happy with the one I already had.”

“We’re going to have to talk to him about that,” Cloud said. “We can’t have him holding up the training schedule so he can make doll clothes for Hank.”

“Oh, eat shit,” Hank said. “I’m in love with the dress. And you know what they say: if the woman ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

“Besides, Voice is the one who plays with dolls,” Spud said.

The others laughed while Voice turned red. What? Hank thought.

“Don’t pull that sexist shit on us, Hank” Cloud said. “You’ve got to haul your weight around here just like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, but the difference is, my weight is a hundred and seventeen◦– not a hundred eighty-five fucking pounds like yours.”

The rest of the guys laughed. “She’s got a point there, Cloud,” Turtle grinned.

“You know, with the way she talks, we ought to make her second duty assignment be unit chaplain.” The guys all laughed.

“Oh, funny, funny. Super duper fuckin’ funny,” she said.

“Especially since the only time I’ve heard her say ‘Praise the Lord’ is when I handed her the last dose of the CT prep,” Spud remarked.

They all laughed again, including Hank. “And I was sincere about that!” she said.

She settled into eating as the others continued to exchange jabs. Thinking, she interrupted with, “You know, everyone here knows I was FBI. What about the rest of you? Am I allowed to know?”

“Sure. Sometimes it’s even nice to find someone with a common frame of reference,” Crow said. “I’m former DEA.”

“As a pilot?”

“Believe it or not, DEA flies everything from small fixed wing aircraft to Citation jets. But I love flying that G550 the most. If I could have gotten a corporate job flying big wigs around in a 550 all the time I’d have probably stopped working for the DEA a lot sooner than I did by getting tapped for a death blow to be part of the unit.”

“I was in the Army. Ranger,” Turtle said. “That’s how I got tapped for sniper here. It’s going to be a pleasure working with someone who can shoot a lot better than I ever can.”

“If they’d given you a better rifle maybe you’d be able to shoot as well as I do. You know they just built that thing on an ordinary hunting rifle platform. Now my Sako is a sniper rifle. Was designed as one from the start.”

“The worst part of being in the unit for me,” Turtle continued, expressing the usual inter-department rivalry seen in the military, “is that I have to wear a friggin’ jarhead uniform.”

“When you’re used to substandard, I guess it’s just tough to get used to the best. Semper fi all the way,” Edge said.

“I take it, then, that you were a Marine.”

“I am still a Marine,” Edge said. “Once a Marine, always a Marine. Raiders.”

“That explains the hand-to-hand expertise.”

“And a lot of other expertise.”

“Like the ability to wash dishes because he can’t cook worth shit,” Turtle said. “You can’t boil water without burning it,” he added, getting everyone laughing.

“What about you, Cloud?”

“I must admit,” Cloud began, putting his hand on his chest, “I, too, am offended by having to wear a CUU rather than an ACU. Everyone knows ‘CUU’ stands for ‘crappy, ugly uniform.’”

“Ah, fuck you dog faces,” Edge said.

“Army aviation,” Cloud said. “I started out as a rotorhead, and went on to other things that fly.”

“I guess I’m the only civilian,” Voice said. “They recruited me out of Thor Computing.”

“Really? I thought the unit was completely composed of former military and government agents,” Hank said.

“The unit gets the talent it needs where we find it,” Spud said.

“So, they needed someone to write video games?”

“They needed someone who could program. Including simulations, which doing games gives you a lot of background for. And yes, I was with the games division.”

“So why did you give that up for here?”

“I could play the game, or I could be part of it. I figure when I retire I’ll be able to program some really realistic, exciting games as an independent game developer. In the meantime, I’ve got the challenge here of continually having to both do system upgrades and on-the-fly programming. Which reminds me, Hank, you won’t have to worry about spurious medical alerts anymore. I added a “suppress” function for the docs right away, so if they see you’re on a range when your biometrics start changing radically, they can just cancel the alert by saying, ‘Hal, suppress.’ In the meantime, there’s a learning routine I’ll be finishing that will tell the mainframes to learn whenever the docs suppress an alert that the biometrics they’re seeing are normal for that individual. See, stuff like that is, in my opinion, more interesting than writing games.”

“And what about you?” Hank asked, turning to Spud.

“Yeah, what about you?” Edge asked. “I don’t think any of us know what you did.”

Spud smiled. “I guess there’s an advantage to being the grand old man. Hank’s the first one who’s ever asked.”

“So what is it?” Hank asked.

“U.S. Secret Service. Presidential Protective Division.”

“For real?”

“For real. It’s part of the reason I don’t feel especially comfortable in a suit. Believe it or not, it can be damned boring at times. Hang around all day in a suit with an earpiece in your ear with a bullet-proof vest and a gun holstered under your jacket, pair of sunglasses, scanning the area around the President for a threat. Other times doing things I considered much more mundane. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the Secret Service and I gave everything I had to it. But I just wanted a little more action. So, when the unit tapped me, I said ‘sure thing.’ I don’t regret a moment of my former service, and I don’t regret a moment of my service here. It’s all been good. The main difference between what I did there and what I do here is that in the Secret Service I did the kind of work I do here most of the time. Here, I do it all of the time.”

Hank regarded him a moment, an unidentifiable expression on her face. “For what it’s worth, Spud, I think you look great in a suit. At least in the one I’ve seen you in.”

He simply nodded at her in that “thanks” kind of way.

“You know, we’ve got to figure out how you should be cross-trained, Hank. So far, you’ve got just one job: sniper. Firearms expert, as it were,” Turtle said. “What sort of stuff did you do for the Bureau? We don’t generally get a lot in the way of details when we get the recommendations from the agencies we recruit from.”

“I did a lot of post-event investigation,” she said. “You can’t exactly arrest someone for a bank heist until after they do it. Some surveillance work, mostly in response to terrorist threats.” She grew silent, reflecting, remembering. “Sometimes, it was heart-breaking. One of my last cases was a kidnapping. Guy snatched a little girl from a mall. She was five. For a week, no one knew what happened to her.” She started to get a hollow look, a vacant stare. “They found her raped and mutilated body in an alley, stuffed in a garbage bag. We had to find the guy. I had to find him. Forensics got an ID on him. He was a known pedophile. We got the sonuvabitch. Believe it or not, hanging out at the same fucking mall, looking for another kid.” She shook herself out of the reverie.

“Guy like that needs to be taken out,” Spud said.

“Guy like that needs to be brought to justice, which is just what we did. His DNA was all over the girl. He’s never getting out of prison. Ever. I get my satisfaction knowing what his fellow roomies are doing to him right now. Even convicts don’t like that kind of guy, and they have a way of making them pay for what they did.” She sighed. “Sorry, guys, but I just can’t talk about this anymore. Think I’ll go take a shower.” She got up and headed off to her quarters.

Spud inhaled deeply, then pursed his lips and slowly blew the air from his lungs. “Shit, Hank,” he muttered. “You know, when Doc Andy had me tell her about what happened to her brother, she said she got into the Bureau so she could lock all the scumbags up. I had no idea she was talking about that kind of scumbag.”

The others’ faces all held the same vacant stare Hank’s had.

“Well. I think maybe we should tag her for intelligence and infiltrator,” Spud said. “Her Bureau work will fit in with intelligence, and we could use a woman for infiltrator. What do you all think?”

Everyone reached out and tapped their knuckles on the table.

“Ok. I’ll see if she agrees.”

14

Hank’s watch tapped her wrist. Checking it, she saw “QMASTR” and Mike’s photo on the face. Guess no one has to knock, either.

She tapped her watch to unlock the door, and Mike came in, her dress draped over his arm. “As promised, it’s done.”

“Is a crash day not a crash day for you as well?” she asked.

“Yes, it is. And ordinarily I’d be above deck finding some fun. But I really want to see how the guys react to the dress. And I’ve got Janet coming in to do your hair, nails, and make-up.”

“Oh, for real? I’m getting the whole works!”

“Yes, my dear woman, you are. I want my dress to be modeled by a truly stunning woman. Janet’s going to give you a manicure and a pedicure, then I’m going to get the dress on you and adjusted, though at this point it should just slip on like a glove. Then Janet’s going to give you just a hint of makeup. You have great skin, so you won’t get a lot◦– just a touch. I don’t want the dress to smudge the makeup, nor the makeup to get on the dress, so that’s why makeup will be last. Then Luigi has a little something special for you, too.” He held out the satin panties. “If you like, you can start getting in the mood by putting these on and then putting on a bathrobe.”

“I wish I had a whole dresser full of these,” she said. “I’d wear them every day.”

He laughed. “You know, after that remark I think every time I see you I’m going to chuckle, thinking of satin panties under cammie pants.”

She laughed as well. “What was that old military policy? Don’t ask, don’t tell? Tell you what: I’ll sashay past you from now on so you can get that picture in your head.” She disappeared into the bath.

Another tap on her wrist alerted her to Janet’s arrival as she emerged from the bath. Letting her in, Janet sat her down and commenced to work on her nails, applying fake nails to her fingers given Hank’s nails had been cut short to fit in with appearing to be male, and finishing by applying a glossy lipstick red polish.

“That would look strange along with cammies as well,” Mike observed.

“No one’s going to know my toes have nail polish. I’m not quite sure why you polished them.”

“You will,” Janet replied. She then took out a curling iron and proceeded to put just a bit more of a wave in the hair on the top of Hank’s head. Tousling it a bit, she said, “And that’s all you need here as well. How’s our time looking, Mike?”

“About forty-five minutes.”

“We’re time conscious about putting on a dress as well?” Hank asked.

“Yes, we are,” Mike replied. “We want to get you in front of the guys while they’re all in the cafeteria for lunch. Their reaction is going to be what tells me if I done good.” He took the dress from the garment bag and told her, “Stand up, turn around, and drop the bathrobe for me.”

As he’d done at the last fitting, he placed the gown over her head and let it fall onto her hips, then helped her get her arms through the straps. The dress only needed minor adjustments after being zipped, and once again she didn’t mind it at all when Mike smoothed the fabric over her buttocks and hips, down her sides, and a minor shift of the bodice. She noticed the bodice neatly hid the surgical scar near her left armpit as well.

“Don’t sit◦– it will crease the dress. You can come back and sit after the guys see you.”

“Ok, let’s get this protector on you so we don’t get makeup on the dress.” Janet applied just a hint of makeup, highlighting Hank’s cheekbones with a little blush. “You don’t need a lot of color.”

Then she picked up a lipstick brush and applied gloss to Hank’s lips. Seeing the color, Hank asked, “Is that going to be too dark for me?”

“Mike got your color perfectly,” Janet said. “I just matched the dress.”

“Let’s get the shoes on,” Mike said, “and then we can do the big reveal.” He checked his watch to determine where the men of the team were. “Timing is perfect. They’re all at the team table. Where’s Luigi?”

“Right outside the door,” Janet said.

Hank let him in.

He stood still for a moment, looking at her. “Oh, Sweetheart, now you’re makin’ my heart do more than pitty pat.” He came over with a velvet jewelry box in his hands. “Sorry, Sweetheart, but we’re gonna have you do without your watch right now.” Mike took the watch off and set it on her dining table. “Don’t worry◦– your bum ticker will still take care of you.”

He opened the box he held. “I did a little jewelry work for you,” he said. “First, we’re gonna put these on your ears,” taking out the studs she wore when not ‘above deck,’ and replacing them with the earrings he’d made, “an’ this goes where the watch was.” He put a bracelet on her wrist. “And then we put this around your neck.”

She went over to the mirror mounted on the door of the bath and looked. Draped around her neck was a necklace of red and white stones set in gold that hung down, ending in a pendant that hung down at the top of her breastbone. The earrings sported stones shaped similarly to the pendant, and her wrist wore a bracelet made to match the stones in the necklace.

“That’s a great-looking job for paste,” she said.

“Oh, Sweetheart, now you’re insultin’ me,” Luigi said. “This jewelry isn’t paste. It’s the real deal. Rubies and diamonds in gold.”

“You’re fucking me!” she exclaimed.

Wish I was, Mike thought.

“No, Sweetheart. If sometime you need to go undercover an’ this is what you need to look like, nobody’s gonna look close and say, ‘She’s a fake.’ You do that kind of mission and they have that thought? You’re dead.”

“Ok. Time to see what the guys think,” Mike said.

They walked down the hall, the stilettos making a tick, tick sound as she walked. Hearing her come to the door of the cafeteria, she heard Edge say, “Sounds like someone finally figured out that it’s lunch time.”

Turtle was sitting at the end of the table facing the door when she walked in. The others were all concentrating on their food. Turtle looked up and dropped his fork, his eyes agog. The others all turned to look for the cause of his reaction. Seeing her, they all stopped eating. Those who had food in their mouths choked it down and stared.

“What do you think, guys? Did Mike do a good job on my dress?” She walked forward toward the table as if she was walking down a fashion show runway, turned, letting the short brush train sweep the floor behind her, and walked back to the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, “Well?”

Spud swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and said, “I think I may have seen someone dressed as nicely as that at one of the White House functions.” The others all nodded their affirmation.

Voice stood up, said, “I think I should go practice my Japanese,” and then made a hasty retreat from the cafeteria. What the hell? Practice his Japanese? Hank thought.

Turning back toward the door, she said, “I think I’ll go change out of this. I wouldn’t want to get anything on it. Save me some lunch, will ya?”

As she walked off, all the men got up hastily and went out to watch her as she walked down the hallway toward her quarters, hips swaying as she walked. “Phew!” Cloud said. “I sure hope I’ve got some lube in my quarters.”

Spud stood watching her as she got to the end of the corridor and the others went back to finish their lunches. She hesitated at the end of the corridor and looked back at him, then rounded the corner of the hallway to her quarters.

Spud swallowed hard again, then turned to go back into the cafeteria. Seeing Mike standing leaning up against the wall, having watched the men’s reactions, he cleared his throat and went back in.

“Yes, indeed,” Mike said to himself. “That’s the look I wanted.”

HANK WALKED INTO THE GYM, determined to get a little workout time, even if it was a crash day.

“Hey Spud,” she said in greeting, seeing he was there working out as well.

“Hey Hank.”

She started a series of tai chi exercises to get warmed up and limber before going to the exercises Mike had recommended in addition. Finishing her warmup, she remembered Voice’s reaction to the reveal of her dress.

“Hey, Spud, can I ask you something?”

“You’re part of the unit, Hank. At this point, you can ask me just about anything.”

“What the hell was Voice talking about when he dashed off and said he had to practice his Japanese?”

Spud was back to her, but she could see the back of his neck turn red. He stopped the exercise he was doing and turned to her.

“You’re aware of the special drawer in Doc Andy’s desk, right?”

She blushed. “Yeah, he gave me a peek.”

“Voice told you he worked for Thor. He didn’t tell you he was a senior programmer, and they sent him all over the world◦– including to Thor’s offices in Japan.” He studied his feet for a moment. “Voice likes to play with dolls. His favorite is Japanese.”

Oh… my… God. Mike was right. “Ok,” she said, aware that she was probably now as red as her dress.

She went back to working out, lifting a hand weight with her left arm to rebuild the strength in the muscles under her breast where the bum ticker had been implanted. Spud was doing an ab exercise, alternating twisting his body to touch the elbow of an arm to the knee of the leg opposite it. She watched him absent-mindedly.

Her little voices started arguing with each other. He’s pretty well built. Don’t even go thinking it. Why not? Admit it: he’s got nice abs. He’s thirteen years older than you are. Maybe on the calendar, but that body’s not thirteen years older than your body. Besides, what’s wrong with a mature man? I told you: don’t even think it. Remember the fraternization rule? Oh, screw the fraternization rule. They didn’t say you couldn’t look. Just that you can’t touch.

Her eyes gravitated southward. They certainly did not say you couldn’t look. DO YOU WANT TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT? Screw you, as long as he doesn’t catch me at it, I’M LOOKING. Perv! Sheesh! I am a woman. And for Chrissake, check out that package. She had a recollection of the gaff he’d voiced on the plane: If you like what you see, you can see a lot more of it. NO, YOU CAN’T! one of her little voices screamed.

She was beginning to realize that a familiar feeling was creeping up on her once again, and this time it definitely had nothing to do with any gun she had ever owned or even seen. She walked over to the rack of hand weights and said, loud enough so she hoped he would hear, “I guess I’m still a little sore from the surgery. I should probably knock this off.”

She walked from the gym and then hastily made her way to Medical 3. Hearing the door unlock, she muttered, “Thank God he’s here” and walked into Doc Andy’s office.

“How can I help you, Hank?”

She stood and looked at him. He’s a doctor, it’s even his drawer, but how do I broach this topic?

“Do you need a prescription?”

She cleared her throat.

He smiled and slowly slid the drawer in his desk open, then turned so he wouldn’t be watching as she made her selection. She strode over and looked inside for a bit, then grabbed a toy and stuffed it down the waistband of her gym pants. Thank God for baggy sweats!

She went to head out the door, but it swung closed and locked. Having made note of what was missing from the drawer, Doc Andy took out something else.

Standing facing the door, she said, “Doc Andy, open the door.”

“Hank,” he began.

“Doc Andy, open… the fucking… door.”

“Hank…”

“If you don’t open this fucking damned door right now, I’m going to forget any fucking restrictions on activity I have and kick your fucking face in.”

“Hank, I think perhaps you’ll want this as well.”

She turned and looked. He looked at her clinically and placed a bottle of lubricant gel on his desk.

She scowled, strode over and grabbed it, and stuck it in a pocket. Then she strode toward the door, which opened for her this time. Holding onto the object she had hidden down her pants, she strode from his office and, once around the corner from the medical offices, ran to her quarters.

Doc Andy smiled to himself. I think I can tough it out, he recalled. “Like they all have,” he muttered, and went back to doing what he had been before Hank arrived.

15

“I think we’re now at the point where we need to start getting Hank to start following the same schedule the rest of us do,” Spud said, in conference with the medical team. “Doc Rich, do you think she’s physically up to it at this point?”

“She’s knows when she’s pushing it too hard. I think it will be fine to get her in with the team.”

“Doc Andy? Doc Wright?”

“Her only restrictions are for medical, not psychiatric reasons,” Doc Andy said. “If Doc Rich thinks she’s up to it, then I have no objections.”

“No objections,” Doc Wright added.

“Ok. Now we’ve got to start teaching her how to be a Marine.”

THE TEAM MEMBERS were all gathered in the library. “Hank,” Crow began, “it’s time for you to start learning how to act like a Marine.”

“I’ve been boning up on it.”

“It pains me that we have to do it,” Cloud said, taking a dig at Edge. “But today you get to go out, above deck as we say, which is why you have to know how to act like a Marine. We’re going to be running, just like any Marine unit. Do you know about Jody calls?”

“Yeah. But in the Bureau we just ran.”

“In the Marine Corps, you run in step with one another, in formation. The Jody provides the cadence. And sometimes has a bit of fun thrown in,” Spud explained. “There are some standard ones, and ones that are sometimes made up on the spot by the drill instructors. All you have to do is repeat back what the drill instructor sings.”

“Ok. Sounds simple enough.”

“A couple other things for you, in case the need arises,” Spud continued. “What do Marines say?”

“Oorah,” she said.

Edge kicked her chair. “Marines don’t fucking say ‘oorah.’ Marines say, OORAH!”

She jumped to her feet and shouted, “OORAH, DRILL INSTRUCTOR!”

“That’s better,” Edge said.

“And if you call your drill instructor ‘sir,’ you’re going to get a royal chewing and some PT on the spot,” Edge added. “Like every other NCO out there, our drill instructors work for a living.”

“Rrr, Drill Instructor!”

“If you see an officer, you salute,” Cloud added. “Show me your salute.”

She stood at attention and rendered one. “Good job. Looks like you’ve been practicing that one.”

“Thanks.”

“What?” Edge said, getting right in her face.

“OORAH, DRILL INSTRUCTOR!”

“We’ll turn you into a Marine yet,” Edge said.

“And God help us all,” Turtle said, taking another dig at Edge. “Uniform for the day is green PT shorts, green shirt, white socks, cross trainers. Go get ready for PT and meet up at the staircase.”

Walking back to their quarters, Hank tapped Spud on the arm. “I’m going to need some help.”

“What? Are your incisions still bothering you? Because if they are, you should skip the run.”

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “Just come in and give me a hand.”

What the hell does she need my help for?

As he entered her quarters, he noticed her standing, back to him, naked to the waist. “Uh, Hank, exactly what do you need?”

“I need you to help me get my breasts bound,” she said.

“You said what?”

“I need to bind my breasts,” she said. “One thing that didn’t get considered when you guys cut my hair and put me in CUUs is that I might get away without one of those,” she said, turning and pointing at his crotch, “but it’s sure as hell these girls of mine will get noticed. Help me with this elastic bandage.” She held up a roll of wide elastic support bandage. “I’ve tried binding with it myself by just wrapping it around, but it just comes out looking like I’m either a cyborg or the obvious: a gal with her tits bound. I need to get this bandage criss-crossed for it to look like I’m a guy.”

Spud stood, staring at her breasts.

“Spud,” she said, slapping him, “you can stand there staring, or you can help me with this. Stretch this end under my armpit and hold it at shoulder blade level while I bring it across my breast.”

“Ok.” He stood, trying not to think too much about the view of Hank he’d just seen, having never seen it before.

“Damn it,” she muttered, “That’s not going to work. Let go◦– I’ve got to try to wrap it differently.”

He tried looking at the ceiling.

“For fuck’s sake, Spud◦– pay attention. Hold this here.” She was twisted and indicating a spot at the small of her back.

“Ok.”

She scowled at him. “Hasn’t anyone in the Secret Service ever seen a woman’s breasts before?”

“I’ve seen a few different pairs, as well as other portions of women’s anatomy,” he said, trying his best to come back to earth. “I’ve just never seen yours.”

She crossed the bandage over one breast, around her waist, and then over the other one. “They’re typical. Get over it, and fasten this end to the end in the back.” She handed him some safety pins. “Use these. The little clips they give you for this stuff don’t hold, and I don’t want to appear to grow these back in the middle of the run should they pop loose. Don’t stick me, or I’ll hurt you.”

The sincerity of her threat was what it took to bring his attention back to the present instead of being fixed on the recent past. “Done,” he said, completing the task.

She yanked her green t-shirt back on. Going and looking in the mirror, she smiled. “Yeah. Looks more like man boobs now.”

I liked the woman boobs better.

“Shit. Turtle’s going to chew me one.” She dashed for the door. “Sorry, Spud◦– I made you late, too.”

Arriving at the staircase, Turtle said, “Glad you could join us, Hank. And I see you brought Spud along with you.” He leaned toward her. “No one in this unit likes to be kept waiting.”

“Sorry, Drill Instructor, but I had something that had to be done prior to going above deck, and it required Spud’s help.”

Turtle looked at her with a “what’s wrong with this picture” look on his face. “Wait a minute. What happened to your, uh…”

Spud cringed. Don’t tell him.

“Tits?” She finished for him. “I thought they’d be a dead give-away, so I had Spud help me bind them,” she said, matter-of-factly.

The others stopped what they were doing and stared in her direction. Turtle lowered his eyes a bit, and looking at her, said, “What did you just say?”

Spud closed his eyes, begging. Don’t repeat it.

“I said, Spud was helping me bind my breasts so I’d look like a guy.”

Spud hung his head. I’ll never hear the end of this one.

“Lucky fucker,” Edge muttered.

Turtle got an “I don’t believe I just heard that” look on his face and shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve been told a lot of things in this unit, but that’s a first.”

They climbed the stairs and made their way out of the BEQ above, then formed up in front to get a realistic berating regarding their poor performance as Marines. Then they started off at a paced run. From in front, Turtle began to call out, “Lo right, a-lo righty lay-o,” answered by the team as they ran along.

As she ran, Hank fell right in pace with the others, following along with the cadence, and feeling a sense of freedom. She reflected that she had probably been developing a case of cabin fever. The air in her face felt good, smelled wonderful compared to the world “below deck.” The sun was just coming up, and she tried to remember the last time she saw it. The air was crisp, snapping her into wakefulness from a drowse she hadn’t even realized she had fallen into. The realization that the run would last for three miles felt like a disappointment.

This is what I needed. Air. Sun. Things that are green, not just some transparency lit from behind on a wall down a rabbit hole. A workout, a little sweat. It’s all good.

The run was over before she knew it. The other field team members went through their individual methods of cooling down. She bent over, her hands on her knees, stretching her calves to keep them from knotting up after what seemed like a long period of disuse. Damnation, I love this. For the first time in her life, she felt a unity of purpose with the people around her that she didn’t always experience working with the FBI. She recalled Spud talking about his time in the Secret Service versus being in the unit. I don’t regret a moment of my former service, and I don’t regret a moment of my service here. It’s all been good. “And it will be for me, too,” she thought, a satisfied grin forming on her face.

She looked up to see Spud watching her. A sensation she couldn’t identify entered her.

Spud let his eyes stay on hers. Oh, fuck.

“COME ON IN, SPUD.”

Doc Andy could see immediately that Spud was deeply troubled. “Have a seat,” he said, inviting Spud to sit on the couch in his office. He poured a glass of water and set it in front of Spud, then sat and made himself comfortable.

“I wish this was something a little stronger,” Spud said, taking a sip of the water.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this troubled, Spud. Care to share?”

Spud looked ashen. “Forgive me if it takes a little time to get it out, Doc.”

“This time right now is yours, Spud. Take as much of it as you need.” Doc Andy observed that Spud looked not more youthful than his actual age as he usually did, but at the moment much older than that age.

Spud cleared his throat and hung his head. “I’m thinking it might be best for the unit if I retired.”

Doc Andy was taken aback. “Why, Spud?”

“I’m having a problem with one of the other members of the team,” Spud said, half choking.

Doc Andy recognized the picture he was seeing on Spud’s face. He’s conflicted. And I can guess what’s got him that way.

“May I ask which one?”

Spud studied his feet. Started to speak, then stopped. Wrung his hands.

“Is it Hank?” Doc Andy asked.

The look on Spud’s face caused Doc Andy to feel that he might be watching Spud fall apart in front of him.

“I think I’m… starting to have some… serious feelings for her.”

That’s what I thought.

“So, you believe it would be better for you to leave rather than risk violating the fraternization rule.”

“I’m the grand old man,” Spud said. “Don’t get me wrong: I love the unit. And I’m having a hard time thinking about not doing this anymore. But I love her, too. And I know I can’t love both.”

“And so, you feel like you’re being torn apart.”

“To put it mildly.”

Doc Andy poured a glass of water for himself and took a drink. This is not a good scenario. Not for him, not for her, and not for the unit. He decided on a course of action. Get him to wait and see. Observe what develops.

“Spud, before you make any decisions, I’d like to just say a few words. Yes, you are the senior member of the team and also the oldest member of the team. But you are a fine team member◦– one of the best we’ve ever had, and you have a lot of good years left in you. And you have to admit, she is the best sniper we’ve ever seen. I suspect that if we lose one of you, we’ll lose both. That would be a devastating blow for the unit. We’d be two men down, and unable to respond if called upon. For the good of the unit, I’d like you to take a little while to think about this. Give it a couple of weeks. Then let’s talk again.”

“And in the meantime, what do I do?”

“Probably the best course of action will be to do what you’ve always done. Immerse yourself in the team’s day-to-day training.” He went over to a cabinet and dispensed a pill from a bottle. “For right now, I’ll simply be frank with you and say that you’re obviously distraught. You can’t think objectively right now. And I suspect that without a little help you won’t sleep at all tonight, so take this.” He placed the pill in Spud’s hand. “It’s a mild sedative. To help you calm down. Take it right now, in front of me, and then go to your quarters and relax.”

Spud swallowed the pill with a little of the water. There was no fight within him to raise an objection. Then he got up and walked out the door.

Doc Andy tapped on his watch to bring up the team locator display and watched the numerical icon that showed Spud’s location. He saw Spud go straight to his quarters and hesitate at the door a brief moment, then saw Hank’s icon come out her door.

“Hey, Spud,” Hank said, as she came out of her quarters.

“Hey.” He walked into his quarters, and she heard the door lock.

What the hell?

She knocked and waited. There was no response. She used the comm: “Spud, could you please come to the door?”

“Hank, go home.”

“Spud, please. Talk to me. And not over the fucking comm link.”

The door opened.

“Spud, what’s going on? You look like you just got fired.”

“I can’t talk to you, Hank.”

“Spud, you’re my best friend. You can unload on me.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Spud…”

“I can’t, Hank. I can’t. They might be listening.”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

He tapped at the ear that held his earpiece angrily. “They can fucking listen, Hank.”

“Who are they?”

“Medical A. The docs. Wright, Rich, and Andy. They can initiate a comm link with you at any time, without your knowledge. They can listen in to everything you say and hear.”

“What the fuck? What kind of Orwellian place is this?”

“It’s their job, Hank. It’s the job of the medical team to keep us at peak performance. It’s important for them to know what’s going on with us. What they do is part of what makes us good at what we do. So, they will listen in from time to time. They’re like any other part of the unit. We have to trust them to do what’s best for the unit. That’s just the way it is.”

“Well then, fucking trust me, Spud. Talk to me!”

“Hank, I just can’t. This is something I have to work out on my own. So, please. Just go home. I’ve got to try to get some rest.” He stepped back into his quarters and the door once again closed and locked.

She stood in the hallway, staring at his door. Everything about what she had just seen and heard somehow hurt. Her little voices started talking to each other. Atypically, they were in agreement. You know what’s going on here. You feel that pain in your heart? It’s because you can’t stand to see him like this. And you know why? Because you’re in love with him.

16

Doc Rich sat in her office, going over the biometric readings from the team members from the night before and listening with a half-ear to the briefing being held in the library. Leading the group for the day was Cloud.

“Today, our training exercise will be a hound and hare exercise. For our newbie, the explanation of hound and hare is that we send out the hare, whose job is to evade capture by the hounds. The hare gets a five-minute lead. The hounds have to pick up the hare’s trail by using tracking methods: searching for footprints, snapped twigs, torn vegetation, etc. We’ll be starting with a run to an entryway to a wooded area, where the hare will be released. Today’s hare will be my cockpit buddy, Crow. Our hare has an advantage on us as he had the opportunity yesterday afternoon to come out and prepare by placing hiding locations and other things that could aid him.”

“In other words, he’s acting just like a perp,” Hank said. “This is going to be right up my alley.”

“And we’ll see how the FBI does against the DEA,” Crow smiled.

“With a run, who gets to bind Hank’s tits?” Voice asked jokingly.

Hank gave Spud a glance. A flash of anger crossed his face, then one of defeat. “No one,” she snapped. “Mike did me a muy pronto job yesterday on a special undergarment.”

The team grew silent. They all glanced from Hank to Spud and back again.

“Suddenly, we have an off-limits topic?” she demanded with a little anger of her own. “And here I thought I’d get some ribbing about all of you not getting the opportunity to help me prepare for an operational activity.”

In her office, Doc Rich sat up, now paying full attention. “Medical 1, Medical 3, join me, please.”

The other two doctors came into the office. “What’s up?” Doc Wright asked.

“I think Hank is about to let loose on the team.”

The silence in the library had continued.

“Well?” Hank asked.

They all looked at each other, with the exception of Spud, who sat looking at the floor.

“Ok. We’re going to have a little chat, because it appears that sex is now off-limits, and if there’s one fucking thing I hate, it’s having guys decide they have to pussy-foot around me…”

Doc Rich was entering commands into the monitor she had been using. Security, library, camera A, audio feed. An image of the library’s interior and the team sprang onto the monitor, and Hank’s voice could be heard. The other doctors dragged chairs around to watch with Doc Rich.

“…because girls aren’t supposed to talk about sex. Do you think Doc Andy didn’t invite me to check out his special drawer? Why do you think some of that stuff is in there? Did you think it was for guys?”

The men still sat silently, not quite knowing how to respond.

“I know all of you have seen the interior of that drawer, too” she said, walking around to stand in front of Voice. “I even know that you like Japanese.”

Voice turned red. In Doc Rich’s office, Doc Andy put his face in his hand and peeked at the monitor through his fingers.

“Well, I’m going to tell you a little secret. Women have needs, too. As a matter of fact, for every time you guys come once, we can come three times◦– if you’re any good, that is. You get an hour reprieve. We are horny all the time.”

Doc Rich was wide-eyed. “Oh my.”

“Is that true?” Doc Wright asked.

“Shut up.”

“And in case you’re wondering,” Hank continued, anger in her voice, “I did get a ‘prescription’, as he euphemistically puts it, from Doc Andy’s little drawer. A nice, big prescription. He even had to recommend some of that stuff that you guys use,” she said, curling her fingers and pumping her arm in a bit of sign language with an unmistakable meaning.

Doc Andy sat upright and raised an eyebrow toward the monitor. “My, oh my,” Doc Rich said. “A big one?”

“Made me blush,” Doc Andy replied.

“I even play with it sometimes,” Hank continued. “And if knowing that helps you all with some of this,” repeating the same sign language, “then have at it. Enjoy yourselves, and I’ll enjoy myself and everyone will be happy. And now that I’ve just pulverized the ice for you all, can we kindly get back to this training exercise?” She stood and glared for a while, the men silent, then threw up her hands and gave out an exasperated sigh. “Forget it. I need five minutes and a cup of coffee. I’ll be in the cafeteria.” She stood and glanced toward Spud. Their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments.

She stormed toward the library door. “Medical 3, you dirty old perv, you can stop listening now. And that goes for your two compadres as well!” she said angrily, addressing the security camera. Then she walked out.

“Guess she knows about that now,” Doc Rich said.

“Well, that was interesting,” Cloud said.

“Maybe too interesting,” Voice said.

The rest of the team snickered, remembering her remark to Voice.

Spud stood up. “I’ll get her.” He walked out and made his way to the cafeteria.

Hank was sitting at the team table, cradling a cup of coffee.

“Mind if I join you?”

“What the fuck do I care?” she snapped.

“Mind telling me what all that was really about?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head no.

“Maybe after dinner tonight?”

She looked at him. He recognized the expression. He’d seen it in his mirror the day before. “Sure, what the hell.” Getting quieter, she said, “I think I’d like that, Spud.”

“My place?”

“Sure, what the fuck. You’ve seen mine enough. I’ve never seen yours.”

“That’s true. Now come on◦– we weren’t done with the briefing yet, and we’ve got mission training to do.”

“OK, Crow◦– see if you can keep us from catching you.” The team watched as Crow disappeared into the woods, watching his cammies blend into the underbrush.

“His five minutes are up. Let’s go get him.”

The team members fanned out. Hank stood her ground.

“Spread out, Hank,” Spud said.

“Why?”

“So we can form a sweep line.”

“Really? Good initiative, bad judgement. Who taught you guys to track?” She raised her voice and said, “Everyone hold where you are.”

“You’re going to lead this one?” Voice asked.

“If we want to get back to the BEQ before midnight, yeah,” she said. “Sweep lines are sometimes good for search and rescue, but for this we want to use tracking, remember?” She pointed into the woods. “I watched him closely. The last place I saw him clearly was down by that tree. Just follow me.”

She stepped into the woods and strode to stand by a tree. Voice began to go ahead of her, but she stopped him.

“When a person moves across the ground, they leave signs. Footprints, disturbed leaves and stones, broken twigs, torn vegetation… You want to look first. If you move into the trail, you can disturb the signs. Then you lose the trail entirely.”

“Where did you learn this stuff from?” Voice asked.

“Border Patrol tracking team. And they are very good.” She smiled at him. “And I was paying attention.”

She stood and looked around in front of her. “The idea is to look for inconsistencies. It’s the same thing you do when you’re acquiring your target when sniping. Look for the little inconsistencies that tell you what you’re seeing isn’t natural. And I spy with my little eye a series of footsteps.” She walked forward. “Can you see them?”

“Nope.”

“Right here.” She bent down and pointed out a leaf. “This leaf has been turned over. A leaf will be damper on the bottom than the top, so it looks a little darker. Look.” She pointed to a dry leaf, then turned it over to show a slightly darker underside. “Plus, if you do this,” she bent down, “and look across the top of the leaf layer, you can see the depressions in the leaves.”

They all bent and looked. The next few yards of the trail became clear to everyone.

“I’d have never thought of that,” Spud said.

“That’s because you’ve never had to help find a Boy Scout lost in the woods.” She walked forward along the trail Crow had unwittingly left behind.

“You’ve had to help find a Boy Scout?” Turtle asked.

“Yes. He wandered off from the camp and no one knew where he went. The adults in the troop and the other boys walked all over the place and disturbed the sign. They practically had every available person in law enforcement out there to help find him. It was fall, and the nights got cold, so they really needed to find him. The Border Patrol team was called in. They’re practically the experts, given they chase illegals through arroyos and over rocky terrain all the time.”

“Did you find him?”

“Not me personally, but the search team did, yes. He was hypothermic and actually hiding from the rescuers. People’s brains start doing odd things when they get cold. CBP actually found him when they picked up his sign and followed it. They medevac’ed him out by helicopter. The doctors said he was found just in the nick of time. Those CBP guys saved that boy’s life.”

She stopped. “This is where I saw the last footstep.” She bent down. “And there are more.” She moved forward again, then stopped, bent down, stood up, looked around.

“No disturbed leaves this time?” Turtle asked.

“No. But there will be other sign. Where are you, Crow? You didn’t go across the leaves, so you had to have gone across something else. Stones. A log. Like this one.” She looked and saw where flakes of bark had been freshly knocked off.

“On, on,” she said.

The others still stood where they had stopped.

“Come here, he went this way.”

They walked up to her.

“’On, on’ means I’ve found the trail. When someone spots the trail, you say ‘on, on’ and the rest of the team comes to you. If we have to fan out to find sign, we do it from the point where we lost the trail.”

“I’ve got footprints in the leaves,” Turtle said, pointing beyond the end of the log.

“Crow is trying to be clever,” Hank said. “He’s acting like a perp. ‘Run down the length of the log and then make my escape in a direction they’re not expecting.’” Checking for the sign herself, she said, “Good job, Turtle. Lead the way.”

Turtle led the group along another few yards of trail. “I lost it.”

“Are you standing where it ended?”

“Yes.”

“Start looking.”

All the team members started looking for the slight inconsistencies that would point out the direction their quarry went.

“On, on,” Cloud called.

“Watch what’s at your feet, just in case he’s wrong,” Hank advised. Getting over to Cloud, she asked, “What do you have?”

Pointing, “Mud on the leaves.”

“Good job, Cloud. You are, indeed, on. Take the lead.”

Cloud walked along, telling what he was seeing. “Leaves are disturbed. Grass is crushed. Overturned stone.”

The trail led to the edge of a glade. “There’s sign everywhere,” Turtle said.

“Which is why now we have to use our heads.” Hank looked around the perimeter of the opening. “If there’s sign everywhere, it means one of two things. Either he deliberately set up false trails, or he moved around a lot when he set up his hiding place. My guess is door number two. He is somewhere in here.”

She started walking slowly around the glade, humming a little song. Spud recognized it as one from Sesame Street. With each step, she stopped and scanned the area again. Then she walked quietly to an area where tall grass stood. Looking down, she saw what she expected to see. She stood up, and pointing at a patch of grass, quietly sang, “One of these things is not like the others.” As they came up, she pointed out a little loose, fresh dirt in a line. She also pointed to the grass at a spot away from where they stood and held her hand straight up, then pointed at the grass at her feet and made her hand wilt. She pantomimed holding a gun pointed at the spot. The others surrounded the spot and pointed fingers at it.

She reached down and grasped the grass, gently lifting it up. It came up in a large clump, revealing a small sheet of plywood underneath. She grabbed a corner of the plywood and flipped it over to the side.

“Hello, Sadam,” she said as Crow looked up at her from his spider hole.

Seeing the fingers pointed at him, he came up, hands raised in surrender. She dropped him to his knees and zip-tied his hands behind his back.

“And that, gentlemen, is how it’s done.”

“That was fast,” Spud remarked.

“Next time, make me the hare and I’ll take you on a merry chase,” she said.

As they walked from the woods, Hank walked next to Voice and asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Hank.”

“Is there any way to defeat the ability of Medical A from listening in on our conversations?”

“Ordinarily, I’d say no. All the comm feed is through your earpiece, and the mic is extremely sensitive. It can easily pick up conversations from across a room if you take the earpiece out. You have a backup in case you lose the earpiece, and that’s through the watch. The bum ticker coordinates everything and talks to the mainframes through the sat link.”

“What if you put it in a noisy area so it covers up the voice?”

“Doesn’t work. The mainframes can identify what’s voice and what isn’t and separate the voice from the other garbage.”

“Can they initiate a comm link through the watch if your earpiece is out?”

“No. A comm link can only be established by the watch through the swipe, and you have to do that.

“There’s a hierarchy. The bum ticker communicates directly with the sat link and mainframes all the time. Things that it directly controls aren’t suppressible. They can always see your biometrics and location, for instance. The watch acts as an interface with the bum ticker, so you can use it to ask the mainframes for info, and use it to see the info you’ve asked for in the format you request. The earpiece is the dumb bit of the system. It just handles comm but it does it by passing communications through the bum ticker. So, the trick is isolating it from the bum ticker. You can’t do it if it’s in your ear, but you can isolate it by basically putting it in a Faraday cage.”

“Faraday cage?”

“Yeah, an enclosure made of conductive material. It will block electromagnetic impulses so electromagnetic radiation can’t get through to the object within the cage. I’ve got one for my earpiece. I had Luigi make me one out of silver. Just looks like a little decorative box about the size of half a candy bar.”

“I gather sometimes you want privacy.”

“Uh, yeah,” Voice said, turning a little red. “Why? You need to have a conversation that you don’t want overheard?”

“You could say that. Does the box have to be made of silver?”

“No, it just has to be a conductor. I figured better safe than sorry, and silver is the best conductor out there.”

“Can I borrow your little box tonight? Or do you need it so you can speak some Japanese?”

Voice turned red. “Sure, I’ll let you borrow it. Just make sure I get it back.”

HANK WALKED up to Spud’s door and heard it unlatch for her. “Come on in, Hank.”

Hank walked in and looked around. Spud’s quarters were quite a bit more elaborately decorated than hers, probably because he’s been here so long, she thought.

“Coffee?”

“When have you known me to pass up coffee?” she asked, chidingly.

“Never. That’s why I offered.” He brought it and sat it on a coffee table by his couch, putting a cup of his own next to it.

“You did a great job on the hound and hare today.”

“Thanks.”

“I learned a lot from you.”

“Spud, is this the conversation you wanted to have?”

He looked at her. His face said no, but he tapped his ear to explain his silence. He reached for a pad of paper on the end table next to him.

She took Voice’s little box from her cargo pants. Opening it, she pulled her earpiece from her ear and dropped it inside. “Would you like to try this? It’s something really special,” she said.

He pulled his own earpiece and dropped it into the box as well. She then snapped the lid shut.

“Something of Voice’s?”

“How he gains privacy when he’s engaged with Madam Nippon,” she said with a grin. “He says the bum ticker can’t establish a link with the earpiece through the metal.”

“Yeah, well this,” tapping over where his bum ticker was implanted, “is still talking. They can tell from the biometrics when he’s having a conversation with Madam Nippon.”

“And I’m sure he knows that, given he’s I.T. But maybe he’d feel more embarrassed if they knew what he was saying.”

“We all forgive Voice for his quirks. He’s a good programmer.” He studied his hands for a moment. “Just like we’ll all forgive you for the outburst this morning.”

She sat silently.

“Do you want to tell me how we went from discussing a hound and hare exercise to discussing Doc Andy’s drawer, its contents, and the uses of those contents?”

She gritted her teeth. “It was Voice’s stupid remark about who would get to bind my breasts.”

“I think maybe that was a catalyst, but I also know you well enough that it’s something you would ordinarily just roll with. ‘Ha, ha, ha. Fucking funny. Mike beat you to it.’ And you would have even shown them your special bra. If nothing else, you’ve proven to be as candid as the rest of us, and I’ve never seen you pull a punch. But I’ve also never seen you deliver one like that, either. You really hit us with a flame thrower.”

She had her hands clasped between her knees, bent over slightly, staring vacantly at the coffee table. “I could see it pissed you off, too.”

“That’s really what set you off? I don’t think so. What’s bothering you, Hank?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Are we going to talk about this now? No time like the present, I guess. “I have a decision I have to make.”

“Some sort of shit sliding down from above?”

“No, a personal decision.”

“It has to be some kind of heavy decision from the way you were acting last night.”

I might as well tell her. “It is. I have to decide if I should retire from the unit.”

The news hit her like a sledge hammer. Her little voices started to scream. NO! NO, THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!

She started to shake. “Spud, you can’t do this. You love the unit. It’s your life!”

“For the good of the unit, I might have to.”

“But why? Are you sick? Do you think you just can’t keep up with the rest of us anymore?”

“No. I think I might end up in Leavenworth if I don’t.”

No! No, no, no! I’m responsible for this! I’m going to take his life away! And when his is gone, mine will be gone as well! I can’t let this happen, I can’t!

She started to sob. “This is all because of me. This is all my fault. I’m taking away everything you love!”

He felt his heart being crushed. “No, Hank. Don’t say that. You aren’t responsible for my feelings. Only I can control that.”

She jumped up. Whirling and facing him, she said, “But I’m responsible for my feelings!” Pounding on her chest, she said again, “I’m responsible for my feelings!” She started to pound her fist against her thigh while saying, “Damn it! Damn it!”

He got up and grabbed her. “Stop. Stop, Hank.”

She put her arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably. “I can’t let you do this! I can’t let you just walk out.”

Spud felt helpless. Should I comfort her? Should I ask her to leave? What the hell should I do? His heart was aching.

“I can’t do this without you, Spud. I can’t. If you quit, I’ll quit as well. If it takes me the rest of our lives, I’ll search for you. I can’t help it, Spud. Fuck it to hell and back. Fuck the whole thing! I tried not to love you, but I do.” She sat back down, burying her face in her hands, sobbing.

He wanted to touch her, to soothe her. He wanted to kiss her and tell her everything would be alright, that somehow, they could do something to be together. He felt anger toward the doctors, anger toward the fraternization rule, anger toward the unit that he’d never felt before.

“We’ve got to figure something out,” she said, wiping her face on her sleeve. “This is the best job I’ve ever had and ever will have. I can’t leave the unit, and I can’t leave you.”

He took her chin in his hand and raised her face so he could look at her directly. “I can’t leave the unit, and I can’t leave you, either. But I just can’t see how we can continue to be together and stay apart.”

She felt anger bubble up inside her. “We are not fucking leaving the unit, Spud. And we aren’t fucking leaving each other, either. I’d rather love you from a distance than not ever see you again. If that’s what I have to do, then I’ll do it. Voice figured out how to shut the damned comm link up◦– maybe he can think about how to help us be together. But in the meantime, we just go on. We just do the mission. Maybe if we just think about the mission, we can get through until we can figure out what to do about us.”

17

Spud walked into Doc Andy’s office.

“Things still troubling you?” Doc Andy asked, placing a glass of water on the table by the couch in his office. He indicated Spud should sit.

“I don’t think this is going to take long,” Spud said, remaining standing. “I’ve made a decision.”

Doc Andy picked up on the tinge of anger in Spud’s voice.

“I’m not leaving the unit.”

That’s a relief. “Can I ask why you changed your mind?”

“Hank and I had a talk last night.”

If she jilted him, this could be worse. “What did you talk about?”

“We talked about how we felt. And she got more upset than I ever thought I’d see her. She was hitting herself in the leg with her fist, hurting herself. She was doing it because she thought the man she loves was leaving.” He leaned down and put his face right in front of Doc Andy’s. “And I don’t ever want to see the woman I love go through that again. I don’t even want to be sitting somewhere up there,” pointing upward to the outside world, “thinking that she might be going through that again. I’m going to stay right here and make sure it doesn’t happen, even if I can’t touch her.”

He turned and started to walk back out the door. Turning back to Doc Andy, he said, “But I think you docs better reevaluate one of the rules around here. Because right now, the only reason I’m staying is because I care about Hank. Right now, I couldn’t give a shit about this unit.” He turned and left.

Doc Andy sat at his desk, his chin resting on his fist. Houston, we’ve got a problem here.

Next door, Doc Rich watched on the security feed as Hank made her way to the cafeteria. Hank was limping slightly. “That doesn’t look good,” Doc Rich muttered. “Hank, report to Medical 2.”

Hank sighed. First day of the rest of my fucking rotten life, and Doc Rich just has to ice it with a cow shit for me. She walked into the office. “What is it, Doc Rich?”

“I noticed you’re limping. Are you injured?”

“Not really.”

Doc Rich got up. Patting on the examining table, she said, “Drop your shorts and let me examine your leg.”

Oh, fuck.

“Hank, you’ve got a heckuva bruise here.”

“Yeah, I slipped on the bathroom floor and whacked my leg on the edge of the toilet. I feel like an idiot. Should have put down a bath mat.”

“You look like you didn’t sleep last night, either.”

“For fuck’s sake! I’ve got a bruise the size of a grapefruit on my leg. Of course I didn’t sleep well!”

Doc Rich looked at her face. The expression told her that she shouldn’t believe what Hank was saying. But having no real evidence to think the story was anything other than true, she said, “Better make sure to put down a mat next time. We don’t want you down due to an injury. And it might not be a bad idea to skip a couple of PT sessions.”

“It’ll be ok. I’ve got to work on upper body strength anyway, so it won’t put a lot of stress on the leg.”

“If it gives you any grief, come back and see me. In the meantime, hit the whirlpool and take some acetaminophen for any pain you might be having.”

“Sure thing, Doc Rich.”

As Hank left her office, Doc Rich thought, Something’s not right here.

SPUD JOINED the rest of the team at the team table. Hank was already seated, her tablet with the daily duty roster in front of her. An empty seat was next to her.

Spud grabbed some coffee and made for the nearest seat to him at the opposite end of the table. “Guys, mind scooting down one?”

The rest of the team all looked up at him, then over to Hank, then back. The two sitting on the side of the table with the empty chair got up and moved one seat closer to Hank.

Hank stood up. “I see PT in the gym is first up. “Think I’ll go change. I want to see if I can’t get a few more of these overhand pull-ups in.”

As she walked off toward her quarters, the rest of the team all looked at Spud, who was head down concentrating on his coffee.

“Something wrong between you and Hank?” Cloud asked.

“No,” Spud replied, tersely.

“’Cuz you guys usually chat a bit.”

“So? We’re not chatting this morning. So what?” Spud was looking at him with an ‘it’s none of your fucking business’ look.

“Excuuuuse us,” Crow said.

“You know, sometimes a guy can’t get a stinking cup of coffee around here without someone making a dumbass remark,” Spud said. “I think I’ll go finish this in the library.” He grabbed his coffee and left.

“Anyone else notice something?” Turtle said.

“Like what?”

“Like he didn’t eat anything, and she didn’t eat much. She even left half of her coffee sitting here on the table. Plus, we know what he does in the library, and why.”

“Might have something to do with the chat Hank and Spud had last night,” Voice said.

“They got together last night?”

“Yeah, for a private chat,” Voice said, pantomiming removing an earpiece and dropping it into a box.

“Think maybe she pissed him off or vice versa?” Edge asked.

“No idea. I just loaned her the box, I wasn’t part of the conversation.”

“I’ve never heard of someone getting pissed off with their recruiter,” Turtle said. “Usually, the recruiter and the recruited end up being the best of friends.”

“That’s not written in stone,” Voice said.

“But you all heard them on the plane. It seemed like they hit it off right from the start,” Cloud said. “Nothing about this makes sense.”

“OK, HANK,” Mike began. “Your real weakness, at least as far as being up to Marine standards, is upper body. We need to get you so you can do a few more than the minimum pull-ups.”

“It’s doing them over-handed that’s kicking me in the ass. In the Bureau, they let us do them palm facing us.”

“That’s actually a flexed-arm hang,” Mike said. “They let the women in the Marines do them, but not the men. And you’re supposed to be a man, so guess what you have to do?”

She nodded. “No problem. I welcome the challenge, Drill Instructor.”

“Good thing. You can already do the minimum of three, but let’s see if we can’t get you up quite a bit higher. We’re going to multiply that by two, and that’s going to be your first improvement goal. Six pull-ups. I’ll get your training program updated, and you’ll have it on your tablet. You’re going to want to do six pull-ups every other day. If you can’t get them done in one session, then let your muscles rest a bit and get back here to the gym when you have a chance and do some more. Keep doing that until you’ve got six done all at one sitting each day you do your PT. Don’t push so hard that you get really sore, or you won’t make your goal the next time you do your pull-ups. Try to get just one more pull-up in at your initial set when you come in to do PT in the morning. When you get so you can do four, then try for five. We’ll give that two weeks, then see how many you can do at the end of that time. Then revise the goal◦– hopefully upward, of course.” Mike thought a bit. “You know, I might have to alter the dress after this, too. If you buff up your upper body muscles, it’s going to give your ladies there some extra umf.”

I might never want to wear that dress again. “First goal has to be to make myself into a male Marine, Mike.”

Hearing her tone, Mike thought, But I thought you loved that dress?

“EVERYONE ready for range time this afternoon?” Turtle asked over lunch.

“You mean, everyone ready to be embarrassed by Hank this afternoon?” Voice clarified. The team members all laughed a bit until they noticed that Hank wasn’t joining in.

“Not going to be there,” she said, playing with her food.

“Why not?” Spud asked.

“None of the Marine units were scheduled for the long-distance rifle range, so Luigi and I are going above deck to get the final tweaks done on the Sako.” She got up, took her plate of food and scraped it into the trash, put her dirty plate in the dish bin, and saying, “I’d better get ready,” walked out of the cafeteria.

The team watched her leave. The silence in the cafeteria was oppressive.

“Spud, do you have any idea what’s bothering Hank?” Cloud asked. “She never smiles anymore. She’s not eating. She’s not even cussing her usual blue streak.”

“Why would you think I’d know what’s eating her?” Spud demanded.

“Because you’re her recruiter, and because we’re thinking maybe it’s the same thing that’s eating you.”

“I haven’t got anything eating me,” he said, trying not to allow any sign of emotion enter into his tone. “I’m the grand old man of this unit, remember? I get tired from time to time.”

Cloud raised an eyebrow. Never heard him make an excuse based on his age before.

“I think I should get ready, too,” he said, and made his way out of the cafeteria.

Once he’d left, Cloud said, “I think we need to have a little meeting to discuss this business with Spud and Hank, guys. Just the five of us. We’ve got a little free time this afternoon, so I’m going to suggest 1500 in the library. Be there.”

“OK, Sweetheart. You gotcher target down there at two hunderd yards. Take a shot, an’ let’s see where she goes.”

Hank lay prone on the ground, poised with the Sako. Her sight picture through the scope seemed to waver back and forth. Her little voices made the analysis and whispered, heartbeat.

She took a deep breath, in… out…, and tried to settle on the rifle again. This time she could see it clearly herself: the movement of the rifle with every heartbeat. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, took another. Settled onto the rifle stock. Too rapid. Need to get more settled. Too rapid.

“What’s yer problem, Sweetheart? Two hunderd yards, I would think you could-a made three shots in that time.”

“I can’t seem to settle, Luigi. It’s like my heart is pounding. Maybe something I ate at lunch is giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“From what I heard, you didn’t eat any lunch.”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s it.”

Luigi gave her a long, knowing look. “I know it’s got nothin’ to do with lunch.”

She lifted her head from the rifle stock and looked at him.

“You’ve been breakin’ my heart this whole week,” Luigi said. “’Cuz I see you’ve got another guy took your heart away from me. An’ you’ve got a rule says you can’t even kiss him.”

She crossed her arms on the ground and buried her face in them. Luigi could see her shoulders heave as she tried not to cry out loud.

“Hank, just let it out,” Luigi said. “You’re gettin’ a shitty deal, so just let it out.”

She sobbed. “I don’t know if I can do this, Luigi. Maybe I’m the one who should leave.”

“Who said anything about leavin’?” Luigi asked.

“Spud. He said he might leave for the good of the unit. But if he leaves, I don’t think I’ll want to shoot anymore.”

“Well, then we’ve gotta figure somethin’ out, Sweetheart. Because he leaves, then your heart breaks. An’ your heart breaks, then you can’t shoot. Then they’ll say, ‘Why don’t you resign, Hank?’ Then my heart breaks. Then I don’t wanna work on guns no more.”

“This whole thing is a big, fucking mess.”

“Yeah, you’re right ‘bout that. Somethin’s gotta give for sure. For right now, let me help you with this.” He sat down next to her cross-legged and put his hand on her shoulder. “Now you imagine this hand is his hand, and you send one down there to two hunderd yards for me.”

She settled back onto the rifle. Closing her eyes, she could see Spud sitting next to her, hand on her shoulder, a gentle touch that told her he was with her. She opened her eyes and peered through the rifle scope. Slowly moving her finger from alongside the receiver of the rifle to the trigger so that the crosshairs of the scope never moved from her target, she gently squeezed, sending the round downrange.

“That’s a good shot,” Luigi said. “You put that one right through the middle of the bullseye. You wanna put another one there, or you wanna go to three hunderd yards?”

“Too easy,” she said. “Let’s take it out to five.”

“Five hunderd yard target. You got it.” He adjusted the spotting scope he was looking through, then put his hand back on her shoulder. “Send it on down there to five hunderd yards, Hank.”

She closed her eyes and saw Spud with his hand on her shoulder again, smiling, and heard him say, You can do this, Hank. She settled on the rifle, saw the motion of the rifle slow and then stop. Her little voice said, Send it.

“Right on the money again, Sweetheart,” Luigi said. “Now, down there at a thousand yards, there’s a two foot by four foot steel gong.” He put his hand back on her shoulder. “Hit it for me.”

She adjusted the scope and settled on the rifle, this time seeing just a hint of motion. She waited until the motion dampened and the only thing apparent when her heart took a rest between beats was the barest of jitters. Send it. The round sizzled as it flew down range, then hit the gong with a clang! that didn’t come back to her firing spot until a few seconds after the shot rang out. “Too easy, Spud.”

And it will be too easy as long as there’s a Spud for her here, Luigi thought.

“OK, everyone knows why we’re here,” Cloud said. “Apparently we’ve got something going on between Spud and Hank that we’ve got to put a stop to before it gets nastier.”

“Seems like it’s pretty nasty already,” Turtle remarked.

“She didn’t seem particularly angry when she borrowed my little box,” Voice said. “But things sure seem to have gone downhill really quickly.”

“So how do we handle it?” Crow asked. “It’s not like you can just tell two people who want to beat the shit out of each other to shake hands and play nice.”

“Maybe we get together with them and see if we can’t help them hash it out,” Voice suggested.

“That’s not something we want Med A listening in on. Can your little box hold seven earpieces?”

“Not sure about that.”

“You know,” Edge said, “sometimes you guys are as thick as the bullshit between your ears.”

“Are we going to start fighting among ourselves as well?” Cloud asked. “It’s bad enough that this situation between Spud and Hank is getting us all down.”

“You idiots,” Edge said. “Spud and Hank aren’t mad at each other.”

“To quote Hank, the fuck you say,” Crow said pointedly.

“The fuck I do say,” Edge said. “Look at it yourself. They hit it off right on the plane. Admitted, it was Spud’s job to get her to sign on the line, but we all listened to the conversation. He didn’t just sell her, he started a friendship with her. We get her here, and just like each of our recruiters, he’s there with her all the way. He even stays with her during the damned CT prep, for God’s sake. You don’t take that one on if you’re starting to hate the person.”

The others laughed. “You’ve got a point there,” Cloud said.

“Damned right I do,” Edge said. “So, next thing we see is Spud starting to act like his dog just died. Then we see Hank starting to look like a lost puppy. Then Voice tells us they had a private chat, and now they’re avoiding each other.”

“And you don’t think maybe that private talk could have been a bit heated?” Crow asked.

“I think it could have been heated, but not in the way you’re thinking,” Edge said. “Wake the fuck up! They’re trying really hard to hide something. They’re in love, idiots.”

The others sat silent, slightly stunned. “Nah,” Turtle said.

“Wake… up… you… dumb… fucks!”

“You think they might have made the two-backed beast?” Turtle asked.

“I think if they had, we’d be two team members down by now,” Edge said. “I think they just talked about how they felt about each other, realized the feeling was mutual, and now they’re trying really hard not to make the two-backed beast.”

“Well, shit,” Cloud said.

“And here’s the real shit. Now they’re miserable, and we see they’re miserable, so all of us are miserable, too. Even some of the support team are being affected by it. And you know why all of this is happening? Because we have a stupid rule. We have a rule that was made with the assumption that two people would just decide Doc Andy’s toy box wasn’t really enough. It wasn’t made with the idea that two people would genuinely be in love with each other. And I think we need to come up with a revision and take it to Medical A, and get them to change the fucking rule before it destroys the whole unit.”

DOC RICH SAT in her office, going over the biometrics from the night before, a troubled expression on her face. “Medical 1, Medical 3, join me, please.”

“I think I’ve got a little something we need to look at,” she said, picking up a controller and turning on a monitor mounted on the wall as they arrived.

“As you know, when I review the biometrics each day I look for two things. First, of course, are signs of any abnormal respiratory or cardiac activity. But the second thing is signs that the Field Team guys are exhibiting a healthy libido. It seems to be the best barometer of how well they’re doing, especially with regard to emotional stress.”

She showed a display of a biometric trace, with heart and respiration traces marked out from top to bottom with labels reading from FT1 to FT7. Noting an area on one of the field team’s traces where heart rate and respiration increased dramatically during a short period of time, she said, “We all know what’s happening here.”

The other two doctors smiled. “An indication of a healthy libido,” Doc Wright said.

“Yes. Now here’s what’s been happening with our team over about the past ten days.” She ran the progress bar on the traces forward and stopped. “Right here, we see an uptick in activity for these two.” She pointed out traces FT6 and FT7. “Then it declines. At the same time, we see all of the other members of the Field Team’s activity likewise decline. As of last night, FT1 through 5 are virtually nil. FT6 and 7 show a huge burst of activity right after the evening meal.

“This morning I noticed that Hank was limping while walking to breakfast. I examined her and found a huge bruise on her right leg. She claims she fell in the bath and hit her leg on the toilet. I’m not quite buying it.”

“What do you think happened?” Doc Wright asked.

“The two of them were together in Spud’s quarters when this burst of activity occurred. I think it’s possible that she was assaulted by Spud last night.”

Doc Andy shook his head. “No, Lois.” He sighed. “I can see how the data leads you to that conclusion, but your conclusion is wrong.” He took the controller and ran the traces backward a bit. “You see Spud’s trace from yesterday?” He cut the area of the trace and then moved it to place it over the trace from the evening before. “See how there’s no increase in respiration in these two traces, and how the onset is dramatic and not gradual the way we typically see when one of the team is masturbating? What you’re seeing here isn’t sexual activity on his part. It’s distress.”

“Are you certain of that?” Doc Wright asked.

“Yes, because I know exactly what was happening during this first trace. The time corresponds to when Spud was in my office. He was very distraught. So much so that I sedated him and sent him to his quarters.”

Doc Rich was taken aback. “Spud?”

“Yes, Spud. He came to me because he was considering retiring from the unit. It seems he has developed some serious feelings,” tapping on the FT7 trace, “for Hank. Notice her trace shows the same general biometric pattern as his. It’s not sexual, it’s distress. He tells me that she was very upset when he told her that he was considering leaving the unit, and that she was hurting herself. Hitting herself in the leg with her fist. She didn’t get that bruise in a fall.”

“Oh my,” Doc Rich said. “This is a royal mess.”

“Yes, it is.” Doc Andy sighed again. “And it gets worse. Because Spud came to me this morning and told me he’d decided not to leave the unit, but only because he didn’t want to see Hank go through the distress he’d seen the night before. He says it’s the only reason he’s staying, and that he doesn’t give a shit, in his words, about the unit anymore.”

“Damn it. So, you mean to tell me we could lose the two best team members we have right now?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Doc Andy confirmed.

The three doctors’ earpieces came to life. “Medical A, FT1 through 5 are on our way. We need to confer.”

The three doctors looked at each other. “FT1, tell your team to meet us in Medical 2.”

“Sounds like this problem is cascading,” Doc Wright observed.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions before we hear them out,” Doc Andy said.

The five members of the team walked through the door. “We’ve got a bit of an issue,” Cloud said, acting as spokesperson for the group. “And it’s right here.” He held up his tablet. Titled at the top of the display was “Prohibition Against Fraternization.”

“This rule has got to be changed.”

“You want the fraternization rule changed?” Doc Rich asked.

“We don’t want it changed, we’re demanding that it be changed.”

“You realize that this rule was put in place in order to avoid difficulties,” Doc Andy said.

“Right now, the fucking rule is creating difficulties,” Cloud said. “We’re watching two people that we all care about who are miserable because of this rule. And it’s making us miserable watching it. The whole team is collapsing, and it’s all because of this stupid rule.”

“So how do you propose it be changed?” Doc Andy asked.

“Like this.” Cloud scrolled down on the tablet. He then began to read.

“One. No person who is a member of the Field Team shall engage in actions which are manifestations of affection with another member of the Field Team, except as allowed in paragraphs two through six.

“Two. Should two members of the Field Team wish to establish a spousal relationship, they shall petition Medical Team A for consideration for designation as a spousal unit.

“Three. After appropriate medical and psychological examinations have been performed, Medical Team A shall recommend for or against the petitioners. Recommendations for the petitioners must be by unanimous consent of the medical team members.

“Four. Upon unanimous consent of Medical Team A, the petition for consideration as a spousal unit shall be made to the remaining members of the Field Team. Recommendation for the petitioners shall be by unanimous consent of the remaining Field Team members.

“Five. The spousal unit will agree to refrain from manifestations of affection while in the presence of other unit members.

“Six. The remaining Field Team members must agree to be bound by the conditions in paragraph one, including and especially with regard to the spousal unit until such time that the declared spousal unit notifies Medical Team A that the spousal unit is dissolved.” He passed his tablet over to Doc Andy.

“So, basically what you’re saying, using a bit of legalese,” Doc Andy began, “is that the couple has to essentially make a vow of marriage, to which everyone else has to give consent. And for everyone else, it’s no interference with the happy couple until they get unhappy and declare a divorce.”

“Essentially, that’s it,” Cloud said. “That, and what goes on in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.”

“There’s only one problem,” Doc Rich said.

“Which is?”

“If the couple is a heterosexual couple, there must be a minimal probability of a pregnancy.”

“So, one of them has to be sterilized?” Cloud asked.

“Not one. Both. Vasectomies can fail. So can tubal ligations. But the probability of a failure of both a vasectomy and a tubal ligation is very remote.”

“And if they don’t consent?”

“Then they won’t gain our approval,” Doc Rich said.

“They’re not going to go for that,” Voice said.

“Yeah, they will,” Turtle said. “Bet.” Voice reached over with his fist, and he and Turtle fist-bumped.

“I would like to propose that we amend this, and insert the following as paragraph five, renumbering the paragraphs that follow: ‘Upon unanimous consent of both Medical Team A and the remaining members of the Field Team, those being considered for designation as a spousal unit, if such unit is comprised of members of the opposite sex, shall consent to surgical sterilization. Should one or both decline surgical sterilization, the consent for formation of a spousal unit will be withdrawn.’ Sound fair?” Doc Andy asked.

“I still don’t think they’ll go for it,” Voice said.

“If they don’t then I guess they really don’t love each other that much,” Turtle said.

“He’s got a point,” Crow said.

“Just like the rule we had before was the rule, this is just going to have to be the rule,” Cloud said. “Doc Rich has a very valid point. Two consenting adults might be able to serve without their relationship getting in the way, but throw a baby in the mix and everything’s going to be quite different.”

Doc Andy typed out the amendment to the rule change. “So let’s vote, everyone,” he said.

Everyone tapped their knuckles on Doc Rich’s desk.

“We have two more team members who have to ratify this rule change. After that, we’ll see what happens. Shall we get them in here?” asked Doc Andy.

Again, knuckles were tapped on the desk.

“Hank, Spud, report to Medical 2.”

Hank caught up to Spud as they made their way to Doc Rich’s office. “They’re going to can us,” she said.

“On what grounds?” Spud asked. “We haven’t touched each other.”

“Maybe they think we have. And how do we prove otherwise?”

“We haven’t broken the fraternization rule, Hank. They have to be able to prove we did. What evidence could they have when we haven’t done anything wrong?”

They walked through the door. Seeing the other five team members and the three doctors gathered, Hank asked, “What’s going on?”

“There is a proposed change to one of the unit’s rules which has been agreed to by all of us present here, with the exception of you two. You must agree to the rule change before it can take effect.” Doc Andy handed them Cloud’s tablet with the revised fraternization rule on it.

They read it together. Spud and Hank looked at each other.

“I have no objections to this rule change,” Hank said.

“I have no objections, either,” Spud said.

“Then if we can all take the vote on the proposed rule change again? All those in favor?” Knuckles were tapped. “The rule change is adopted by unanimous vote,” concluded Doc Andy. “You can upload this to Hal, Cloud. And now, given all of Medical Team A is present, I would like to know if the two of you would like to petition for consideration as a spousal unit.”

Hank looked at Spud. “They know,” she said.

“At least one of us knew,” Edge said. “And had to explain it to the rest of these idiots.”

“Someone else knew as well,” Doc Andy said.

“Spud, if you consent, you’ll have to have a vasectomy. If we ever decide we don’t love each other anymore, you’ll never be able to father children.”

“That doesn’t bother me as much as you having to have a tubal ligation. It’s a bit more involved than a vasectomy.”

“Actually,” Doc Rich began, “it’s not. These days, it’s done by laparoscopic surgery. Just two small incisions on either side of her belly button, locate and cut the fallopian tubes, and cauterize the ends. She’ll be able to leave the infirmary a few hours after the surgery.”

Spud looked at Doc Rich. “Snip me.”

“Spud, are you sure?” Hank asked.

“I’m never going to love anyone else, Hank.” He turned to Doc Rich again and said, “Snip me.”

“Then snip me, too,” Hank said.

“I take it, then, that you are petitioning for consideration as a spousal unit?” Doc Andy asked.

“Yes, we’re requesting to be a spousal unit,” Spud said.

“Doc Wright, are you aware of any medical reason why the request should be denied?”

“Not I.”

“Doc Rich?”

“To my knowledge, they are both medically fit.”

“And I know of no psychological reason to deny the request. Medical A approves the request. Remaining team members, do you approve of the request?”

The other team members reached out and tapped their knuckles on Doc Rich’s desk.

“The Field Team approves the request. Spud and Hank, do you agree to be surgically sterilized?”

“I’ve already told you twice to snip me,” Spud said. “So, if one of you will wash your hands, perhaps we can get this done today.”

“He’s got me beat two to one, so to catch up, I’ll again say snip me,” Hank said.

“And I’m sure you’re anxious to get the procedures over, but I’d like time to get the OR ready, so let’s plan for tomorrow morning. I’d like both of you to report to the infirmary at 0700. For you, Hank, the surgery will take about a half hour. And for you, Spud, about twenty minutes. Both of you will be able to return to your quarters by early afternoon, assuming no complications. And for both of you, you’ll have perhaps a week or so of recovery time.”

“And how will we know when we can…?” Hank asked.

“That will probably depend on how sore Spud is,” Cloud said with a chuckle.

“And that is probably exactly correct,” Doc Rich said with a smile. “Now if all of you will get out of here, we doctors have work to do.”

“Hey, Voice,” Turtle said as they left the office, “pay up.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Voice took a quarter from his pocket and handed it to Turtle.

“He bet me you wouldn’t go for being sterilized,” Turtle said to Hank and Spud. “I said you would.”

“Hank and Spud, would you like to hold back just a moment?” Doc Rich said.

Now what?

“There’s an option that I’d like to propose to you that I didn’t think should be discussed in front of the others.”

“And that is?”

“Planning for the future should you both decide you want a child after leaving the unit.”

“How is that going to be possible after we’re both sterilized?” Hank asked.

“The surgery you will both be having simply blocks sperm from getting to eggs. But you, Spud, will still generate sperm, and Hank, you’ll generate eggs. So, if you both want a child later, there’s a good chance that in vitro fertilization can give you one. They can harvest sperm from you, Spud, and eggs from you, Hank, fertilize the eggs in a Petri dish, and then implant one or more fertilized eggs back into Hank’s uterus. I just thought you might like to know.” She smiled. “I didn’t want to discuss this in front of the rest of the Field Team. Having children is a very personal decision, and I wanted to keep it a personal one for both of you. In the future, we won’t have any of these discussions in front of the entire team, and I’d like to apologize for having done so this time, especially given the two of you are our first couple. But everyone considered there was a bit of expediency this time, given everyone who needed to make the decisions was already present.”

Hank chuckled. “Have a child with Spud. A tater tot!” The two of them laughed. “Seriously, though, it’s not something I think is worth considering right now, but it’s nice to know that having a child is something we can consider later.”

“Ok. Off with the two of you then.”

After Hank and Spud had left, Doc Andy said, “You know, Hank did take a rather large toy. I have some concerns that she might not be… satisfied with Spud.”

Doc Rich laughed. “There isn’t a woman on the planet that wouldn’t be satisfied with Spud.”

Doc Andy looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Part of my job is doing physicals on these guys, just like Doc Wright does,” she said. “Turn your head and cough? You notice more than if they’ve got a hernia. Plus, you know how he got the codename ‘Spud,’ don’t you?”

“I’d always assumed it was because he was assigned to do infiltration work. Go underground with a target group.”

She smiled. “Not quite. The other team members at the time observed that he looked like he had a big potato stuffed down his boxers. Trust me. Hank will be very happy.”

Doc Andy looked over to Doc Wright. “Yep. Pretty much hung like a horse,” Doc Wright confirmed.

18

“Hey, look who’s up.”

Everyone turned as Hank walked into the cafeteria, dressed in her pajamas.

“Doin’ ok, Hank?”

“Yeah, pretty much. A little sore, but not bad.” Holding up an ice pack, she added, “Wish I could say the same for Spud.” She went into the kitchen and filled the bag with ice and water.

When she came back out, Voice asked, “So when do the two of you get to consummate this marriage?”

“Why do you ask? You want to watch?”

The rest of the team laughed.

“Seriously, Hank,” Turtle began. “When are you guys going to be able to get back on schedule with the unit?”

“Well, the aviators will understand when I say that currently mechanical difficulties have our airspeed restricted, given the engines cannot produce sufficient thrust. But once we feel that everything is resolved mechanically, it will be up to the pilots in command to determine when to resume normal cruise.”

Crow and Cloud laughed. “Putting it like that, we’re going to have to help her finish up her pilot’s license,” Cloud said.

Hank dropped the ice pack on the table and grabbed a couple of plates.

“Need help getting stuff down to your quarters?” asked Crow.

“Not really. And that’s principally because I know what you really want is to see how badly Spud is suffering. And if you fuck with him, I’ll hurt you. And when I hurt you, I’ll probably mess up my surgery. And that will delay my recovery, which will delay my honeymoon night. And you know what happens then? When I get fully recovered, instead of consummating things, the first thing I’ll do is seek you out and hurt you twice as bad.”

“I’d just like to know, if the situation ever arises, whether I should say yes to a vasectomy.”

“Then let me tell you. The procedure he had is what’s called a keyhole vasectomy. Kind-of works like this.” She picked up a fork. “Take this and use one of the tines to poke a hole in your ball sack right in between your two nuts. Then reach in there with a pair of tweezers and pull out the two little tubes you find in there. Cut them, burn one end◦– make sure it’s the correct one, and then just let them slide back in. If you want, I can do it for you. What, you say? No anesthesia here? I don’t think that’s a problem.” She glared at him. Leaning toward him, she said in a measured voice, “Leave Spud alone. Because if you fuck with him while he’s trying to recover, I will hurt you.” Standing up, she added, “And that goes for all you other motherfuckers, too.”

“Maybe Spud’s not back yet, but Hank is definitely here,” Turtle half-laughed.

“And she’s saying you can eat shit and die, Turtle,” Hank said, balancing the two plates of food and grabbing the ice pack.

A WEEK IS LONG ENOUGH. Tonight, we do what we became a ‘spousal unit’ for.

Spud took a look in the mirror.

Suit still fits perfectly. She’s been saying she’s ready any time I am. Well, damn it, I’m ready.

He tapped on his watch. The locator screen he’d requested earlier sprang to life. It showed all of the team members in their apartments, with the exception of Hank, who had pulled dinner duty. She was in the kitchen next to the cafeteria.

Finishing up the dishes. No problem. I’ve waited for a week, I can wait a few minutes more.

He watched as the icon identifying Hank’s location left the kitchen and moved up the hallway to the Field Team residence area. She’ll go to her residence first to change from her duty clothes.

When her icon showed her to be right outside his door, he walked out and grabbed her from behind in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides.

“What the fuck? Spud, what are you doing?”

“You know, it’s been torture for me right next door to you,” Spud said in her ear. But instead of the brutish tone with which he’d spoken those words before, his voice was full of desiring.

He walked, carrying her in the bear hug, toward her residence. “I’ve thought you’re the hottest, hottest little thing ever since you boarded the plane in Albuquerque.” Her door opened as they approached it, and he carried her inside.

Hank wriggled in his arms. “Put me down, Spud.”

“I’ll put you down on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Put on the dress.”

She writhed in his arms some more. “Oh, so it’s not me, it’s the dress.”

“It’s definitely you,” he said. “But you in the dress? That’s something no man can resist, especially me.”

“Put me down, Spud,” she said, feeling desire growing in her.

Spud set her down on her feet, and she disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door.

“You’d better not just hide in there. I’ll break the door down,” he admonished.

“Behave, or I’ll sound an alert.”

“Behaving is not what I want to do right now.”

She opened the door and stood in the doorway dressed in the lipstick red gown Mike had made for her. He felt his breath catch as he noticed how the gown followed her every curve and how the color accentuated the ivory of her skin. I’ll bet her skin feels even more luscious than that dress makes it look. He slipped out of his suit jacket and laid it over the arm of a chair.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, grasping his hand as he reached for his tie. “You don’t get to unwrap my presents.”

She bent down and removed his shoes and socks. Then she stood and slipped off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Running her hands under it, she felt how muscular he was and the warmth of his naked skin and pressed herself to him to drink in more of his warmth, his smell. She slipped the shirt off of him and let her hands fall to his waist to undo his belt and the button on his trousers, then unzipped them and let them fall to the floor. She then slid her hands into his boxers and slid them down his hips. If you like what you see, you can see a lot more of it, she recalled as she pressed herself against him. Feeling his desire against her, her little voices began to converse. Check out that package now. Do you think we can handle that? If we can’t, we’re at least sure going to try! Good thing we picked the big toy, otherwise we wouldn’t be ready for this.

“Now it’s my turn to unwrap my presents,” he said huskily, sliding a hand up the slit in the gown while unzipping it with his other hand. He slid the straps from her shoulders and let the gown slide to the floor. Bending down, he undid the straps on the stilettos and pulled them off, then picked up the gown and draped it over the chair with his suit jacket. Then he drew her to him, lifting her with one arm supporting her buttocks, the other her back, picking her up off her feet.

“Put me down, Spud,” she said, breathlessly.

“Where?”

“On the bed.”

As he laid her down, she felt a familiar prickle on her neck and began to giggle.

“I don’t think we’ll be needing these,” he was saying, removing the satin panties.

She began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

She chuckled again and said, “We’re being watched.”

He laid down next to her, and kissing her neck, breathed, “Impossible. There aren’t any cameras in here.”

“True,” she half-sighed as he began to explore her. “But there are two bum tickers that are broadcasting one helluva biometric tune.”

He stopped briefly, looking at her. Then he chuckled himself and kissed her deeply. “Let them eat their hearts out,” he said.

HANK STEPPED from the shower and dried herself off vigorously while walking into the bedroom. Spud watched her from the bed as she pulled on the satin panties and a bathrobe, then headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get us some breakfast,” she replied.

“Dressed like that?”

She walked over to him, kissed him, and said, “It’s karma time. I’m betting every single one of those guys watched our biometrics last night. So, at our expense, five guys sat in their quarters and jerked off.” She thought briefly. “Well, four. Voice was speaking Japanese.” She grinned. “Why don’t you listen in? Or better yet, pop up the camera feed from security.” She readjusted the tie on her robe. “I want this to be open just enough for them to get a glimpse of my red panties when I turn suddenly.”

Hank made her way down the hall and swung into the cafeteria. The five other team members were all seated at the team’s table. The only other person in the room was Mike. Perfect, though it’s a given Doc Rich will be listening in.

“Didn’t think we’d see you on a crash day,” Turtle said.

She smiled. “Breakfast. We’ve got to recharge our batteries.”

“I take it that means you’re both feeling better?” Edge asked with a grin.

Putting the plates down, she turned, flashing a leg and a brief glimpse of red, and said, “Oh, Edge, don’t you know it.”

Yeah, I think I do.

“That had to be the most fantastic sex I’ve ever had,” she continued, coming up and leaning close to his face.

Listening in her office, Doc Rich’s ears tuned in a bit more closely to the conversation while she quickly tapped out commands to bring up the camera that covered the cafeteria.

Hank got a dreamy look on her face. “He wore the suit you made him, Mike,” she said in a voice that mimicked Marilyn Monroe’s rendition of “Happy Birthday” to President Kennedy. “And God, I love that suit. I’ve loved the way he looks in it from the first time I saw him on the plane.”

She turned again, flashing a bit more red. Addressing the team at their table, she continued. “Of course, I didn’t let him stay in the suit. I took it off him, piece by piece, savoring every moment, so I could see what was underneath. And oh, what’s underneath!” She arched her back and threw back her head, then rendered a guttural groan.

“Are you listening to this?” Doc Andy asked, coming into Doc Rich’s office.

“Shhhh!”

Hank turned back toward Mike, flashing a bit more of the red satin panties and a naked leg up to her hip. “He asked me to wear the dress, too, Mike. But he didn’t let me stay in it very long.”

In her office, Doc Rich was shaking her head. “Oh, my my.”

Doc Andy started to laugh.

“You think this exchange is funny?”

“Yes, I do. Don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s getting even.”

“Getting even?”

“I take it you haven’t looked at last night’s biometrics yet,” Doc Andy said.

Doc Rich pulled them up. In the tracings for FT6 and FT7, she saw what she expected to see: a coordinated rise in heart and respiration rate. What she saw next, though, was not what she expected: a slightly time-delayed onset of a rise in heart and respiration rate universally for the remaining five biometric displays.

“What the?”

Doc Andy laughed and tapped his left chest. “Bum ticker. The team are allowed to see each other’s biometric outputs for when they’re in the field, remember?”

Back in the cafeteria, Hank was saying, “You know, I’ve heard the rumors about how Spud got his codename. And I can tell you, Whatizname is no potato, thank… you…, Jesus! Which is just what I was saying last night. So, I think you’ll understand when I say I’m ready to throw away my big toy.”

Five men gulped in unison.

“Oh… my… God,” Doc Rich said.

Doc Andy was nearly on the floor laughing. “She might have said that a few times, too!”

Hank put food on the two plates she’d started to prepare earlier and walked over to Mike. Whispering, she said, “Seriously, Mike◦– thanks for the dress.”

“I told you it would make you want to screw the shit out of someone,” he returned in a whisper. “Spud’s the lucky guy. I’m happy for you both.” He was grinning. “And I know what that was all about,” he whispered clandestinely. “Bum ticker.” She grinned at him.

She turned and walked from the cafeteria, showing a generous portion of red, swaying her hips as she went. Arriving back at her quarters, she found Spud, his hair more disheveled than she remembered, and wearing his boxers.

“That had to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he admitted, grinning. “And now I need to go get coffee.”

“We don’t need coffee. There are two mugs on the table,” Hank said.

“No, we’re out,” Spud said. He handed her his tablet, which had the camera feed from the cafeteria on it.

She looked at him quizzically. Then the realization hit her. “Oh, I see. It’s your turn.”

He went out the door and walked down to the cafeteria. Slowing his pace, he half dragged himself through the door. Pretending to be really tired, he squinted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.

“She forgot coffee.” He dragged himself to the coffee maker and poured two mugs.

“You ok, Spud? Not hurting, are you?” Edge asked.

“Just really tired. I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

In her office, Doc Rich took a look at the biometric tracings. “That’s pretty accurate,” she observed to Doc Andy, “Though I wouldn’t say from the timing that it was her fault.”

Doc Andy started to laugh again. “This is the man who, as a Secret Service agent, stood stoically next to a President for eight years. This should be fun!”

Spud clasped the two coffee mugs by their handles in one hand, deliberately letting some of the coffee spill on the floor, while rubbing his eyes with the other hand. “Do yourselves a favor, guys. If you think you want to marry someone, make sure they’re not a nymphomaniac first.” He scratched his head and yawned, feigning exhaustion. “You know that old saying, ‘Once a king, always a king, but once a night is enough for me?’ Doesn’t work for her.”

Still watching in her office, Doc Rich and Doc Andy laughed uproariously. Glancing at the biometrics again, Doc Rich remarked, “Apparently, not for him, either.”

“There are these periods of quiescence,” Doc Andy noted.

“No doubt recharging their batteries. Al least, he had to have been,” Doc Rich said, getting the two doctors chuckling.

“See you later, guys,” Spud said. “If she doesn’t kill me first.” He made a show of acting tired as he left the room.

“Death by sex,” Voice remarked. “What a way to go.”

The minute the door to Hank’s quarters closed, Spud put down the coffee and the two of them collapsed on the couch. “I can see that being part of a spousal unit is going to be the best fun I’ve ever had,” Spud said, “because right now, there are five guys sitting in the cafeteria unable to move and trying to remember that it’s not polite to ejaculate at the table.” She looked at him, mirth in her eyes, and then they both burst out laughing and laughed until they cried.

“VOICE, REPORT TO MEDICAL 2.”

What does she want me for?

Voice made his way down to Doc Rich’s office. Walking inside, she began with, “Voice, I need you to do some programming.”

“That’s my job, among others.”

“We need to change the biometric access routine. Can you write some code that will suppress access by Field Team members to the biometric readouts when they’re in this area?” She showed him the facility diagram displayed on her tablet. Highlighted in red was the area where the Field Team residential units were located.

“Why?” Voice asked.

“Because I don’t want to be treating five cases of tennis elbow all the time,” she said, putting emphasis on the comment with some sign language she’d seen Hank use a couple of times. “Oh, excuse me: four. With you, it would just be treating some embarrassing friction burns.”

Voice turned bright red. “Easy job, Doc Rich.”

“Medical A needs to have access, though.”

“Why?” Voice asked. “If the idea is to give people some privacy,” and we know which two, “then why give access to Medical A?”

“Because if someone has a heart attack in the middle of the night, we still need to know and be able to respond,” she said.

“Makes sense. A little more complicated, but still not a hard feat.” He turned to leave.

“And Voice?” He turned to look at Doc Rich. “If you’re thinking about putting in a little back door routine so a member of the team can still horn in,” and we know which one, “better forget it. I review the team’s biometrics every day, and if I start seeing a pattern of certain biometric changes occurring simultaneously on my traces for FT6, 7, and 2, I won’t hurt you…”

He turned to leave.

“…but I’ll let Hank do it.”

He stood up a little straighter, back to her. “No problem, Doc Rich. It’ll be just the way you want it.”

19

Hank followed the rest of the team as they headed out the door for morning PT. It was to be another run, and she was looking forward to some fresh air in her face.

As the team members filed out of the BEQ door ahead of her, they each reached up and tapped a sign above the door. The message on the sign read, “Mission First.” She also reached up and tapped it.

She went and stood before the assembled squad. “I understand,” she began in a loud voice, “that certain leathernecks among us felt it was their duty to skate during my recuperative absence. Which is why I have arranged for your pleasure,” pausing for effect, “a wee run of three miles in full cammies. And does anyone know why I would choose full cammies?”

“Because we don’t fight in gym shorts, Drill Instructor!” someone shouted out.

“OORAH! Now, let’s hit the pavement!”

As she started out in the lead, she overheard Crow say to Edge, “Civvie. She won’t come up with a good Jody. Bet.”

“Bet she will,” Edge said, and she glanced fists being bumped.

“Hope you’ve got a quarter in your pocket.”

“Lo right, a-lo righty lay-o,” she started out.

“Lo right, a-lo righty lay-o,” the men behind her answered. Just an old standard, Crow thought. Easy quarter.

“Lo right, a-left, right, lay-o.” Don’t get that quarter ready just yet, Edge.

“Lo right, a -left, right, lay-o.”

“Hey there, hey there, Medical One …”

What’s this? “Hey there, hey there, Medical One…”

“Hank ‘n Spud gotta get it on.”

Behind her, six men faltered. She could practically hear six little voices saying, What did she just say? during the time when they should have answered her. Turning around and jogging backward, she shouted, “You leathernecks forget how a Jody works? Bring it back! Hank ‘n Spud gotta get it on.”

Spud grinned and shook his head as he answered with the rest: “Hank ‘n Spud gotta get it on.”

“FT6, now here’s what I say…”

“FT6, now here’s what I say…”

“Take ’er to bed and have your way.”

“Take ’er to bed and have your way.”

“Hey there, hey there, Medical Two…”

“Hey there, hey there, Medical Two…”

“Bum ticker’s braggin’, whatcha gonna do?”

“Bum ticker’s braggin’, whatcha gonna do?”

“FT2, now listen to me…”

“FT2, now listen to me…”

“Give ’em a program for some pri-va-cy.”

“Give ’em a program for some pri-va-cy.”

“Hey, can I ask ya, Medical Three…”

“Hey, can I ask ya, Medical Three…”

“Can’t you find a girl for me?”

“Can’t you find a girl for me?”

“Take a look now, FT4…”

“Take a look now, FT4…”

“I’ve got you one right in this drawer.”

She heard laughter behind her as they came back with, “I’ve got you one right in this drawer.” Turning around and jogging backwards again, she shouted out, “I heard some laughter in the ranks just now, so for your pleasure, we will add two more miles to your morning tour of Quantico.”

The men groaned.

“Make that three!”

“OORAH, Drill Instructor!”

She jogged on, picking up the pace slightly. I love these guys. I love the unit. And I love Spud. And I get all three. Best fucking job I’ll ever have.

When they arrived back at the BEQ, she heard Edge say to Crow, “Pay up.”

“What are we exchanging quarters for now?” she asked, knowing full well what the bet had been.

“Crow bet me you wouldn’t come up with a good Jody. He lost.”

Hearing this, the rest of the men all reached into their pockets and took out a quarter as well, dropping them in Edge’s hand. Looking in his hand, Edge exclaimed, “A buck and a quarter! Woo hoo!”

“Yeah, that’ll be good for the next five bets you make,” Turtle said.

“OK, if everyone has finished downing their lunch…”

“Nope,” Hank said through a mouthful.

“Except Hank, but we’re all getting so we can understand her when she talks with her mouth full…”

“Eat shit. And for whoever made this, it is.”

Everyone laughed.

Spud continued. “Today’s mission training exercise is going to be held at Combat Town. Hopefully, you’ve all had a chance to read the brief. We’ll be traveling by vehicle to the site, so full SWAT gear will be the duty uniform of the day, with the exception of our perps, who will be in CUU pants and green undershirt. Our perps will be Voice and Crow. They get let out at the site, and we head to Landing Zone Finch and sit it out for ten minutes to let them get positioned in whatever hiding place they choose. Assume that they are armed and dangerous. Our duty is to apprehend them without anyone getting shot. Remember: we don’t fire unless fired upon, or unless there is imminent danger to an innocent third party. Not so for our perps. They can engage us at will. Mission first. Unless you need immediate medevac, should you sustain an injury, report status and stay put. We’ll gather you up when the scenario is finished. Never forget that you are expendable in any mission we’re called to do. For this exercise, Voice and Crow’s bum tickers will be suppressed for the field team, so the rest of us will have no idea of their location and movements unless Medical gives us a stand-down due to a medical emergency.

“Boots on the ground will be Edge, Turtle, Hank, and myself. Cloud will be handling our bird in the air. Weaponry will be M4s and sidearms, laser-fitted. Everyone will wear external laser-sensing harnesses and headgear. If your gear records a fatal hit, you will ground yourself accordingly. Response to a non-fatal hit will be as dictated by the mainframes and relayed through your bum ticker. Near misses will sound as tones to simulate suppressing fire.

“If we need him for it, Cloud will provide FLIR. Otherwise, we work off reconnaissance. Any questions about today’s scenario?”

Finally! This is what I’ve been waiting for. Hank was having a hard time containing her excitement over doing her first real mission training exercise. She’d read the brief, and considered carefully how all of the potential scenarios could play out.

“Ok,” Spud said. “Go gear up and report above in the BEQ.”

“Ready for this?” Spud asked as they headed to their quarters to change into their SWAT gear.

“More than ready.”

“Little bet?”

“Sure, what the fuck. I can use a quarter.”

He stood in his doorway. “I get on deck before you do. Go stand in your doorway, and I’ll let you call it.” They bumped fists.

If he knew how many times I had to get into SWAT gear in the FBI, he wouldn’t have made that bet. Gaining her doorway, she said, “Go!”

Spud disappeared into his quarters and donned his SWAT gear as quickly as possible. She may be my wife, but that doesn’t mean I need to let her one-up me. Coming back out, the hallway’s empty. Well ahead of her! He jogged to the staircase and strode up it, two steps at a time. Coming out of the hidden door at the top, he was greeted by… Hank. Leaning against the wall with the others standing by.

“What took you so long, old man? Forget your Geritol this morning?”

“You guys hear this? We’re not even married a month, and she’s already nagging.”

Hank held out her hand. “Pay up.”

Spud grudgingly took a quarter from his pocket and dropped it into her outstretched hand.

“Thank you, very much,” she said. “Now next time Edge wins a bet based on my capabilities, I’ll have a quarter for him.”

“Saddle up, guys. And gal.”

“I take it you’re also our driver, Jana?” Hank asked, noting who was at the van.

“The nurse with the least to do, gets the task of driving the crew,” Jana replied, being poetic.

After what seemed like an interminable drive, the team finally arrived at the training area known as Combat Town. Nestled in a cleared area among the trees, eleven buildings stood as a mock town for the practice of military operations in urban areas. Crow and Voice were let out, and the van proceeded along a dirt road and into another clearing. LZ Finch.

The four remaining team members climbed out of the van and leaned up against it while awaiting their opportunity to engage Crow and Voice.

“I’m going to suggest two teams,” Edge said. “Keep our snipers together, so Hank and Turtle as one team. That leaves Spud and me for the second team. We don’t know where they are, so I’ll also suggest we take one team this way,” pointing to the trees near one corner of the mock town on their aerial recon photo, and another this way,” pointing at the diagonal corner. “That way, if one of us flushes them and they make a break for the trees, we can pin them down and apprehend them.”

Turtle turned to Hank and said, “We can come right down from the LZ to this group of evergreens. They’ll give us some concealment for infiltrating the town.”

“Spud, you and I will come around the perimeter until we get to here. If we come to the back side of this building, the buildings themselves will give us cover. Then we can start clearing the buildings, starting with Building 11. Turtle and Hank can start with Building 1. You two can work up, we’ll work down until we encounter our perps.” The timer on his watch sounded. “Time to go to work.”

Hank and Turtle made their way from the landing zone to a grove of trees nearest Building 1. Turtle dashed to the back side of the building. All was quiet. He motioned Hank to come ahead.

Making their way through the building, they came to a doorway on the other side. Turtle stuck his head out, getting a quick look. “Hank, lots of windows. At three o’clock, ten o’clock, and twelve o’clock from this door. Plus, we have an open rooftop to ten o’clock as well. Reconnaissance tells us there’s a balcony there that offers cover.”

“So what’s the plan, Turtle?”

“I’ll run over to Building 5. If I don’t take fire, you follow.”

Turtle took another peek from the door and started to run. Simulated shots sounded in the earpieces of the four team members acting as the apprehenders. She saw Turtle dash under the low roof that joined Building 4 with Building 5.

“Team, taking fire.” Looking at his watch for information coming from the mainframes, Turtle continued with, “Hal says, single shooter on the balcony of Building 5.”

One down, one to go.

“Team, Spud and Edge taking position behind Building 11.” A pause. “Team, not engaged.”

Hank went to the windows facing the balcony across the way from where she was holed up. One of you, or two? She tried to get a view of the balcony, but whoever had shot at Turtle had either moved on or ducked out of sight. “Team, negative contact on the balcony shooter,” she reported. “Turtle, can you make your way to the other side of Building 5 through that passageway?”

“Hank, looks clear.”

“Turtle, if you can get up onto that roof, you could offer some suppressing fire so I can get across.”

“Hank, roger.”

Hank watched Turtle disappear, then reappear on the low rooftop to the passageway that joined Building 4 with Building 5. He paused, then quickly brought his rifle around the corner and shot across the top of the balcony. Hank dashed to the same point Turtle had occupied earlier. She made her way through the passageway and hauled herself onto the roof.

“We still don’t have our second man,” Turtle observed.

“Let’s see if we can flush them out. Quick question, though. Do the laser sensors in the helmet know if the helmet is off your head?”

“Yes. If the helmet sensors aren’t within proximity of the body sensors, it will interpret that as the helmet being off.”

“What if the helmet takes a hit while the sensors interpret it as being off?”

“Dunno. We’ve never had that scenario.”

“This is so old school it just might work, then.” She took her helmet off, and propping it on the end of her rifle, extended it around the corner of the building. Simulated shots sounded in their ears. She yanked her helmet back and put it back on her head.

“Team, Hal says two shooters, Building 5, on the balcony.” Turtle turned to her, grinning. “Nice job, Hank.”

“Turtle, recon shows a door in the side of Building 5 nearest Building 4. Spud and I will make for that door, first across the back of Building 10 then up to the side of Building 5. Give us suppressing fire when we call for it. We’ll enter Building 5 through that door, then up to the upper floor to make the apprehend.”

“Edge, I’ll get a better angle from the rooftop of Building 4,” Turtle said. “Headed up.” He turned to Hank and said, “I’m going to go to the back of the building so I can get as much cover as possible. There’s a window there I can use to get up onto the roof. I’ll come across the side of the roof, then hit the deck and crawl forward so I can give suppressing fire. When I ask for it, give me shots across the balcony so I can run from the back to the front along the side of the roof.”

Hank held her position, then came around the corner of the building with her rifle firing when Turtle signaled her. She heard his footsteps clatter above her, then heard him say, “Sonuvabitch!” She looked up to see him teeter from the roof and fall right in front of her, striking the edge of the place where she was standing, and land on the ground below.

“Turtle! Turtle!”

“Hank, I’m ok. Get to the roof and get ready to give Spud and Edge suppressing fire.”

She looked over the edge of the roof she was standing on and saw Turtle lying on his side, his lower right leg at a rakish angle to his body.

“Turtle, you are not alright. Your leg is broken. It’s bad. And you’re in the line of fire.”

“Hank, mission first. I’m expendable. Suppressing fire for the apprehend.”

“Edge, man down, man down. Turtle is in the line of fire. We need suppressing fire here. Make your way to Building 8 and give me suppressing fire so I can extract him.”

“Hank, mission first.”

“Edge, give me suppressing fire, or I attempt the extraction without it.”

Silence, then, “Hank, suppressing fire from Building 8.”

Hank dropped to the ground on the back side of the building and made her way to where Turtle lie on the ground. Hearing the suppressing fire she’d requested, she grabbed Turtle and said, “Get up on your good leg, Rabbit. We’re going to hop on out of here.”

“Mission first,” Turtle said.

“Get up on your goddamned good leg and help me get you the fuck out of here!”

With her help, Turtle stood on his left leg, screaming when his right leg hung down. “Come on, come on,” Hank urged. “I’m going to get you across to where we entered the compound. Once we have some concealment, I’m going to grab some of the branches I saw and splint your leg. I’m calling in Cloud to get you back to base so they can take care of you. Once I’ve got you on the bird, I’ll come back and give Spud and Edge the suppressing fire they need to make the apprehend. The mission will be a success. It will just be a delayed success.”

She struggled with him until they crossed the clearing and back into the concealment of the evergreens.

“Cloud, we need you at LZ Finch to extract an injured team member. Turtle has a bad break in his leg. If Jana is still there with the van, get her and bring her with you.”

Grabbing branches, she broke them to length and laid them alongside Turtle’s leg. Then taking out the zip ties she’d gotten into the habit of always carrying, she warned him, “This is going to hurt.” Picking up a piece of branch, she said, “Bite on this.”

“Does it really help?”

“No, it’s still going to hurt like a sonuvabitch. But it will keep you from biting through your tongue.” She stuck the branch in his mouth and then passed a zip tie around his leg and the branches, pulling it firmly. Turtle writhed, gritting his teeth on the branch and crying in pain, biting the branch hard enough for her to hear it crack. She placed three more zip ties, then got him back up and proceeded with him over to the landing zone, arriving in time to see Cloud bringing the helicopter in.

Once Turtle was safely aboard, Hank ran back through the trees, making her way back to the building she and Turtle had occupied before his fall. She climbed to the rooftop and crawled, rifle supported across her arms, until she was on the corner above the balcony. “Team, suppressing fire from Building 4. You are clear for the apprehend.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Edge and Spud run to the side door of the building. After some seconds, she saw them emerge on the balcony and Crow and Voice raise their hands in surrender. With their hands handcuffed behind their backs, Edge and Spud took them back down and out of the building.

She made her way down from the roof and joined them.

“That was a successful training mission,” Edge began, “but it’s going to generate a shit storm.”

Spud was uncuffing Voice and Crow. “You violated mission protocol, Hank.”

“By doing what? By getting an injured team member extracted when it would ultimately not keep the mission from being successfully completed?”

“Protocol has always been that an injured team member does his best on his own to stay alive until the mission is completed and he can be extracted. Even in the training missions, we don’t stand down the mission unless an injury is critical. We all accept the fact that we’re expendable, if necessary for the mission to be completed.”

“So, you’re telling me the unit has always done stupid things. And when we get back to base, you can show me where the fuck that is in the regs. Because I couldn’t find it.”

Hearing the helicopter coming back in, the team jogged over to the LZ. “Team, I’m to take you back to the nearest LZ to the base, where you’ll be picked up by ground transportation. From there, our presence is requested in the library.”

They sat silently through the trip back to the base. Once inside, their earpieces came alive with, “Team, report to the library.”

Doc Andy sat in the library, assessing each of them as they entered.

“I understand that mission protocol was violated,” he said.

“And you get to pass judgement alone on this one?” Hank demanded.

“Doctors Wright and Richardson are in surgery with Turtle, setting his leg. He has a comminuted fracture of the bones in his lower leg. Simply, his leg is shattered. So yes, this is a debriefing I will have to do alone.”

The members of the team all looked stricken at the news of Turtle’s injuries.

“I take responsibility,” Hank replied.

“Can you explain why you violated the protocol?”

“Because we don’t leave team members behind. Ever.”

“Hank, the nature of this unit is that we operate in extreme secrecy. With the exception of a very few people’s knowledge, this unit doesn’t exist. The Field Team doesn’t exist.”

“Well, I’d like an explanation as to why there is a belief that leaving a man in the field is in the best interests of maintaining that. Because there are no regulations that say that.”

She stood glaring at Doc Andy angrily.

“I think you’d better start thinking outside the fucking box, Doc. Because there are scenarios beyond the completion of the mission. Like this one. Come over here and stretch your leg out for me.”

He regarded her without moving.

She jerked her head insistently.

He came over and sat with his leg outstretched. “I’ll let you make your point.”

“Let’s say this was a real mission today,” she began. “You are Turtle. Your leg has been shattered in a fall. You are in the line of fire. What are you thinking as the bullets land around you as you lie helplessly? What do you think as they’re striking you? But more importantly, what is your partner thinking while watching it happen? What are the other team members thinking? Leaving a man down demoralizes the entire field team. Leaving a man to be killed is demoralizing to the entire team. And the knowledge that this decision could be made at any time if it’s you can do nothing except distract you from the mission. I would rather be lying there saying to myself, ‘My teammates are here for me. My teammates will help me if they can.’ Plus, if I do die, the team has lost a valuable asset: a trained and capable teammate.

“But it’s really the merciful way out for you if you’re killed. Because if you’re captured, and your captors want to know who we are, this is what they do.” She took out her handgun and grabbed it by the barrel, then tapped it on his leg. “Keep in mind that leg is shattered. It already has you in agony. And as your captor, I don’t give a shit if it hurts even more. In fact, because I want information from you, I’m not going to tap that broken leg. I’m going to smash it. And you are going to be screaming in pain, and praying to God above that I just kill you.

“But I don’t. I keep you alive, because you have information that I want, and because you are a brave and dedicated member of a covert unit, you haven’t given it to me. About three days into being tortured, your nose starts to tell you something’s wrong. And sure enough, when you look at your leg, you see it’s oozing with pus and starting to turn a putrid color◦– one that matches what your nose is smelling. Now you have gangrene, and I don’t have to bash your leg anymore. All I have to do is this,” she said, laying the grip of her gun on his leg, “and you are screaming in agony. And if you’re brave, if you can still keep from compromising the entire unit through all of this, you will die days later, a horrible, agonizing death. And when the unit finds your putrid, bloated body◦– and they will, because I’m going to leave it where they can find it, they will be even more demoralized. As a matter of fact, I’m even going to leave a note on it telling them that they’re next, and that you told me everything, even if you didn’t. And how will they know you didn’t? With the signs of torture all over you, how will they know? How will they know that as the infection crept through your body, you didn’t start to say things in your delirium? That’s when the team will look to you, Doc Andy,” she said, reholstering her sidearm, “and ask you why the fuck any of them should stay.”

Doc Andy looked around the room. Every face was now in his direction, tinged with anger.

“You’re right, they won’t know.” Hank looked over to see Doc Rich, standing in her scrubs. “I don’t know what Doc Wright will have to say on the matter, but I believe you have very valid points, Hank.”

“Fuck that, Doc Rich. How is Turtle?”

“Still in surgery. It’s going to be a while. His leg is badly shattered. He broke both bones in his lower leg, and both are shattered. So, it will be a complicated reconstruction. But he’s doing well so far. His vitals are good, so there’s not a lot of concern that he might not make it out of surgery.” Seeing sudden concern on the team members’ faces, she added, “I know that sounds bad, but there are some additional risks with a break of this nature. What I’m saying is that he’s strong and showing no signs of complications thus far.”

“How long will it be before he can return to duty with the unit?” Voice asked.

“That’s another matter. I won’t hide anything from you. Short of a miracle, Turtle will not be capable of serving with the unit in the future. We should start looking for a replacement. Doc Andy will put out feelers to the usual agencies we recruit from through our ‘gunnies.’ For you, Hank, these are our contacts within agencies like the FBI, DEA, etc. Whenever they come here, they dress as gunnery sergeants, hence ‘gunnies.’” She paused a few seconds, listening to her earpiece. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this conversation short. Doc Wright needs me back in the OR. I’ll try to keep you all updated as often as I can. Once Turtle is out of surgery, I’ll call us all together for a meeting, Team plus Medical A, and we’ll see what we can hash out in view of today’s events.”

“HANK, how can you eat right now?” Spud asked.

The entire team was gathered in the cafeteria, most simply cradling cups of coffee in their hands. Hank was the only one eating.

“Nerves, Spud,” she said through a mouthful of food. “This fucking surgery is taking way too damned long. I wish Doc Rich had just opened up a comm link with us so we’d know what’s going on.”

“No need to.”

The entire team jumped.

Doc Rich was pulling a bouffant off her head. “Turtle is out of surgery and in recovery. He’s doing well, and is awake but a bit groggy. He’s asking for you, Hank.”

“Me?”

Doc Rich nodded her affirmation.

Hank followed her through the infirmary to the recovery room. What she saw shocked her. Turtle was hooked to monitors, and had IV fluids running into his veins. His leg was encased in a contraption of circular metal rings and straight rods, with long, steel pins sticking through his flesh into his leg. A long incision ran from just under his kneecap to just above his ankle.

“Hey,” she said, seeing his eyes open.

“Hank.”

“You look like you got snatched by the Borg.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Pretty wild, huh?”

She sat down in the chair next to the bed. “Someone told me you wanted to see me. I guess this means I have to apologize for jamming a stick in your mouth.”

“Yeah, I wanted to see you. I wanted to say thanks for what you did out there today, Hank.” He grew quiet. “Right after I fell and realized how bad my leg was broken, all I could think was that if it was a real mission, they’d be filling me full of holes. In a real mission, I’d have been dead meat. Mission first. Injured? You’re second. The fact that you came and got me out of there told me no one else would need to worry about that.”

“I’m going to see what I can do about that, Turtle. I assumed that part of completing the mission was that everyone comes home, with perps in tow. What I did wasn’t an accident. I thought about what could happen, and I’d planned for a possible extraction of a member of the team. I just didn’t think I’d have to execute the plan.”

“Did they tell you about the leg?”

Is he wanting to tell me, or have they not told him? “What about it, Turtle?”

“They told me it’s never going to be right. That it will take up to a year to heal, and then I’ll probably need a cane to walk with for the rest of my life.” He started to cry. “Damn, I told myself not to do this. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to cry in front of you. But I always told myself I was going to take over as the grand old man when Spud retired. Instead, I’m out.” He put his arm up, resting the back of his hand against his forehead, his eyes red.

“Fuck, Turtle. Fuck it all to hell, and then fuck it some more.” She sat silently for a while, just holding his hand.

“I guess I’ve got to figure out what I’ll do for the rest of my life. Maybe construction. I’ve always thought building things would be right for me.”

“I tell you what,” she said, patting his hand and standing up. “You need to rest. You’ve got a lot of recovering to do. But if you can remember something, maybe we’ll see each other again after you leave.” She turned and walked toward the door. Without turning, she held up her arm, flipping him the bird. Turning back, she smiled at him. “Did you get that?”

He stared at her for a moment, and then he smiled, remembering. “Yeah, got it. See you later, Hank.”

She walked out of the infirmary and back to the cafeteria. Loud voices alerted her to a confrontation in progress.

“We’re not going to wait until tomorrow to hash this shit out,” Cloud was saying. “You told us we’d discuss this today.”

Seeing the expression on Hank’s face, Spud went over and lifted her chin. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. No. How the fuck do I know?” she said.

All three of the doctors were present, as well as the other five members of the team.

“How is Turtle?” Cloud asked.

“Upset. What do you think? He’s just been told he’s never going to walk without a cane.” She started to cry. “He broke down and cried in front of me. It was all I could do to hold it together for him in there.”

“He’s done,” Cloud said.

“Yeah, he’s fucking done.” Hank’s face turned red with anger, and she kicked the chair nearest to her, sending it scooting across the floor. Hopping, she said, “Fuck it! I think I just broke a toe.” Doc Wright got up to attend to her but she told him angrily, “Just sit the fuck back down. It’s not a critical injury, so I get to wait until the fucking mission is done, remember?”

Spud helped her to a chair. Sitting, she continued.

“How the fuck did some of this shit evolve? Who had the big idea that you leave someone in the field? I know we sure as fuck never did it in the Bureau. Cloud, you served in the Army. Is it the policy of the Army to leave soldiers behind?”

“Fuck no.”

“How ‘bout you, Crow? Has the DEA ever left an agent in the field?”

“No,” he said angrily.

“And I don’t even need to ask you, Edge. There isn’t a US Marine on the planet that would leave a fellow Marine in the field. Am I right?”

“Hell no would a Marine leave someone behind.”

“So why is it that there’s a policy in this unit that we leave a member of the team in the field? That is the fuckin’ stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Mission first. We all say it. We’ve got a little sign we all tap before leaving that says it in big, bold letters: Mission First. Someone please tell me why planning for the extraction of a compromised team member isn’t part of our mission. What do we do? Just leave them there to die? Has that ever happened, that someone has died out there?”

“Yes,” Spud said. “Not as a result of being left, but died in the line.”

“What the fuck! So what happens to them? Do you just leave them out there?”

“The body is recovered if at all possible,” Spud said. “We can’t afford to have a DNA analysis trace back to someone who’s supposed to be dead.”

“And have they all been recovered?”

“Yes,” Doc Rich answered. “We’ve had two die in the line, and one die of a heart attack during a training exercise.”

“And what happened to them?”

“They were cremated.”

“And then what do you do? Send the ashes to a landfill? How do you bury a nameless, faceless person?”

“I have them,” Doc Rich said. She sighed and shook her head. “I realize that right now all of you on the team think that all of us in Med A are monsters. We really aren’t. We really try our best. Our very best. Our job is to make sure that all of you are the very best at what you do, so we all feel that we have to be the very best at what we do. You train, and so do we. You acquire new skills, and so do we. When we lose a member of the team, it affects us very deeply. Even just seeing someone walk out the door because they got injured and we couldn’t put them back together well enough for them to go back on duty affects us deeply. So I have the urns. All three of them. Like you said, Hank, we can’t very well bury them, and even scattering the ashes is problematic. So I’ve kept them. They’re in my office.”

“I can’t believe this,” Crow said. “Why don’t we have a place for them?”

“I’ve thought about that quite a lot, for what it’s worth, being the person in this room who has been with the unit the longest,” Doc Rich said. “We should have a place for our honored dead. And I’ve always thought this would be a good place.” She picked up her tablet and brought up the facility diagram. “Along this wall that runs from Medical to the library. The wall along the right side of the corridor is an exterior wall◦– there’s nothing beyond it. It would mean getting the CIA contractors in to make a mausoleum. We could have a wall of niches, and inurn the ashes of our dead there.”

“So let’s do it,” Spud said. “Let’s get our friends at the CIA to come in and build it. We can have the shutters of the niches engraved with their information.”

“What information, Spud?” Doc Rich asked. “We couldn’t, for instance, put ‘Katheryn Hanko’ on the face of a niche.”

“Their codename,” Voice said, “with the date of their rebirthday and the date of their death.”

They all looked at each other around the room. Then Hank reached out and tapped her knuckles on the nearest table. Then everyone else, doctors and team alike, reached out and did the same.

“IT SEEMS like it’s taken forever to get this done.” Hank looked approvingly at the marble-faced stretch of wall.

“Between having to get everything that was excavated out without having people notice and getting all the marble inside in chunks, I’m surprised it came together as fast as it did,” Doc Rich remarked. “Really, the only delay was the marble, and that was just two weeks. It could have been a lot more, given all the pieces had to be perfectly cut before getting in here.” She turned to Hank and said, “I had nightmares of the contractors dropping and breaking a piece.”

Voice and Crow were carefully removing three of the shutters from their niches, placing them each on the floor atop a velvet pad. They had already been engraved with three code names and dates. They then affixed removable hooks and hung three American flags over the openings, overlapped so that each of the niches could be accessed one at a time as each flag was removed. Three urns stood on a table nearby, and the entire unit began to assemble in the corridor, each one dressed in a Marine Corps dress blue uniform, though few of them had ever been Marines.

“This is long overdue,” Spud said, walking up next to the two women.

“I agree,” Doc Rich replied.

“I think everyone is here.” Spud said.

Silence fell over the group as Doc Rich moved forward and turned to address them. She put a hand on each of the urns in turn.

“Funeral carry,” Spud said. Each of the assembled unit members withdrew their swords from their scabbards and held them, point up, next to their body.

“Today,” Doc Rich began, “we take time to remember and honor our fallen teammates. Since the first one fell in 1999 until the last in 2012, I have kept these ashes and honored their memory. It’s befitting that today we finally grant them the place of honor they deserve, and the recognition for the sacrifice they made in the service of our country. For greater love hath no man than this, that he give his life for his friends.”

She picked up the first of the urns as Voice and Crow removed the first flag from in front of the niche into which the urn would be placed, then placed it within the niche. Voice and Crow then carefully folded the flag, handing it to Doc Rich once they had completed rendering the familiar triangular form. She placed it on the table from which the urn had been taken while Voice and Crow sealed the niche with its shutter. The ceremony was then repeated for the second urn.

When it came time for the third urn to be placed, Spud stepped forward. “With permission, Doctor,” he said.

Hank could see Doc Rich’s lip quiver. “Certainly, Spud.”

Spud placed his sword back into its scabbard, then took the urn and solemnly placed it in its niche. Waiting, he took the folded flag that had covered the niche, and when the shutter had been placed, stood with his head bowed and his hand on the shutter for a few moments.

He knew him, Hank thought.

Spud returned to the others assembled. “Present sword,” he commanded, followed by “Order arms,” then stood through the playing of “Taps.” He then said, “Return sword.” He paused for a few moments, his head bowed, then said, “Dismissed,” walking off in the direction of the library.

Hank walked up to Doc Rich who had gone to stand in front of the three closed niches. “I was here for all three of them,” Doc Rich said.

Hank looked at the shutter sealing the third niche. SUGAR and underneath, 4-23-2008 - 6-9-2012. “I take it Spud knew him?” she asked Doc Rich.

“They served together,” Doc Rich began. She chuckled. “Sugar was a good, good man. The name was sort-of a joke. He was a black guy, and very dark skinned. He used to brag. ‘All the ladies call me Brown Sugar.’ The guys said ‘Brown Sugar’ didn’t fit the six-letters-or-less rule, so they decided to just call him ‘Sugar.’ He thought it was the greatest and funniest codename for a black guy ever. He’d say, ‘I’m the whitest black guy the world has ever seen.’

“He gave this unit 100%, and his 100% was a step above everyone else’s.

“He was partnered with Spud when he died. The Field Team was cornering their perp. Urban environment. Sugar was leading, with Spud right behind him. They got to the corner of a building, and Sugar went to peek around the corner. Perp shot him through the head, close range with a .308 rifle. Sugar died instantly, right at Spud’s feet. Spud dropped low, came around the corner. Perp wasn’t expecting that and sent a round over Spud’s head, and Spud shot him right through the heart. Perp was dead right there.” She sighed. “I think it was the one and only time Spud has had someone he’s served with die in the line.”

Hank felt like someone had tied something around her heart and pulled it tight as she imagined what she would have felt if any of the people she had served with as a Special Agent had died, never mind died in front of her.

Doc Rich tapped her watch. “Hank,” she began, “I think your husband could use you right about now. He’s in the library, in the media area. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s probably watching cartoons.”

“Cartoons?”

“When things are bothering him, Spud goes to the library and watches cartoons. Maybe just go and watch cartoons with him. I’ll stay here and make sure no one else heads that way.”

Hank walked down the hall and entered the library, going quietly to where Spud was sitting. The monitor in front of him was playing an old episode featuring two cartoon animals. Spud sat with his head bowed, not watching, his hands atop the flag in his lap.

“Cartoon Crazies,” he muttered. “How appropriate. Fits that guy’s description to a tee.”

“I take it we’re talking about the perp who shot Sugar.” Spud looked up at her. “Doc Rich told me.”

“He was a vigilante,” Spud said. “Thought he should be judge, jury, and executioner. He would go all over the country, killing people. All the FBI could tell us was that the ballistics matched all these cases, everywhere. He’d pop up in Indianapolis, then Miami, then Houston, then some little town somewhere. They never knew where he was going to show up. All they knew was that each case involved someone who had either been accused of a heinous crime and was out on bail awaiting trial, or had gotten out of jail after having served time for one, and that they were shot with the same rifle, chambered in .308. So they called us in, hoping we could find a pattern that they’d missed.”

“I take it you did.”

“Yeah. We had a guy who just had a great sense of patterns. What he noticed was that after each killing, a story would break in the papers about someone being accused and being out on bail awaiting trial, or some controversy over someone being released from jail that people felt should still be doing time. And then, bingo. The person would show up with a .308 through their head, sometimes execution-style. So, we started looking at what was in the papers right after one of these killings would show up. On a hunch, we figured the guy would stay put until he’d picked his next victim, so we’d stake out the places where newspapers were sold in the community where the killings occurred. We poured through street cams, security footage, even set up surveillance cameras of our own. After a half dozen new killings and looking at hundreds of photos and videos, we discovered this one guy who seemed to be around right about the time one of these killings would occur.”

“How many did he kill before you got him?”

“They figure, all told a hundred and forty-three.”

“Shit! The Justice Man murders? The unit was involved in that? I thought that was completely a Bureau solve.”

“When we get involved, if we solve the case and bring in the perps, they’re turned over to the agency that referred the case to us. They get the credit, we get to come back here and train for the next time we’re called. When we’re close to an apprehension, we make sure the referring agency is nearby so they can come in and be at the scene as it occurred, as it were.”

Spud patted his knee. Hank took off her belt and laid her sword down next to his chair and went to sit in his lap. He gathered her to him, she put her arm around his shoulders, and they sat silently for a while, Spud staring straight ahead of himself.

“We caught up with him in Tucson. He was actually staking out his next victim. Had his rifle aimed in. We had three teams of two and a bird in the air. One of the teams flushed him before he could shoot, and he took off running with the gun in his hand. Our guy in the sky told us he was coming our way. We got to the corner of a building and were told he was right around the corner. Sugar went to get eyes on him, and the guy shot him. Sometimes I can still feel Sugar’s blood hitting me. He fell right at my feet. I got down and looked around the corner. I guess the guy didn’t expect me to kneel, because he took a shot that went above me. My shot connected. When he fell, I didn’t care about him anymore. And you know what the worst part of it all was? The fucker was a cop who went rogue from his department. It came out afterward he was pretty much batshit crazy almost from the start, but the ol’ ‘blue brotherhood’ kicked in and he stayed a cop right up until the day he started killing people.

“Sugar’s body was right next to me. I looked down, and it was like he was looking straight up at me. But he was gone. Just like that. Standing with me one minute, lying in a puddle of his own blood the next. Until today, I never really got to say goodbye.”

Hank could see the tears form in his eyes. She held him closer and put her head on his shoulder, feeling helpless. Spud put his hand up and held her there. “You know, you’ve been rocking the boat a bit ever since you were accepted for the unit. And I’m so glad, so proud that you rocked the boat on this one. Those three men out there deserve a final resting place, and they deserve to be remembered. I never really felt like I got closure after Sugar was killed, and today I do. I just wish there was some way I could get word to the other guys who were in the unit with him that he’s finally at peace.”

He stood up, sliding her off his lap and onto her feet. “Pick up your sword, Marine, and let’s go home.”

Doc Rich was still standing vigil as they made their way back down the corridor from the library. Hank stopped for a moment and spoke to her.

“Doc Rich, can we make just one little change to this wall?”

“What would you like done, Hank?”

“Can we leave the top centermost niche empty, and have something engraved on the shutter?”

“Depends. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking, ‘Mission First.’”

Doc Rich looked over at Spud. “I think it’s very appropriate,” he said.

“I do, too,” Doc Rich said. “Consider it done, Hank.”

Continuing down the hall, Spud stopped at Sugar’s niche. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a quarter and wedged it atop the shutter. “I never forgot you, buddy. And I never will.”

Hank put her arm around his waist. “Come on, Marine. Let’s go home.”

Doc Rich watched, her eyes brimming with tears. We’ve made a lot of mistakes, the biggest one being not talking with the team about the decisions we’ve made. That’s got to change.

20

“Ok,” Spud began, “we need a new guy. Turtle’s job was back-up to Hank as sniper, so spotter, and also intelligence. We probably want to look for someone with those talents.” He dropped a pile of personnel files in the center of the table. “There are thirty files here, so everyone take five and start going through them for prospective replacements for Turtle. Be ready with preliminary picks tomorrow. We’ll convene after tomorrow’s mission training exercise in the library.”

“Seems strange to be doing this so soon after making the unit myself,” Hank said, pulling five files from the pile.

“Seems strange to not have Turtle around,” Crow said, taking five for himself.

The team members filed from the library, each one reaching up and tapping the shutters of the three occupied niches as they passed them, and made their way to their quarters, Hank and Spud both turning in at his. Hank put her five file folders next to the bed, stripped off her clothes and threw them in the laundry hamper, then went for a shower. Spud watched her appreciatively. Always grateful for the view, he thought, noting the naked curves he never got to see while she was in duty uniforms. He shucked his own clothes into the hamper and waited for her to finish so he could shower himself.

Returning from the shower, he found Hank in bed, reading through the personnel files she had taken. He climbed in next to her, reached over, and caressed her breast.

Hank slapped him. “Stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re distracting me.”

He grinned. “That was the whole idea.” He caressed her again, and she slapped him again.

“Stop, Spud. I’ve got to get through these files.”

He chuckled and ran his hand down her side.

Hank jumped from the bed and glared at him. “Spud, mission first!”

He grinned at her and said, “Those files have not one thing to do with the mission that goes on in this bed.”

“Arrr!” she growled in frustration. “You’re incorrigible!”

“It’s not my fault you parade your naked body in front of me and get me all horny,” he said with a pout.

“I tell you what,” she said, dropping the file folder back on the pile next to the bed and putting on her robe, “if you let me get through these files, we can play later. You’re the one who said we’d be reviewing our picks tomorrow. So maybe you can explain to me how, if we’re going to be making love and then falling asleep from exhaustion, we’re supposed to get through these. We have a full day tomorrow with PT in the morning and mission training in the afternoon.” She picked up her pile of folders and went to sit on the couch.

He got up, pulled on a pair of boxers and came to sit next to her. “Ok, you’ve got a point.” He picked up one of the personnel folders he had dropped on the coffee table as he came in and began to look through it.

“Here’s an interesting one,” Hank said. “Sanchez, Joaquin. Currently Customs and Border Protection, aka Border Patrol. He’s trained as a sniper, and he also has experience as a drone operator. That’s something we don’t have, but probably should.”

Spud stopped reading the folder he was looking at. “Maybe if we had drones, they could have seen what the perp who shot Sugar was doing without Sugar having to stick his head around the corner of the building.”

“Good point.”

“I’ve got one here as well,” Spud said. “Hunt, Daniel P. Currently Marine sniper unit. Served two tours in Afghanistan. Lots of commendations. Forward recon as well, so could fit in with intelligence. Pretty much the same qualifications Turtle had.”

Hank was scanning through the other file folders in her stack. “The rest of these folks all have great qualifications, but not necessarily in the specialties we need for replacing Turtle. Sanchez is going to be my pick.”

“Same here,” Spud said, closing the last of the folders he had scanned through. “Hunt is looking good to me.”

“Great!” Hank leapt up, dropped her robe, and dashed for the bed, jumping in. “Mission training, Spud. You need to practice your insertion and extraction procedures.”

He leered and jumped in next to her. “’Bout time.”

“I TAKE it everyone had a chance to get a look at the personnel files you took, so let’s go around the table and see who we’ve got. Crow?”

“Guyer, Daniel E. Currently Texas Ranger. Well-versed in investigative techniques. Not a lot of info on rifle capabilities, but shoots police pistol competition and is on the team they send to the national competitions each year. Good cop, a few commendations, has a reputation for a great deal of integrity.”

“Guess I’m next,” Voice said. “Koshland, Ruth L. An interesting lady, like our Hank. Loves guns. Shoots high power metallic silhouette, and wins on a regular basis. Has her own firing range and runs regular training classes. Got there via the Air Force, where she served in intelligence. Hank?”

“Sanchez, Joaquin. Ironically for a Hispanic, chases illegal border crossers for Customs and Border Protection along the southern Arizona border, so I guess you could say ‘Sanchez vs. Sanchez.’ Trained as a sniper for their sniper units. Is also a drone operator.”

Cloud piped up next with, “Wang, Rebecca. Currently works for NSA, monitoring internet activity. She does shoot, but not a lot of information on that. Her big strength from what I can tell is in the intelligence-gathering field.”

“My pick is Rosenberg, Carlton C,” Edge said. “Big into three-gun competitions. Works as a federal corrections officer. Not strong on intelligence work, but we do have Spud and myself doing intelligence right now, so I figure what we really need is someone good with firearms.” The rest of the group nodded.

“And last but not least,” Spud said, “my pick is Hunt, Daniel P. Currently◦– try not to get a hard-on, Edge◦– United States Marine Corps sniper. Served two tours in Afghanistan, with distinction. Did a lot of forward recon as well.

“So, there we have them. Who likes Guyer?” Spud asked.

No one tapped.

“Koshland?”

Again, no taps.

“Sanchez?”

Three hands reached out and tapped on the table.

“Wang?”

No one.

“Rosenberg?”

Again, no one.

“And Hunt.”

Three more hands reached out and tapped.

“That’s a first,” Voice said. “We’re evenly split.”

“If I can argue for my guy,” Hank began, “his drone experience would be an asset for us. We could use drones.”

“Only problem is, we currently don’t have drones,” Cloud said. “We’d have to get authorization and funding, so we couldn’t use that talent right now.”

“Hunt has current combat experience as a sniper,” Spud said. “I’m betting he has a lot more practical experience sniping than our CBP guy.”

“Good point,” Edge said.

“As usual, the Marine would like to see another fucking Marine get tapped in,” Hank said.

“Rrrrr,” Edge replied, indicating his agreement Marine-style.

“Ok, arguments having been voiced, can we take another vote?” Spud asked. “For Sanchez?”

Hank tapped.

“And Hunt?”

The other five tapped.

“I’ll admit partiality to my candidate,” Hank said, “and change my vote to Hunt.” She reached out and tapped the table.

“We have our choice. Now let’s go into the hat and find out who gets to take a joy ride on a G550. Cloud and Crow, of course, get the honor of being the chauffeurs. And for our flight attendant…” He reached into a hat and drew out a piece of folded paper. Opening it, he said, “How fitting! We have a stewardess this time, Hank.”

“Figures. I got type-cast.” The guys all laughed.

“See Mike and have him make you up a pretty little outfit for that, Katie,” Spud said. “Just don’t let the fresh meat get too enamored of you by flirting too much. Flirt enough to get him to sign the papers, but not so much that I have to break his nose the minute he arrives.” Hank grinned while the others laughed.

“And our recruiter is,” picking out another folded piece of paper, “Voice. Do you have a suit? Please say yes, otherwise we’ll be delayed a week while Mike fusses over one for you.”

“All set. I’ll just have to get Mike to take a look at it and make sure it still fits correctly.”

“Ok, so just a half week’s delay,” Spud quipped, getting everyone laughing again. “That leaves Edge and me to drive ground transportation. You all have your assignments. Read up on the procedures, and let’s see if Mr. Hunt would like to leave the Marine Corps so he can come here and be a different kind of Marine.”

“SERGEANT HUNT?”

“That’s me,” said the Marine who had just walked into the FBO at McClellan-Palomar Airport.

“This way, Sergeant Hunt.”

Dan Hunt expected to see some sort of military aircraft awaiting him on the small airport’s ramp. Instead, the only aircraft in sight, other than small, privately-owned airplanes, was a gleaming business jet.

“Guess I must be a little early.”

“Not at all, Sergeant. This way, please.”

Crow walked ahead of his passenger, having won the coin flip for captain for the trip from Camp Pendleton to Quantico, meaning Cloud would get the task of stowing the Marine’s duffle bag and flying as first officer. At the bottom of the airstair, he said, “Please go aboard and make yourself comfortable, Sergeant. The man you are meeting is at mid-deck.”

“This has got to be some kind of very special assignment,” Hunt said.

“I wouldn’t know about that, Sergeant. I just fly the plane. But I’m sure the gentleman you’re meeting will fill you in.”

Cloud stood at the foot of the airstair. Reaching out, he said, “I’ll take your bag, Sergeant.” Relieved of his duffle, Hunt climbed the airstair with Crow on his heels.

“This is Katie,” Crow said, indicating Hank. She smiled and greeted Hunt with, “Welcome aboard, Sergeant.” She’s cute in her little blue dress and apron, Hunt thought. “Katie will keep you comfortable here in the back. Right now, we’re estimating about three hours and forty-five minutes of flight time to Quantico, so anything you’d like, just let her know.”

As Hunt made his way down to where he could see the man sitting, he noticed the guy who had taken his duffle back go forward to the cockpit. He sat down opposite Voice, who reached out and greeted him with a handshake. “Welcome aboard, Sergeant,” Voice said. “Have a seat.”

“Please buckle up, Sergeant,” Hank added. “Our pilots will have us in the air shortly. Once we are established in a climb to our cruising altitude, I’ll be happy to bring you something to eat and drink. Do you have a preference?”

“What’s available?” Hunt asked.

“I can do just about anything you like. Eggs and bacon, pancakes, or if you like, a Continental breakfast of pastries and coffee.”

“The coffee and pastries sound good,” Hunt said. Damn, I must have really impressed someone higher up to get the royal treatment.

“Very well.” Hearing a tone over the aircraft’s PA, she said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, the pilots are preparing to taxi, and I have to take my seat. Once we’re airborne, I’ll be back with your breakfast.” She turned to Voice. “I’m assuming your usual, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” Voice said. She makes a good stewardess.

Hank moved forward and took the jump seat in the cockpit, buckling in just as Crow and Cloud began their taxi roll. “You guys want anything once we’re airborne?” she asked.

“You know, our recruiter back there never seems to ask that when he’s FA before we have to beg him for a lousy cup of coffee,” Cloud said. In the back, Voice resisted the urge to make a snappy comeback, not wanting their passenger to believe he talked to himself.

“Katie” laughed. Getting serious, Hank asked, “Why do we use a separate comm system for these flights? Why not just use the regular earpiece?”

“Has to do with the recruiting process. We get to evaluate this guy for how well we think he’ll fit into the unit. Medical evaluates him for his physical and psychological fitness for duty. The idea is that they not be predisposed to liking him, and therefor prone to conveniently overlook something during all the tests,” Crow explained as they sat next to the runway.

Cloud was busy handling radios. “Fly heading 2-9-0, intercept Victor 3-6-3, direct Oceanside, direct Quantico, climb and maintain flight level 4-5-0,” Cloud said, writing down the clearance in shorthand and then programming it into the flight managing system.

“I guess a separate comm system makes sense,” Hank said while looking around the cockpit. “This is a bit more complex than the bug smasher I was doing my private pilot training in.”

“Play your cards right and we’ll see if we can’t get you into a bug smasher to finish that training up.”

“And what will the FAA put on my certificate? Hank?”

“We just won’t let them know,” Crow said with a chuckle. “We’ll do up a certificate for you.”

“We’re cleared for takeoff,” Cloud said. “FMS is programmed, let’s go home.”

As the G550 rolled down the runway and lifted into the air, Hank remembered her first trip aboard the sleek bizjet, sitting across from Spud, assessing his physique and his smile. I was falling in love with him even then.

“Ok, Katie. We’ve got enough altitude for you to serve our guests in the back.,” Crow said.

Hank got up and went to the galley, arriving back in the cockpit a few minutes later with coffee and donuts for the cockpit crew. Then she went back to the cabin and set the table between Voice and Hunt. “Sorry, but I can’t tell you that right now,” Voice was saying. Where have I heard that before? She smiled at Hunt and returned to the galley after their food and coffee. Putting it in front of them, she turned to go back to the jump seat.

“You know, Katie, one of the seats in the back will be much more comfortable than the jump seat,” Voice remarked.

“Oh, I know,” she replied. “But I’m just fascinated by everything that goes on in the cockpit. Maybe one day I’ll get a pilot’s license.” She smiled at Hunt. He smiled back in a way that she found slightly disturbing.

The flight continued, with the conversation she was hearing in the earpiece provided for the flight sounding familiar. She noted that Hunt’s responses seemed less reserved than she remembered hers being. He’s so stoked about being approached that he really isn’t being careful about what he might be getting into. It didn’t take long before Voice turned and called over his shoulder, “Katie, could you bring us some more coffee, the lunch menu, and the paperwork?”

“He jumped that fast?” she heard Crow ask through the earpiece.

“I’m sure you’re going to find your work with us very interesting,” Voice was saying.

“Damn!” she heard Crow say.

As the flight continued and she kept up her role as the flight attendant, she noted that Hunt didn’t seem very interested in reading the paperwork he was signing. It impressed her as a little reckless. To each his own, I guess.

Before she knew it, a tone was sounding over the aircraft’s PA. “We’re starting our descent into Quantico Marine Corps Airfield, estimating arrival at 1400 local time. Katie, if you would ready the cabin, please.” She got up and set about collecting up galley items from the table where Voice and Hunt were seated and securing the galley, then returned to the jump seat. “Sterile cockpit now, Katie, as we cross below 10,000 mean sea level,” Crow said. “No conversations not flight related.” She didn’t mind. She was fascinated by the view of their landing from the vantage point of the cockpit.

As they followed the “Follow Me” vehicle to the ramp, she began to wonder. What’s this guy going to think when he finds out he’s been in the presence of most of the team all this time? Engines having been shut down, she opened the door and lowered the airstair, then stood smiling while Hunt and Voice deplaned. The unit’s van was standing by, Spud in the driver’s seat and Edge standing by the open door. She made her way down the airstair and went over to the van herself, climbing in next to Spud.

“Not going to sit with the new recruit?” he asked quietly.

“He gives me a bit of a creepy feeling.”

Spud looked at her.

“Something about the way he looks at me. Gets my little voices chattering.”

“You hear voices?” Spud asked.

“When I’m thinking, it’s like I’ve got a couple of little voices in my head. Most of the time they argue. Whichever one wins the argument is the one I go with.”

Spud raised an eyebrow. “Ok. What did your little voices say about me?”

She grinned and blushed. “That underneath your suit, you have a nice body. They were right.”

“Enough whispering up there in front,” Voice said. “Hand ’em over, guys.”

She pulled her earpiece out and handed it to Voice, who was gathering all of the devices from the other team members and putting them into the box she’d seen when she first arrived.

“Thank you very much,” Voice said, closing the box. “And now, Sergeant Hunt, I’d like to make the introductions. I am your humble host, Voice. These are your pilots, Crow and Cloud. This gentleman here is called Edge. He’s excited to have you here, given he’s also from the Marine Corps. Up front, your driver is called Spud, and your fine flight attendant is Hank.”

“Hank? You’re a guy?” exclaimed Hunt.

Hank lifted her skirt, and she and Spud both peered underneath. “Nope,” they both said simultaneously.

“If you’re not a guy, why are you called Hank?”

“That’s a bit of a story that you’re not allowed to hear,” Spud said. He started the van and drove off to the unit’s base.

Inside the BEQ, Voice walked up to the secret panel, and it opened magically in front of their new recruit. “What the hell?” she heard Hunt say. “Bum ticker,” Voice replied. “You’ll get one, too◦– assuming you make it through in-processing.”

The team members all filed down the stairs as Voice introduced Hunt to Clara. “Clara will help you with your will,” Voice was explaining, “because in five days Daniel Hunt is going to die.”

“What the fuck!”

Hank smiled as she, Spud, and the rest of the team made their way to their quarters to change.

Spud looked over at her and grinned. “You know, I think Cloud and I wear the same shirt size. Wanna play captain and stewardess later?”

She gave him a little shove. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yeah,” he said, ushering her ahead of him into his quarters. “But you love it.”

“I THINK it’s time to start getting Spot working with the rest of the unit,” Voice said, in conference with the medical doctors. “Doc Rich, do you think he’s ready?”

“He’s healed up well from the bum ticker implant. I see no reason why he can’t start working on the unit’s schedule. I still can’t believe you guys codenamed him ‘Spot,’ though.”

“He wanted ‘Sniper,’ but that’s Hank’s job. We all felt he needed taking down a peg.”

“I agree that he does need to learn how to work with the unit a little better instead of thinking the unit is supposed to work with him,” Doc Andy observed. “Getting him in with everyone else will hopefully impress upon him the need to do that.”

“I’ll let him know he’s on the regular duty roster,” Voice said, getting up and making his way to the cafeteria where the other team members had already gathered for breakfast.

“I’m a little concerned about our new recruit,” Doc Andy said after Voice had left. “He doesn’t really act like he wants to be part of the team. More like he thinks he commands the team.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen a new recruit who’s looked good on paper and made it through in-processing turn out to not be a team player,” Doc Rich observed. “Let’s just hope as he begins to see how the team operates that he’ll discover his role and fall into it.”

“Today will be a good test,” Doc Wright said. “I see the team has firearms training, and he’ll be out on the long-distance range above deck with Hank.”

“That should be interesting,” Doc Rich observed. “Of all the unit members, it seems like he doesn’t quite get along with Hank. I think he might have a little problem with her lack of a penis.”

“We’ll have to see if he can recognize her possession of sniping skills,” Doc Andy said.

HANK WALKED up to the firing point, her gear slung in cordura packs hanging from her body.

“That ain’t too heavy for ya, little girl?” Spot asked.

She scowled at him. “Sometime you can come out here with all your gear and run with it, like I do with mine,” she said.

“Tough talk, little girl. I might just take you up on that.”

One of these days, I’m going to kick this fucking guy’s face in.

She proceeded to set up her firing point. As she was finishing, a black SUV drove up behind her, and Luigi got out and walked up to the firing point.

“Got that in place for me, Luigi?”

“It’s sittin’ down there for ya,” Luigi said.

“Great. I take it you’ve been doing Spot’s weapons?”

“Yeah, I’m workin’ on ’em.”

“Good.” She was looking downrange through the rifle scope on her Sako. “Think I can make this shot?”

Luigi laughed.

She sat back a little as Spot finished setting up his gear. Once he’d finished, she said, “Ok, Spot. This being our first time working together, I asked Luigi to come out and give you some pointers on spotting for me. It’s going to be a simple task day. Just call the shots for me.”

“She doesn’t like just ‘hit,’” Luigi said. “You’re gonna need to watch close. She’s gonna want you to tell her exactly where it hit.”

“I’m going to go first for the 500-yard target, just to get an idea of what the wind is doing downrange,” she began, her cheek on the cheekpiece while adjusting the rifle scope, “and then Luigi has a little challenge set up for me down at 1000 yards. When you’ve got the target acquired, just say ‘spotter ready’ and I’ll send it.”

She peered through the rifle scope, having already acquired her target, and waited. And waited.

“You ready, or should I be taking a nap over here?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. Ready,” Spot said, grinning.

Fucktard. She settled back onto her rifle and put Spot out of her mind, waiting for her heart to slow. Just about the time she felt ready to pull the trigger, Spot said, “You gonna take a shot?”

She turned and looked at him, noticing he was grinning again, and at the same time Luigi reached out and slapped him across the back of his head. He jumped to his feet, whipping off his hat, and stood glaring at Luigi. “You’re lucky I don’t beat your ass,” he said.

“You’re lucky I don’t build you a gun that’s gonna blow up in your face,” Luigi responded. “Now you shut the fuck up and do your job. Get your face on that spottin’ scope and tell Hank where her round goes, and quit playin’ games.”

She settled on her gun again, taking a couple of breaths and putting Spot back out of her mind. She watched the grass, judged the wind against her face, and gained the sense of oneness with the rifle and a suspension of time that always prompted her little voice to say, Send it. A light touch of her finger and the round was sent sizzling downrange.

“Hit,” Spot said.

“How informative. Where did it hit?”

“Center.”

“Dead center?”

“Yes, dead center.”

“Not bad for takin’ a swag at it with no help from a spotter,” Luigi said, taking a dig at Spot.

“You want to see how well I can do it?” Spot asked, reaching for Hank’s gun.

She pinned him with her eyes and said, “Touch my gun, and I’ll kick your fucking face in.”

“I was just wanting to show you how the Marines do it,” he said.

“Well, now I’m going to show you how the unit does it,” she countered. “Take a look through your scope, and tell me if you can see the target out at 1000 yards.”

“That two by four gong? Big as a fucking barn door,” he said.

“No, not the two by four gong. The little individual serving can of baby peas that’s sitting on a rock just to the left of it.” She reached into one of the cordura bags she’d brought to the firing line and pulled out an identical can. “One just like this one.”

He searched with the spotting scope.

“A green can sitting on a rock, with the green grass behind it. See it now?” she asked while looking through the rifle’s scope.

He searched harder. “There ain’t no fucking can down there.”

Luigi laughed. “I guess you sent me down there for no reason, Hank. Either that, or someone ate your peas.”

“Pea soup, coming up,” she said. “Just keep watching◦– I’ll point it out to you.”

She settled on her rifle again and measured her breathing. Slow… slower… slower… Satisfied with the steady sight picture she achieved, her little voice said, Send it, and she squeezed the trigger, sending the round downrange. Through the spotting scope, Spot saw a spray of liquid.

“Luigi, could you run downrange and pick up our trash?”

“Sure thing, Sweetheart.”

As she waited for Luigi to return, her little voices started to chatter. Should we let this guy know what an asshole he’s been thus far? Maybe he just hasn’t gotten used to working at the level expected of someone in the unit yet. No fucking excuse. At the very least, he can respect us.

“You know, Spot, one thing about the unit is that we all work as a team.”

“You know, Hank? I don’t think I need some woman to tell me how a military unit is supposed to work.”

“Did you read any of the paperwork you signed? This isn’t a military unit. It’s a law enforcement unit.”

“And I still don’t think you belong in it. There’s only one thing women are good for, and this isn’t it.”

“Well, my superiors at the FBI thought I did, or they wouldn’t have recommended me for the job. And the other members of the team who were here when I came for in-processing thought I belonged in it as well. All but the guy you replaced are still here, and I don’t think they’ve changed their minds.”

Luigi had returned from downrange and had what was left of the can of peas with him. “Look there, Hank. You nailed it right dead center.”

“When you can do that without a spotter and while being harassed by an asshole, then maybe you can be sniper one,” she said, fed up with Spot. Got to get away from this jackass before I kick him in the face and stomp on his balls. She packed her gear back in their cordura bags, and picking everything up turned to Spot and said, “Spot, sit. Stay.” Then she packed her gear in the vehicle they’d driven to the range in and drove off.

Spot watched her go, then turned to Luigi.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t wanna smell your shit in my vehicle, either.” Then Luigi got in the SUV he was driving and left the range as well.

DOC ANDY SIGHED. He looked around the office at the team gathered there, along with Luigi. Spot was deliberately excluded.

“Can we discuss what happened at the range today, and why we had to send one of the nurses out to pick up Spot?”

“It might have to do with me trying desperately not to rearrange his teeth with my boot,” Hank said, still seething.

“Look, Doc Andy,” Luigi said. “This guy’s gotta be the most disrespectful person we’ve ever had join the team. He went out there today with the sole purpose of trying to get under Hank’s skin.”

“I’ve noticed it, too, Doc,” Edge said. “He’s got a definite case of ‘Semper I.’ He thinks this unit is all about him.”

“Is this basically what the rest of the team feels?” Doc Rich asked.

The grim looks on the faces of the others sufficed to give an answer.

“It’s happened before,” Spud said. “A guy will look good, have great qualifications and the recommendation of the gunny of his organization, and he gets here and washes out because he’s got an attitude problem. I have to admit some bias, given the person he’s harassing is my wife,” he added, “but I sincerely, and as objectively as I can make it, believe he should be asked to resign.”

“So say you all?” Doc Wright asked.

Six hands reached out and tapped on Doc Rich’s desk.

“Ok,” Doc Rich said. “Those of us in Medical A will have a chat with him and let him know he’s out. In the meantime, we now have to find another team member.”

“We were evenly split on the first vote,” Edge said. “I’m going to suggest, given we just went through a selection process, that we go to the other guy we liked. Joaquin Sanchez. He’s with the Border Patrol, stationed out of Tucson.”

“Easy in, easy out for the G550,” Cloud said.

“He’s sniper trained as well,” Edge added.

“And he’s got experience as a drone operator, which is a capability we currently lack,” Hank added.

“That’s interesting,” Doc Rich said. “A drone could add considerably to our capabilities without putting personnel at risk.” She thought a moment. “Do we need to discuss this further, or can we call for a vote right now?”

“I say we vote on making an offer to Sanchez,” Edge said. “All in favor?”

The six members of the team all tapped knuckles on Doc Rich’s desk.

“Ok, that was quick. Team, why don’t you determine who’ll be going to Tucson while those of us in Medical request Spot give us his resignation letter.”

“I DIDN’T THINK we’d be doing this again so soon, but here we go again. Joining Crow and Cloud in the G550 will be…” Spud pulled a folded bit of paper from the hat. Opening it up, he laughed. “Edge, you get to be flight attendant on this one. And for recruiter…” drawing another folded paper from the hat, “making her debut, Hank.”

“Bad idea,” Hank said. “Edge can’t cook worth shit, never mind know his way around a G550’s galley. Plus, being stationed out of Tucson, I can whip up some enchiladas for Mr. Sanchez and he’ll likely appreciate them a lot more than you guys did.”

“We appreciated them, Hank. We just didn’t appreciate the aftermath.” The guys all laughed.

“I’ve already got a flight attendant uniform as well. Edge, do you have a suit?”

“Been recruiter before, so yeah.”

“I’m going to suggest Edge and I switch.”

“In the name of expediency and to avoid having Edge cause a fire in flight while attempting to open a bag of peanuts, I’d say a switch sounds like a good idea. Anyone have any objections?” Spud asked. The rest of the team laughed at the peanuts remark and shook their heads no with regard to objecting.

“Ok, Cloud and Crow, let’s get the bird requested, and the rest of us know what to do as well. I’m suspecting we’ll be wheels up to Tucson within the week.”

“Meet up with you in a bit, Spud. I’d like to go grab a book from the library,” Hank said. She walked out of the cafeteria where the team had been gathered and made her way down the hall. Coming to the corner, she passed under a sign that read, “Honor Way: Observe Respectful Silence.” Rounding the corner, she slowed and tapped the corner of each of the occupied niches. It was then that she heard footsteps behind her.

“Hey, Spud,” Edge said, “I think Spot is tailing Hank.”

“I saw it,” Spud said.

“You don’t want to follow him?”

“If he plans on getting confrontational with her, she’ll defend herself. I know that all too well.”

The rest of the team stayed put in the cafeteria with Spud. Voice pulled out his tablet and called up the camera feed for the corridor to the library. Hank was headed toward the library. Spot was, indeed, behind her.

“Seems I got asked to put my resignation on Doc Rich’s desk by tomorrow morning,” they heard Spot say to Hank. “You have anything to do with that?”

“I was one sixth of the vote, yes. But just so you know: there are five guys who don’t like you any more than I do.”

“Yeah, but they can’t give me the going-away present you can.” He reached out and grabbed her, gripping her by her upper arms. She twisted out of his grasp and turned to run, and he grabbed her again, locking her arms behind her, her back to him, and lifting her off the floor. “Just wait and see what I do when I get you out of those pants,” he growled, tearing her shirt with one hand while keeping her lifted off the floor with the other.

“Spud?” Edge questioned.

“He’s going to get hurt,” Spud said.

Hank took having her feet off the floor to her advantage. She swung a leg up behind her sharply, catching Spot in the groin with her boot. He dropped her, buckling over, hissing, “You little bitch!”

She swung around and jerked her knee upward, catching him in the chin. His head jerked backwards from the blow, then he fell forward onto the floor, still grasping his genitals, then reached out to grab her ankle. She kicked him in the face, stunning him, and then was on him, yanking his arms behind him and zip-tying them. Then she kicked him in the ribs and flipped him onto his back. He spit blood from his mouth that, when it hit the floor, revealed a couple of teeth had been spit with it.

“Now we go,” Spud said.

As they rounded the corner into Honor Way, they saw Hank walk up toward Spot’s head. She put her foot on his throat and pressed down until he gasped and choked.

“Say, ‘I made a mistake,’” she growled.

“You fucking little bitch!”

She pressed harder until he was struggling for air. “That didn’t sound like ‘I made a mistake.’”

“I made a mistake,” he croaked.

“Say, ‘I’m glad I’m resigning,’” she said.

“He doesn’t get to say that. Not after he put his hands on my wife!” Spud said angrily, starting to lunge at him. The other four men grabbed Spud and restrained him while he clawed toward where Spot lay on the floor. “To think I was the one who picked you! To think I was the one who convinced the others to bring you in!” Spud shouted, struggling to get free of the four others.

Spot’s eyes went wide.

“Didn’t know that, did you, asshole?” Cloud said.

“Count yourself lucky. We’re only holding onto him for his sake, you sorry sack of shit!” Crow said angrily.

“You’re no Marine,” Edge said. “You come in here acting like you’re the only person that matters, desecrating this place where our honored dead rest, and attempting to rape one of ours. You’re a disgrace to the Corps. And you will have your letter of resignation on Doc Rich’s desk, no later than 0700, or I personally will make sure you never leave this building alive.”

“His letter of resignation will not be on my desk tomorrow. Or ever,” Doc Rich said, having come into the corridor with the other two doctors after the men. “It’s too late for that. He hasn’t resigned yet, so he’s still a member of the unit. Spot, you are hereby charged with the commission of a serious crime: assault with intent to commit rape. In accordance with the unit’s disciplinary code, you will stand trial before a tribunal, and if found guilty you will first have your bum ticker removed and then be sent to Leavenworth. The ordinary sentence for a crime of this nature is twenty years, but because the nature of this unit also involves matters of national security, if found guilty you will serve a life sentence in solitary confinement on death row.”

“What?” Spot croaked. “Where the hell does it say that?”

Hank took her foot off his throat. “In the paperwork you signed without reading it first, jackass.”

“Guys, if you would take Spot to FTØ, and Voice if you would invoke the security protocol to seal the quarters until his tribunal, please,” Doc Rich said. “Spud, Doc Andy is going to take you and Hank back to your quarters. And Dave, if you could give them both a little something so they can sleep tonight, I think that would be best. Mark, head to the pharmacy for Dave and draw up what he thinks they should have.” She sighed. “And now I have an incident report to write. One I hate. We’ve had people who we’ve asked to resign before, but never one who has committed a crime. Spot, what you have done today has brought the bleakest day to this unit that it has ever seen.”

Spud put his arm around Hank’s waist and walked with her to his quarters, followed by Doc Andy. Going inside, Spud and Hank sat on the couch, with Doc Andy taking a seat in a chair.

“I think it would be a good thing to talk about this now,” Doc Andy began. “I’m sure you both have some very strong emotions about what just happened.”

“Nothing strong at all,” Spud said sarcastically. “Just a little desire to strangle someone with my bare hands.”

Hank sat silently, her eyes glassy with tears that were forming. “I didn’t do anything, Spud. I swear to you.”

Spud turned to her. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t do anything, Spud,” she said, starting to cry.

“Doc Andy, what is she talking about?” Spud asked. “Of course she didn’t do anything!”

Doc Andy sighed. “Spud, unfortunately our society has often put the blame for sexual assaults on the woman. ‘She led him on.’ ‘She was wearing provocative clothing.’ And what makes matters worse is that Spot will be before a tribunal, and because we still live in the United States of America, a country of laws, he will be vigorously defended by a legal expert who will represent him and will try to make the case that Hank provoked the attack in some manner. In her career, I’m certain she’s seen this, haven’t you, Hank?”

Her lip quivering, Hank nodded.

“Spud, please,” she said, stroking his chest in a way that spoke of desperation. “Please don’t say you don’t want me anymore.”

Spud was aghast. “I can’t believe you would ever think that.” Hank was hanging her head. Spud reached out and took her chin in his hand and raised it. “Look at me, Hank. Look at me.”

She looked up and saw the pain in his face.

“We watched the whole fucking thing go down. All of us. We sat and watched that monster try to have his way with you. The guys all wanted me to go in there and rescue you, but I knew you’d get the upper hand, and I wanted you to. You have no idea how much satisfaction I got watching him spit out his teeth.”

He stroked her hair. “I want you to do something for me. Let me help you put on your dress.”

Doc Andy raised an eyebrow as they went into the bedroom and Spud stripped Hank down. “Don’t worry about him,” Spud said, leaning close to her. “He’s a doctor. He’s seen it all before, and probably then some.” He then helped her into the satin panties and the dress. “We’ll skip the shoes,” Spud said.

He stood looking at her. “You know how you always kid me about really just loving the dress? Let me tell you what this dress means to me. It’s like really wanting a cowboy hat.”

What? Doc Andy thought.

“You really want this cowboy hat. In your mind, you know the exact cowboy hat you want. A nice tan color, quality felt, one of those horsehair bands. You go looking for that hat every time you see a place that might have one.

“Then one day, a friend of yours sees the hat you’ve been describing to him forever. So he buys it, and he wraps it up. But he doesn’t put it in a box. He just wraps it up in paper, so when he gives it to you, the gift is obviously a cowboy hat. And now you’re excited, because you’re thinking, ‘Is this the cowboy hat I’ve been wanting for so long?’

“So, you make a little tear in the paper,” he continued, putting his hand in the slit in the dress and running it gently up her thigh. “And you can see it’s just the perfect color, and when you feel it you can tell that the felt is the highest quality you can possibly find.

“And now you’re really excited, because you’re certain your friend has wrapped up the perfect cowboy hat for you. So, you finish unwrapping it,” he said, unzipping the dress and letting it fall from her, “and you’re just ecstatic, because it is the perfect cowboy hat for you. It’s the one you’ve wanted your entire life.” He pulled her close to him. “Everything about it is perfect. You try it on, and it fits perfectly.” He pressed her closer to him. “You cherish it,” he said. “You never let anything damage it. You don’t let a smudge get on it. And you know you’ll never find another cowboy hat that is so right, so perfect for you. You don’t even bother to look anymore.”

Doc Andy decided that the moment had come for him to leave. He got up quietly and made his way to the door. As he was going out, he heard Spud say to Hank, “Come to bed with me.”

As the door to Spud’s quarters closed, he turned and saw Doc Wright standing with two medication cups. “Two doses of zaleplon,” he said.

“Go ahead and take it back to the pharmacy,” Doc Andy said. “I don’t think they’re going to need it.”

THE MEMBERS of Medical A sat in Doc Rich’s office, reviewing the biometrics from the night before. “That’s something I didn’t expect,” she said.

“Hm,” Doc Andy said by way of comment.

“Me, neither,” Doc Wright observed. “It looks like Hank and Spud made love last night.” He looked over at Doc Andy. “And then slept like babies.”

“What did you give them?” Doc Rich asked.

“He didn’t give them anything,” Doc Wright said. “When I got to Spud’s quarters from the pharmacy, he was coming out the door, and told me they didn’t need anything.”

“Really. What happened, Dave?”

Doc Andy took his chin from his hand and said, “Spud helped her put on her dress. And then he explained what the dress meant to him. He told her it was wrapping for a present he’d always wanted. It was one of the most endearing moments I’ve ever witnessed between two people, fact or fiction.

“It impresses me,” he continued, “that the former rule against fraternization worked, right up until we got two people in the unit who are genuinely in love. Then it caused chaos. Since the rule was amended, we’ve seen more cohesion in the unit than ever before.” He looked at the two other doctors. “Last night, I was truly concerned that the team would beat Spot to death and we wouldn’t be able to stop them. They did not take having Hank assaulted very well at all. But they held it together.”

“Probably because they were looking at Spot’s teeth on the floor,” Doc Wright said. “At first, I was surprised that Spud didn’t jump right in before Spot started getting out of hand, but I think the way he handled it probably resulted in a better outcome. At least for the unit.”

“This is, without a doubt, the best team I’ve ever seen come together,” Doc Rich said. “We’re learning lessons here as well: that we need to involve the team in decisions that affect them, that what we may believe is a proper course of action may, in fact, be disastrous. We should be writing everything up and really examining the psychological and physical effects of the very demanding job they’re doing. That information will benefit us in the future, as well as potentially benefit other high-risk groups.

“Now,” she continued, “I think we need to help the other five members of the team deal with what happened yesterday. Because the biometrics indicate that the only two people who got a good night’s sleep last night were Spud and Hank.”

“OK, EVERYONE,” Mike said, going around the team table and handing each of the six Field Team members a garment bag. “We’ve got the tribunal coming up this afternoon, and uniform for the tribunal will be Service Cs. I’ve dry-cleaned everyone’s, and will leave it to all of you to clean and buff your shoes.”

Hank took her garment bag from him and draped it on the table in front of her. She turned to Edge and said, “You know, Edge, every time I wear this uniform, I can’t help but think I’m engaging in stolen honor. I wear a uniform I never pledged myself to that has medals on it I never earned.”

“It’s just part of keeping the unit hidden, Hank,” Voice said.

“Well, I can understand where she’s coming from,” Crow said. “I never served in uniform, either.”

“Let me tell you all something,” Edge began. “The uniform that’s in my bag? It’s not one Mike made for me. It’s mine. The one I got when I was in the Corps. I’m damned proud of it, because I’m damned proud of what it stands for: honor, integrity, grit, and a willingness to die if necessary for everything good that this country stands for.

“This afternoon, we’ll be testifying against someone who also has one of these uniforms, one he got like I got mine. But he dragged it through the mud when he went after Hank. He spit on it. He trampled it. He dishonored everything it stands for. And I’m ashamed that anyone like him ever put this uniform on.

“Now you guys never raised your hand and made an oath to get this uniform, true enough. But, you took an oath to this country. Most of you more than once. And you had to die to get to wear it. You had to submit to having an object implanted in your body to wear it. You had to give up everything you ever knew to do so. You gave up everything except what needs to be there to wear it: honor, integrity, grit, and a willingness to give everything in the service of your country. You didn’t have to do it, but you did.

“When I see one of you in this uniform, I don’t say ‘stolen honor.’ I say, ‘There’s a fellow Marine. There’s the heart of a true leatherneck, just like me.’ This unit isn’t Marines. It isn’t even military. But I’m proud that we’re here at Quantico, and I’m proud that this unit looks like Marines, even if it isn’t. I’m damned proud to see you all in this uniform. If all of you had been in my squad back when I was still a gunny in the Corps, I would never have said yes to coming here. Regardless of what that dogface, Cloud, over there says, the Marines are the best, and you are the best of the best.

“So, wear this uniform with pride. You deserve it.”

Everyone sat silently, reflecting on what Edge had said, until Voice broke the ice with, “Gee, you make a nice speech, Edge. Now if only you could cook.”

THE MEMBERS of the unit who had been present at the tribunal filed from the library where a makeshift courtroom had been created.

“You ok, Hank?” Voice asked.

“I’ll make sure she’s alright,” Spud said.

“Yeah, I’ll get over being called a slut and told I led him on by smiling at him on the plane.”

“Never mind that shit,” Edge said. “Clara was just doing her job by giving him the best defense he had. I just can’t believe that asshole thought he could plead not guilty to begin with,” he said, loud enough for Spot, who was being led out ahead of them in shackles, to hear.

“Everyone deserves their day in court,” Hank said, sighing. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to testify. Just the first time I’ve been the victim.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t get a fair trial!” Spot shouted out. “How could I get one? Everyone here is against me. If I could have got my own lawyer, I’d be a free man!”

“He’s insane,” Edge observed.

“Yes, he is,” Doc Andy said. “And I don’t know how I missed it. Between the tests and the interviews, I don’t know how he got through. I’ve got to figure it out before another ‘Spot’ makes his way here.” He stopped at his office door. “Hank, Spud, if you need me.” He disappeared inside.

“Sounds more like he could use you guys, rather than the other way around,” Edge said. “I think he’s blaming himself for everything that happened.”

“The only person to blame for everything is that guy in chains ahead of us,” Crow said.

Spud walked with his arm around Hank’s waist. She leaned on him and said, “After that, I think I need a shower. Let’s go home, Marine.”

Voice walked into Doc Rich’s office behind her. “Doc, can I talk to you?”

“Sure, Voice,” Doc Rich said, her tone sounding defeated. “What can I help you with?”

Voice sat down. “Maybe this is a half-assed idea, but I don’t think I’m the only one who sees that the whole unit is bummed out right now.”

“No, not by a long shot.”

“I realize I’m sort-of the odd man out in the team. I wasn’t in law enforcement nor in the military. But it seems to me we need something right now to get everyone up out of the ditch.”

“I can’t help but agree, but I don’t see what we could do,” Doc Rich said.

“Well, I was thinking. When Spud and Hank decided to become a ‘spousal unit,’ as the reg calls it, it was a pretty sterile event. No sort of celebration. Just ‘do you make the request,’ ‘do you give consent to the request,’ etc. How ‘bout we plan a proper wedding?”

“I think our priority right now has to be to get the bad seed out the door.”

“Yeah. Yeah. But think about it?”

“Sure, Voice.” I sound as depressed as I feel.

MIKE AND JAMES escorted Spot out of the BEQ, followed by Cloud who was keeping an M4 trained on their prisoner. Spot was handed over to two federal agents, while a third sat in the driver’s seat of the van that would transport Spot to the airstrip. A military transport would then deliver him to Leavenworth. He got in and sat, a sadistic grin on his face, while his shackles were secured to the bench he sat on. His chest sported a fresh bandage where his bum ticker had been removed.

As the van pulled away from the BEQ, Spot carefully assessed everything around him. Taking me out in the dark of night. As the van started through a wooded area, he noticed the guard with him take out a stick of chewing gum and pop it into his mouth.

“Got another piece of that?” he asked the guard.

The guard just looked at him.

“Look, they’re not going to give me gum in Leavenworth,” he said. “What’s it gonna hurt if I have a piece.”

The guard reached back into his pocket and drew out another piece. “Here ya go.”

“Could you just pop it in my mouth for me?” Spot held up his manacled hands. “Kind-a hard to reach with these things on.”

The guard leaned over to put the gum in Spot’s mouth, and Spot flung the shackle connecting his hands and feet around the guard’s neck, yanking it hard, hearing the man’s neck snap. “These things all use universal keys,” he muttered, going through the guard’s pockets. Finding what he was looking for, he opened the fetters that were binding his hands and feet, then started rocking the van by throwing his body back and forth from one side of the van to the other.

The driver braked to a halt, and the guard riding next to him jumped out, running to the back of the van and opening the doors. He was greeted by Spot, who had taken the taser of the guard he had killed. Spot kicked him in the face, then tasered him and ran off into the darkness.

VOICE SAT while the others finished their breakfast, doing the first of his daily routines: reading the newspaper. He had ignored the rest of the paper and was concentrating on the Classifieds.

“Anything for us?” Edge asked.

“Still looking.”

“Seems like there was a lot of helicopter activity last night,” Hank said. “Is that usual?”

“Not really,” Voice muttered, still scanning the Classifieds. “How did you know?”

“We went up into the BEQ last night and just sat and looked at the stars out the window,” Spud said.

Voice sat up. “There’s a message from Quantico HQ for us here.” He pulled a pencil from a breast pocket and started to jot things down.

“Oh, shit.”

“What is it?” Crow asked.

“Message reads: ‘Prisoner escaped. Killed guard. Aerial search negative. Prisoner no longer believed on base.’”

“Spot is loose out there?” Cloud asked, incredulously.

“Apparently.”

“See Spot run. Run, Spot, run,” Spud muttered.

21

“Doc Rich?”

“Come on in, Voice.”

Voice sat down opposite Doc Rich. “Have you given some thought to what we talked about the other day?”

“The wedding idea? There’s been a lot going on, Voice, so I’m sorry, but no.” She was only half listening to him while working on something else.

“I think we could all use a distraction. Something other than having to watch our backs because we’ve got a rogue on the loose.” He fidgeted. “Maybe I’m the odd guy out, like I told you, but I really think the morale of the unit could use a shot in the arm. And who doesn’t love a wedding?”

Doc Rich sat back. Visualizing the biometric traces she’d seen in the past few days, she admitted to herself, He’s right. The entire unit is being dragged down by this Spot business. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“A Marine Corps wedding. Dress blues, sword arch, the whole works. I thought maybe I could get Edge to help me with it. Get Mike to make a wedding dress for Hank. See who’s willing to tackle a wedding cake. Luigi can make the wedding rings. Maybe one of the nurses can get a bouquet.”

“Looks like you’re planning to have almost everyone in the wedding party,” Doc Rich observed.

“Including you.”

Doc Rich’s interest perked up a bit. “How?”

“Of everyone here, you’ve been here the longest, right?”

“And?”

“So, that kind-of makes you the captain of the ship, being the most senior member of the unit. Seems to me the captain of the ship is the one who does the marrying.”

“I’d be honored,” Doc Rich said. “But I know not one thing about conducting a Marine Corps wedding, so you’d better get with Edge and see if he has a bit of guidance for us.”

“YOU WANT a Marine Corps wedding for Spud and Hank?” Edge asked.

“Yeah. That business we went through before with just ‘I’m making a request’ didn’t strike you as pretty… lame?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s not like they can show up at the county courthouse and get a marriage license.”

“Who cares? At least they get to have a wedding. Nobody talks about the marriage certificate◦– they talk about the wedding. And they’ve kind-a been cheated out of having one.”

“Can’t argue with you there. Spud is going to need his dress blues. Hank is going to need a wedding dress, and if you and I know Mike, that’s probably going to be the slow part of the process. Before that can start, we’ve got to get Spud to pop the question.”

Voice tapped his watch, bringing up the facility map and team locator. “Hopefully, the idea will cheer him up. He’s in the library. Come with?”

“Sure. I don’t mind watching cartoons.”

Edge and Voice made their way to the library, finding Spud as expected, watching cartoons. Even Spud’s down because of this crap. They sat down on either side of him.

“Hey, Spud.”

“Hey.”

“Edge and I have got a project that we really need your help on.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Spud paused the cartoon he was watching and said, “Mission-related?”

“Well, kind-of,” Voice said.

“Why does ‘well, kind-of’ need me?” Spud asked.

“It seriously can’t happen without you being involved,” Voice said.

Spud sighed. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re the groom,” Edge said.

“Because I’m the… groom?”

“Yeah,” Edge said. “You can’t have a wedding without a groom.”

“You guys don’t remember that little meeting when the fraternization rule was changed?”

“That wasn’t a wedding,” Voice said. “A wedding has a man waiting at the end of the aisle and a woman walking up in a wedding gown on the arm of someone who will give her away.”

“A wedding has a minister to pronounce that man and woman husband and wife,” Edge said. “And because we’re all Marines, it’s got a sword arch for the newlyweds to walk through.”

“And a bridal suite so the man can carry her over the threshold.”

“Don’t you want to be the groom?” Edge asked.

Spud turned off the cartoon he was watching. “So, you’re planning to have the whole works? Cake, dancing, all the hoopla?”

“Yeah. But you’ve got to do something first.”

“Which is?”

“You’ve got to pop the question,” Voice said.

“Before I can pop the question, I’ve got to get a ring.”

“We thought about that. Want to head on down to Luigi’s shop?”

Spud got up and led the way out of the library. “Gunsmith, you’re about to get visitors.”

Walking into Luigi’s shop, Spud began with, “I need you to work up something for me.”

“Need a new gun?” Luigi asked.

“Need a set of rings.”

“Ok. What kind-a scope you need them for?”

The three men laughed.

“Not that kind of rings,” Spud said. “I need a wedding set.”

It was Luigi’s turn to laugh. “You finally decided to make an honest woman of her?”

“These gentlemen here have informed me that Hank and I never had a proper wedding, so, yes.”

Luigi smiled. “Gonna cost ya.”

“How much?”

“Not how much. What. I get to give the bride away. I always wanted to do that, but my wife just gave me boys.” He shrugged. “Gotta make up for not givin’ away a daughter somehow.” He walked over to his jeweler’s bench. “I think I’ve got something you both will love, too. It’s very unique material.”

He came back to Spud with a bar of metal that looked like waves of alternating silver and black. “This is mokume gane. It’s a Japanese technique that fuses two or more different metals together. Kind-a like Damascus, but not quite the same process. This is made of titanium and zirconium. I can make a couple of nice weddin’ bands with this and line them with gold. And if you need an engagement ring, I can do another band with some diamonds set in it.”

“This is gorgeous stuff, Luigi. I think Hank will love it as much as I do. I’m going to need the engagement ring first, because I’ve got to pop the question.”

“Ok, but you gotta give me a little time, and I gotta get her ring size. This stuff isn’t easy to work with, and I don’t want to have any funny-lookin’ seams. It will be better if I can mill it to the correct size right from the start. That way, the pattern on the mokume will match all the way around.”

“How are you going to get her ring size without her knowing something is up?”

“She’s tapped for infiltrator and covert ops, right? Not just sniper. Someday, she’s gonna have to go to some swanky affair on someone’s arm as his wife. So, I need to have rings ready to go, right? Then I can get the ring size the same way a jeweler always does.” He reached over and picked up a set of ring gauges. “The same way I’m gonna get yours right now. Stick out your hand for me.” He slipped a ring gauge on Spud’s left-hand ring finger. “I’ve got a good eye. Got it right first time. You’re a size 10. Like I said, give me a little time.”

“Not a problem. We’ve got a trip to do to Tucson to bring in the new guy, so hopefully you’ll have the ring done, I can get her to say yes, and then we can wait forever while Mike fusses over her dress.”

“WELCOME ABOARD, MR. SANCHEZ,” ‘Katie’ said. “Please take a seat with the gentleman at mid-deck.” Hank smiled and pointed the way, then followed him down. “We’ll be taking off shortly, so please buckle up and make yourself comfortable. Once our crew gives the go-ahead for movement around the cabin, I’ll be happy to bring you something to eat and drink. Do you have a preference?”

“I assume there’s coffee. Do you have a bagel?”

Something tells me I’m going to like him. “Certainly. Would you like it toasted?”

“Sure, thanks. Do you have cream cheese and jelly?”

Yeah, I’m definitely going to like him. “I think I can scare some up in the galley.” Hearing the tone over the PA, she said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take my seat. Relax, enjoy the flight, and I’ll be back as soon as our crew tells us we can move around the cabin. I assume, sir,” she added, addressing Edge, “that you’ll want your usual?”

“Thank you, yes, Katie.”

Hank went and took a seat on the jump seat. “What do you think so far, Hank?” she heard Cloud say in her earpiece. In the background, she could hear Crow reading back their clearance.

“What can I say? He likes bagels with cream cheese and jelly, and you might recall that was my choice as well. We’ll have to wait and see if he wants seconds.”

Cloud laughed. Over the PA, she heard Crow announce, “We’ve been cleared for takeoff, everyone. Enjoy the ride. Our flight time today will be approximately three hours and ten minutes, with arrival around 2 PM local time at Quantico.”

Hank had a sense of nostalgia watching the plane lift off from Tucson’s runway 11 Left and climb over the Rincon Mountains to the east. Almost like coming home. Once Cloud and Crow had the G550 above 10,000 feet above sea level, she rose and went to the galley, took place mats and utensils to set the table between Edge and Sanchez, then made the trip again with their food.

“Coffee, black, two Danish for you, sir,” she said, setting the items in front of Edge, “and a toasted bagel with cream cheese and jam, plus coffee,” placing coffee, cream, bagel, and the jam and cream cheese in condiment dishes by Sanchez. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need or would like at any time.”

“She’s a pleasant gal,” she heard Sanchez say via her earpiece as she made her way back forward to the jump seat. “It must be nice to have such friendly service. I’ve got to ask, though: this certainly isn’t anything I’ve known the Border Patrol to fly.”

He’s suspicious. Not so quick to jump and sign paperwork.

“The aircraft is owned by the Department of Justice,” Edge told him.

“So at least we’re talking about law enforcement, am I correct?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Can you tell me who you are?”

“Unfortunately, not at the moment,” Edge said.

The conversation sounds a bit familiar, Hank observed. As in, very similar to the conversation I had with Spud on my way from Albuquerque.

It wasn’t until about two hours into the flight that Edge called her back. “Katie, could you bring our guest the lunch menu, and bring me the paperwork, please?”

She took the menu she already had tucked under her arm and handed it to Sanchez. “In addition to what’s ordinarily on our menu, Mr. Sanchez, I also have enchiladas in the galley today.”

“Now that’s something you’ll never find flying the airlines,” Sanchez said, “and please call me Joaquin. Mr. Sanchez sounds a little too formal for someone who makes his living chasing drug runners through mesquite thickets. I’d love enchiladas.”

“Red or green?”

“Bring on the heat. I’ll take the green. Hatch chili, I hope?”

“Of course.” She turned so that Sanchez couldn’t see the smirk on her face and asked, “What about you, sir? Would you like to try the enchiladas today?” She grinned broadly at Edge.

Edge quashed a full-blown scowl and said, “I think I’d just like the usual, thank you, Katie.”

“Wuss,” she mouthed. Edge smiled at her, but his eyes said “fuck you.”

As she returned to place food in front of them, Hank noticed that Sanchez was carefully reading over the paperwork in front of him. He read each document methodically, then went back to the first one that needed his signature and read it again. He then spread all of the documents out and studied them. Then he began to sign.

Once again, she wondered what he would think when he discovered after landing that he had been in the presence of two-thirds of the team. But unlike the flight with Spot, she had no nagging sense that something wasn’t right about Sanchez. Her little voices were silent. I think we’ve found our man.

SPUD WALKED INTO THE CAFETERIA, the small velvet box Luigi had given him with the engagement ring inside sequestered in his pocket. “Hey there, Amigo,” he said, addressing the new recruit. “Glad to see you here. How’s the incision?”

“Still sore. But what this thing does is amazing.”

“Wait until you get your watch and earpiece,” Spud said. “You’ll suddenly find yourself in a different world.”

“I already feel like I’m on the Starship Enterprise with the doors automatically opening for me all the time.”

“You got it?” Voice asked Spud.

Spud patted his pocket and took a seat at the team table.

Hank walked in, grabbed a plate and filled it with food, then sat down next to Spud and proceeded to eat. She noticed that the cafeteria was unusually full of personnel.

“Hard workout this morning, Hank?” he asked her.

“They’re all hard, but you don’t make progress unless they are. I’m up to sixteen pull-ups now. Mike says that’s good enough to qualify for SEAL.”

“You should rehydrate, then.” Spud got up and got her a glass of water.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t even think to ask you if you wanted some ice in that glass.”

“It’s fine, Spud,” she mumphed through a mouthful of food.

“No, I think you need some ice in that glass,” he said.

“Here it comes,” Voice said quietly.

Hank looked at Voice, then looked at Spud. She noticed that now everyone at the table and throughout the cafeteria was looking in her direction. “You two conjuring something up?”

“No, I just want to put a little ice in that glass for you,” Spud said, taking out the velvet box. He opened it up, revealing a simple gold-lined mokume ring with five channel-set diamonds in descending size adorning it. Spud dropped it in the glass of water, then stood up and pushed back his chair. Getting down on one knee, he asked, “Hank, will you marry me?”

She choked and swallowed the food she was chewing. “Luigi told me that ring was for undercover work.”

“And it is. Under covers is where married people do what they do. So, will you marry me?”

“I thought we were.”

“No, we were given permission to be a spousal unit. Which is fine, unless you want to be husband and wife… and I want us to be husband and wife. So, Hank,” he said, putting his other knee on the floor, “Will you marry me?”

“For God’s sake, say yes,” Edge said.

Spud took a fork and reached into the glass, hooking the ring with it and sliding it up the inside of the glass until he could grab it. He held it up in front of her.

Her eyes were glassy. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she said.

He got up off his knees and took her hand, standing her in front of him. Then he slipped the ring on her finger.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the team began to chant.

“We’ve got this rule about manifesting affection in from of the rest of the unit,” Spud said.

From a nearby table, he heard Doc Rich say, “I think there may have been something bad in the food today. I can’t seem to see anything.” Doc Andy, who was sitting with her, said, “I think you’re right. I seem to be having a lot of difficulty focusing.” Murmurs of agreement regarding the “bad food” and inability to see could be heard around the room.

“It seems we’re surrounded by blind people, Spud. I say we take advantage of it before they recover.”

Spud leaned down to her and kissed her hungrily, his hand behind her neck, not letting her go as she matched with her passion for him.

“Now that’s the hottest kiss I’ve never seen,” Amigo said as everyone clapped their approval.

“MIKE, will you please stop fussing with the dress?” Hank begged.

“You know, I was sick of wedding gowns when I had my tailoring business. But this one is special.” He checked the strapless bodice once more and rearranged the gathers that fell from the beaded midriff to the floor, checking how the chiffon layered over the white satin of the skirt. Then he went around back and checked the corset-styled lacing that held the back of the dress and laced it together down to her waist, the ruching forming more gathers that flowed into the brush train. “I think we’re almost ready to go.” He reached over her shoulder and brought the veil around, draping it so it crossed over her face and fell over the opposite shoulder. Then he ducked through the outer door of the range and disappeared inside.

Hank took a deep breath. “Seems really odd to have a wedding in a firing range.”

“It was the only place big enough down here below deck, Sweetheart,” Luigi said. “I’ve got the ventilation shut down, and the place is all decorated. You won’t even recognize it. A lot of people cooperated to make this your big day.” He smiled, and she noticed he had a hint of tears in his eyes. “And I gotta tell ya: I got a look at your groom in there, and he’s nervous as a cat in a kennel full of Dobermans.”

Janet held out a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath for her. “There’s your red to go with your white. The blue is waiting for you inside.”

“Thanks, Janet. And thanks for agreeing to be my maid of honor.” Aside from Hank, the three nurses were the only other people not dressed in Marine Corps dress blues.

As she made her way through the outer door of the firing range, she noticed that it had been decorated with flowers and ribbons, and had white cloth draped over the acoustic walls and in front of the backstop. Luigi led her on his arm around the firing booths and through an opening in a curtain hung just beyond them. “Hal, start music,” Luigi said. As music began to play over the range PA, he turned to Hank and said, “Let’s go meet that man of yours.”

Taking his arm, Hank let Luigi walk her up to where Spud was standing, Voice as his best man and Crow and Cloud standing as groomsmen. Luigi leaned toward Spud and said, “This day is one of the happiest days of my life. Me and my own girl been married now forty-two years. You promise me you’ll give Hank forty-two years of happiness, and I’ll put her on your arm. You can’t do that, and I’ll walk her back down the aisle.”

Spud replied, “If all I have is forty-two years more, I promise they’ll be happy ones. If I have more than that, the rest will be happy ones, too.”

Luigi turned and gave Hank a kiss on her exposed cheek. “He’s the right one, Sweetheart.” He walked Hank to face Spud, placed her hand in his, and then went to take a seat.

Doc Rich came forward and turned to address the gathered unit members.

“As you all know, this is a first for us. These two people have set in motion a number of changes to the way we operate here in the unit, and those changes have all been for the better. So, it’s fitting that we hold this ceremony today not only to honor the changes they’ve made, but to recognize the importance of companionship and love in all of our lives. ‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Where there are prophesies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. But love never fails.’”

She turned to Spud and said, “Would you like to make your vows to Hank?”

Spud took his left hand and held Hank’s right. Putting his right hand against her cheek, he said, “Hank, I promise to hold you, to protect you, to cherish and love you forever, for all of this life and into the next. I give you this promise with all my heart and soul, a promise I vow I will never break.” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb, then reached down and held both her hands in his.

“Hank, would you like to make your vows to Spud?”

Hank reached up and put her right hand against Spud’s cheek. “Spud, I promise to love and to cherish you to the exclusion of all others. I promise to be your soulmate from this day until time passes away. My love for you will be endless and unfaltering. I give you this promise with all my heart and soul, a promise I vow I will never break.”

“Who has the rings?” Doc Rich asked.

Voice reached into his pocket and drew out a velvet box. Opening it, he handed it to Doc Rich.

“Let these rings be the sign of your fidelity,” she said, handing Spud one of them. He took it and slipped it halfway onto Hank’s finger, and she slipped it on the rest of the way. Taking the other ring, she slipped it halfway onto Spud’s finger, and he likewise slipped it on the rest of the way. Doc Rich then had them stand facing the witnesses gathered, holding hands. She crossed their wrists and bound them together with a satin ribbon. “What has this day been bound, let no one unbind,” she said, followed by, “Friends, may I introduce to you our newlyweds, Spud and Hank. Spud, you may kiss your bride.”

“Ok if I kiss him back?” Hank asked, getting those present chuckling.

“You may certainly kiss him back,” Doc Rich said, smiling.

Spud reached over Hank’s shoulder and moved the veil from her face, taking it and letting it fall behind her back. Spud and Hank then pressed close to one another and kissed, a long, lingering, passionate kiss to the claps and wolf whistles of the onlookers. They then walked hand in hand to where Edge stood with Amigo, Doc Andy, Doc Keith, James, and Doc Wright, who had formed the traditional Marine Corps sword arch. Passing underneath the first set, Doc Wright and James lowered their swords to create a barrier behind them. “Permission is not granted for going back,” James said. Going forward, Edge and Doc Andy halted them at the last set of swords by lowering their swords across their path.

“You must kiss in order to pass,” Doc Andy said.

“My pleasure,” Spud said, and kissed Hank again.

They then raised their swords, allowing Hank and Spud to pass through. As they did so, Edge took his sword and smacked Hank on the rear with the broadside of his blade, making her jump a little, to the pleasure of the gathered guests. “Can’t very well say ‘Welcome to the unit,’ given you’re already in it,” Edge said. Everyone then filed over to the cafeteria where food, drink and wedding cake awaited the guests.

Once everyone had eaten, Hank and Spud went over to cut the cake. “Don’t cut the small tier on the top. We’ll be taking it and putting it in the freezer for you to eat on your anniversary next year,” Doc Gillie said. Spud drew his sword and offered it to Hank, then placed his hand over hers as the cake was cut. Hank then took the piece and fed half to Spud, who then took the other half and fed it to her. Feeling a little bit of frosting on the edge of her lips, she said, “Would you like to share a little of my frosting?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Spud said. He licked her lips clean of frosting and kissed her to the delight of the unit’s members.

“Of course, even for today we had to follow the ‘no alcohol’ rule, but we got as close as we could,” Mike said. He poured two flutes of nonalcoholic champagne and handed them to Spud and Hank.

“To the love of my life,” they said, interlocking their arms and drinking.

Voice and Janet then took up flutes. Voice began with, “To the grand old man,” finished by Janet concluding with, “and his grand young bride.”

“Now, folks, if you’ll join us for a little dancing and celebrating,” Spud began. “Just please keep the food and drink here, or in the hallways. My lovely wife has promised to make ours a short union if anyone drops anything on the firing range floor.” To the laughter of the unit’s personnel, he put his arm around Hank’s waist and ushered her out the door.

Immediately outside, Mike took Hank’s hand and told Spud, “Sorry, buddy, but I’ve got to borrow your wife for a few minutes.”

“Not on your life,” Spud said. “I’m not letting this woman out of my sight. Not today.”

“Be my guest, but she can’t dance in this gown. I’ve got to get her into her ball gown.” He spirited her next door to the quartermaster area with Spud on his heels.

“Don’t let him kill me while I get you changed,” Mike said. He unlaced and lifted the wedding gown off of Hank and pulled off her heels. He then had her step into a pair of blue flats and dropped a blue silk flamenco-style gown over her upstretched arms, then pulled it down and smoothed the silk over her body. She turned and let Spud see how the dress moved as she did.

“That’s some really nice wrapping paper,” Spud said to Mike.

Seeing Mike’s quizzical look, Hank said, “I’ll explain it to you sometime.”

Returning to the range floor, Spud asked Luigi, “Were you able to get that song I wanted?”

“Sure thing, Spud.”

“I hope you know how to waltz,” Spud told Hank.

“I love ballroom dancing,” she replied.

“Hal, play music,” Luigi said.

Spud led Hank to the center of the floor and began to waltz with her as Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle” played. When it finished and the next song began to play, Luigi and Doc Rich came up and cut in, dancing with Hank and Spud for the next song.

As Hank and Luigi danced, Luigi told her, “Hank, I consider you just like a daughter. That man ever breaks your heart, you’d better come and tell me. I’ll make you this promise right now: I’ll always protect you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever need protecting from Spud,” Hank said.

As the afternoon progressed, Hank and Spud made the rounds of the members of the unit, accepting their congratulations and thanking everyone for coming. Encountering Voice, Hank said, “I understand you were a motivating force behind this event.”

“I might have had something to do with it,” Voice replied.

“It’s what we needed after this nasty” –

Voice cut her off by putting a finger on her lips. “We’re not going there today. Today is a day for happiness and celebrating.” He smiled and said, “Now I’m going to see if Clara will dance with me.”

As Voice walked off, Spud said, “All of the wedding guests seem to be having a good time. Do we want to go and see if we can have a good time?”

Hank chuckled. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, it’s pretty much guaranteed we’ll have a good time.”

“I think I’m supposed to carry you across the threshold.” Spud swept her up in his arms and carried her down the hallway toward his quarters.

Cloud, Crow, Amigo, and Edge were all grabbing more to eat in the cafeteria. Cloud noticed Spud carrying Hank down the hall and said, “Hey, guys, I think Spud and Hank are going to consummate the marriage.”

“Not like we can watch their biometrics,” Edge said.

“Yeah, well, I’m just going to have to do this old school,” Cloud said, grabbing an empty glass. “Let me know if they go to Spud’s or Hank’s place.” He headed off down the hallway toward Honor Way.

“Here, we’ll give you a little practice on the bum ticker, Amigo,” Crow said. “Say, ‘Hal, show facility map. Overlay team locations.’”

Amigo repeated the commands, and the facility diagram came up on his watch face, followed by the numerical icons that indicated team locations. They watched as the two overlapped icons for Spud and Hank went into Spud’s residence.

“Now say, ‘Cloud, subjects have entered FT6 residence.’”

Amigo repeated the command.

“Amigo, roger,” Amigo heard via his earpiece. He watched as he saw Cloud’s icon enter the lab and go to the far west wall.

Cloud went up to the wall and placed the glass open end to it, then placed his ear against it. He stood listening for some minutes, until he heard Hank cry out in ecstasy. He stood up from the wall and said, “FT1, FT3, FT4, love birds are in the nest, and from the sound of her cooing, are enjoying themselves.” He grinned and walked back to the cafeteria.

“Be right back,” Spud told Hank, letting her relax in the afterglow of their love-making. “Where’s your toy?”

“I don’t need my toy.”

“I do.”

That was enough to get Hank a bit more alert. “Mind telling me what for?”

“It’s a guarantee we’re going to get a visitor. And I’m thinking a little surprise for said visitor will be in order.”

“I think it’s still in the top drawer of my bed stand,” she said.

Spud pulled on his boxers and retrieved the item. Coming back into his quarters, he got back into bed with Hank. “Let’s see how long this takes. Bet?”

“Sure. Ten minutes.”

“I say five,” Spud said.

Voice had joined the rest of the team members in the cafeteria. The four were holding glasses of the faux champagne, and Edge was holding one out for Cloud. “To the newlyweds,” he said.

“To the newlyweds,” the others intoned. They clinked their glasses together, and drank.

“Now let’s go see who’ll dance with us,” Amigo said, “’cuz this Latino’s got some moves he wants to share.”

“Before you do that,” Cloud said, “how ‘bout you take some food to Spud and Hank?”

“Uhhh… You think it’s a good idea to do that?”

“Sure,” Cloud said. “They’re always hungry after they do the deed. We always know when they have, because we see them down here raiding the kitchen.” He handed Amigo two plates of food and a couple of forks. “Trust me, they’ll appreciate it.”

Amigo walked down the hall, with Spud watching his progress on his watch. “Told you. Here he comes.”

“Who is it?”

“The new guy. Amigo.” Hank sputtered with suppressed laughter. “Look… anxious,” Spud added.

Spud’s watch tapped him to alert him to Amigo’s arrival at the door. “Amigo, what’s up?” he asked over the comm link.

“Spud, the guys thought you’d like something to eat.”

Spud stood up next to the bed and adjusted Hank’s toy in his boxers. “A little heavy breathing, Hank,” he said. Then, “Amigo, come on in.”

Amigo walked in. Hank was practically panting, and Spud, to Amigo’s eyes, was sporting a huge erection. ¡Santo Dios! ¡Con razón ella lo ama tanto!

“Uhhh… Did I interrupt something?”

“Not exactly,” Spud said, “but if you don’t get out of here in the next two seconds, there’s going to be hell to pay.” Hank buried her head to keep from laughing out loud at the expression on Amigo’s face.

“I’ll just put these here,” Amigo said, going quickly to the dining table and setting down the plates. He then made his way back out the door double-time. Walking briskly back to the cafeteria, he was greeted by four grinning faces.

“She was… He was… He was, like,” Amigo held out his hands in a measurement. “¡Increíble!”

The four laughed uproariously, slapping their thighs. “Welcome to the unit, Amigo!”

Back in his quarters, Spud pulled Hank’s toy from his boxers and tossed it in a chair. “I don’t think I’ll be needing that anymore,” he said, half-laughingly.

“Me, neither,” Hank said with a giggle.

Spud climbed in bed with her. Looking at each other, they both burst out laughing and laughed until they cried. Then they nestled together and fell asleep.

Having watched the events unfold on the monitor in his office and having listened in to the team’s conversation, Doc Andy made his own report. “Medical 1, Medical 2, morale among team members is greatly improved.”

A few moments later, Doc Rich and Doc Wright arrived in his office. “What are you seeing?” Doc Rich asked.

“With the exception of two of the team members, everyone appears to be having a good time eating, chatting, and dancing. The two who are not thus engaged appear to be taking their typical post-coital nap.”

“I believe the operation was a success,” Doc Wright observed.

“I believe you are correct, Doctor,” Doc Rich said. “I also believe that both of you owe me a dance.”

22

Hank and Amigo were setting up their gear at the firing line on Quantico’s long-distance rifle range. Downrange, they could make out Luigi’s black SUV and Luigi himself setting targets.

As Hank set up her own gear, she occasionally glanced at Amigo as he set up his. He doesn’t need my help. Even though this would be their first time operating as a sniper/spotter team, she already felt a sense of oneness with him.

While they waited for Luigi to return from downrange, Hank asked, “So how is it the Border Patrol has snipers?”

Amigo laughed. “It’s largely because drug runners have snipers. They like to shoot at us, so we like to shoot back. There’s a regular war going on down on the border that most Americans have no idea about. They shoot at us, throw rocks at us… And I’m not talking little rocks. Here we are, for the most part just one or two guys in a vehicle, with a whole group of illegals pelting us with everything imaginable. How ‘bout you? How’d you get into sniping?”

She laughed. “It was a personal hobby on steroids. I was assigned to the FBI’s Albuquerque office and would go up to a range north of there to shoot a target they’ve got set out at a little over a thousand meters. After a while, it got a little too easy, so one day I walked up the hill and put a standard metal torso target up so I could practice on it.”

“The white buffalo. I know that range. But I’ve never seen an Ivan up there.”

“I didn’t make it an easy target. It’s painted in camouflage paint, so unless you’re good at finding inconsistencies you’d probably never know it’s there.

“Let’s see if you’re good at seeing inconsistencies here,” Hank added as Luigi returned to the firing point. “Today will be easy work. I just want you to tell me where my round hits. We’ll start with the five-hundred-yard target, and then Luigi has set up a little challenge for me.”

“Ok, five-hundred-yard target,” Amigo said, getting his spotting scope focused in. “I’m ready any time you are.”

Hank adjusted the scope on the Sako and let herself settle onto the rifle. Her breath slowed, she could distinctly feel her heartbeat and see the rifle twitch with each contraction. Time seemed measured in clicks her heartbeat defined. When she was satisfied with what she was seeing, she murmured, “Sending,” and let her finger press smoothly on the sensitive trigger.

Watching through his spotting scope, Amigo watched the round sail down to the target. “Hit. You’re about two inches left of center.” He pulled out a ballistics card and suggested a correction to her scope settings.

“Thank you, Amigo,” she murmured. “And now, if you can find my thousand-yard target.”

“The gong?”

“No, this,” she said, reaching over and putting an individual serving can of peas in front of him.

“Green peas, coming up.” He searched the area around the thousand-yard gong. “Your peas are served. About five feet left of the lower left corner of the gong, sitting on the ground.” He ran his finger along the upper edge of the can of peas next to him. “You should be able to see the silver rim of the can.”

She adjusted rifle and scope and hunted where he described the can to be positioned. “I have peas, captain,” she muttered. “One thousand yards off the bow.” Once again, she waited to settle, then whispered, “Sending.”

“Hit,” Amigo reported as a spray of fluid became visible downrange. “You hit it a little low, I think. It jumped a little when you hit it.”

“Luigi, would you go down and collect our trash?”

“Sure thing, Sweetheart.”

As Luigi took the SUV back downrange, Hank turned to Amigo and said, “You know, the guy you replaced couldn’t even tell me where the can was. I could see it, but he swore there wasn’t a can down there right up until I hit it.”

“I heard that guy didn’t last long. What happened to him?”

“He committed a crime and was found guilty by tribunal.”

“Shit. What did he do?”

“Assault with intent to commit rape,” Hank said unemotionally.

“You?”

“Yes, me. Not the most endearing quality for someone who’s supposed to be teamed with me in a sniper team.”

Amigo shook his head. “That’s fucking warped. You said ‘intent to commit rape,’ so I gather he didn’t succeed.”

“It would have been hard for him to do so after I kicked him in the balls with a duty boot.” She looked at him with a resolved look. “I extracted a couple of teeth with that same boot after I got him restrained, too. He was still fighting. He was having other ideas.” She pulled the zip ties she always carried out of a cargo pocket and held them up. “Don’t leave home without them,” she said.

“So, I gather he’s in Leavenworth for the long course.”

“Unfortunately, no. He escaped during transfer from the unit facility to the airstrip. Killed the guy guarding him in the transport van, tasered another one, and ran off into the woods. He apparently managed to get off base before the copters could pick him up on FLIR. So now he has pending charges of assault, murder, and escape on top of the original assault conviction. It’s likely if they catch him he’ll get the death penalty.”

“That whole thing is just fucked up,” Amigo said. “Eso esta jodido.”

“Si, Amigo. But I just put it out of my mind. He’s not here, and right now I feel that I’m surrounded by friends. So now I can concentrate on the mission and get on with the things I came here to do.”

“You’ve got a good man to take care of you as well.”

She looked at him and smiled. “Yes, I do. I thought when I first got here that it was the best assignment I could have gotten, after the initial shock when I thought they were actually going to kill me.”

Amigo laughed. “I had about the same reaction. They told me I was going to die in five days, and I said, ‘You’re shitting me, right?’”

Hank laughed. Growing serious, she said, “I think I was attracted to Spud from the minute I met him on the plane. It was a seed I couldn’t keep from growing. The rule used to be ‘hands off, period.’ Those other guys in the team? They insisted it be changed so Spud and I could be together. And you got to see the result.”

“You know, I’ve got to apologize for that little… interruption the day of your wedding. I should have figured that the guys were setting me up when they sent me down there.”

“Spud and I figured that’s what happened. What we haven’t figured out yet was exactly how they knew we weren’t actually making love at the time.”

“Cloud. He was listening.”

“How?”

“Through the wall in the lab. He took a glass and had it against the wall so he could hear what was going on in Spud’s quarters.”

“Oh, really!” Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Amigo, I’ll make you a promise right now that we’ll get back at him.”

“Uhhh… I realize this is going to be a really personal question, but is Spud really?” He held out his hands.

Hank laughed. “Spud figured we’d get a visitor, and I suspect you’ve seen Doc Andy’s special drawer. He had a big dildo down his boxers.” She got an appreciative look and added, “Spud’s actually… bigger when the mood hits him,” making Amigo turn red. Did I just hear her right?

“I can’t believe you just told me that.”

Hank just shrugged. “It’s not why I love him,” she said. “But it’s certainly fine gravy. Spud is strong, but gentle. He doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile or inferior. He’s passionate. He feels very deeply, even though he seems to be all business, especially when he gets that serious game face of his on.” She looked at Amigo and concluded, “He treats me like his compliment. Our souls are intertwined. That’s why I love him.”

Luigi was walking up to them. He tossed her the remains of the can. “So, did he call it?”

Hank looked at the can. “He said I hit it a little low. Did you put the can out there upright?”

“The pull tab was up,” Luigi affirmed.

“Then you called it, Amigo.” She set the can in front of him. The entry hole was about an inch below the center of the can. “Good spotting and good call on scope settings.” She turned to Luigi. “Let’s keep him, Luigi. Get him into the shop and start getting his guns ready.”

VOICE SAT READING the Classifieds as the other team members finished up breakfast. They were watching the monitor in the cafeteria. On it was a video of a man who was increasingly in the news. A microphone held to him, the man said, “The increasing number of hate crimes and acts of terrorism are tearing at the very fabric of our society. Our system of government continues to fail to effectively end the divides that plague our nation. We need change.”

“Roger Sesogo,” Spud said. “He’s gaining a growing following.”

“Yeah, but he’s a bit of a nut,” Edge said.

Voice sat up, and taking the pencil ubiquitously in his pocket, started to decode an ad.

“Got something?” Hank asked.

“Let me finish” Voice said.

Voice now had everyone’s attention.

“Message reads: ‘FBI requests assistance. Gunny will arrive tomorrow 0800.’ For our newbies, dress for receiving a gunny is Service Cs.”

HAVING DRAWN THE BLACK BALL, Edge stood waiting near the entrance to the BEQ. A car drove up and parked, and a man dressed in Service Cs with gunnery sergeant rank got out.

“Welcome to the unit,” Edge said, extending his hand. “You’re not our usual gunny.”

“He’s been reassigned to a higher position, so I got the role,” the man said.

“Please follow me. The team is waiting for you in the library.”

Edge walked up to the sliding panel that hid the entrance to the unit’s underground facility, revealing the staircase that led below.

“I was told I’d be seeing some unusual things,” the new gunny said.

“All things that help us operate efficiently and effectively, sir,” Edge said, leading the way down the stairs. He led his charge through the corridors and made the turn into Honor Way.

“The entire facility is underground?”

“Silence, please, sir,” Edge said quietly, leading him to the library at the end of the corridor. Turning in, he told the man, “You may have missed the sign as we came into the corridor we just passed through. The area that was to your right along it is where our fallen are inurned. Out of respect for them, we never speak while within that corridor except to pray or to share a remembrance.”

The rest of the team was already gathered. Seeing who had entered, Hank lowered her head. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered to Spud. “I know this guy.”

Spud looked at her. “It’s not a problem, Hank. He’s sworn to secrecy like the rest of us.”

She raised her head back up as Edge went around the room making the introductions.

“…Amigo is our newest member of the team,” Edge was saying as he went around the table. “Hank joined not long before he did, and last but not least, Spud has been on the team the longest.”

The man stared at Hank. “Hanko? Katheryn Hanko?”

“It’s Hank now. Hi, Stan.”

“You two know each other?” Cloud asked.

“Stan headed the Albuquerque field office while I was assigned there.”

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Stan said. “They told us you died in a training accident. We buried you, for God’s sake.”

Hank smiled. “Thank you for all the nice things you said at the funeral. How did John like the guns I left him?”

“They delivered them to the office. He was pretty choked up.” Stan shook his head. “I guess when HQ said they needed you for a special assignment, they weren’t kidding. I understand this is the nation’s most elite law enforcement unit.”

“That’s what they tell us.” Hank examined her fingernails. “So, what have you got for us, Stan?”

“We have a perplexing set of cases. These cases have occurred all around the country, and have been gradually escalating in frequency and severity. Killings of individuals, arsons of various locations, etc. We haven’t been able to find a common denominator.

“At first, we didn’t see a connection between the individual cases, until after one case a positive ballistics match was made between a round used for the killing of a Planned Parenthood doctor in Oregon and a Jewish rabbi in Indiana. Closer examination of the evidence found in cases revealed clusters of evidence that matched other cases around the country. In some cases, there were ballistics matches, in others a similarity of method such as an identical accelerant used in several arsons, or residue from bombings that indicated the same lot of fertilizer was used to make the anfo. From the evidence clusters we’re seeing, it appears that there are at least five people involved, but we believe the group may be much larger.

“We have no idea how the individuals are connected. No idea how they obtain their resources. No idea if they have any sort of base of operations. We’re not even certain the incidents are connected, except for within each individual cluster. But the similarity of purpose leads us to believe we’re dealing with a group of alt right domestic terrorists.”

“Neo-nazis? Skin heads?” Spud asked.

“Possibly, but this appears to be much more organized than you typically find with that kind of group.”

“Has the NSA been able to pick up any chatter that might point out how the group is moving or picking its targets?” Voice asked.

“Nothing. With as dispersed as the incidents are, you’d expect some kind of electronic communication, but none of the usual filters are revealing anything.”

“So, what does the FBI see as our mission?” Hank asked.

“We need to know first, are the cases connected? Second, if so, does the group have a base of operations? Third, exactly how many people are involved? And fourth, how can we apprehend all of the group’s members?”

“Sounds like the first group that needs to tackle this are our intel people. That would be me, Hank, Amigo, and Edge,” Spud said. “We’ll be in-house for a while, seeing if Hal can ferret out any kind of pattern or integrate any other cases that might have occurred over the time frame during which the incidents you currently are looking at have occurred. Once we have a good picture, we’ll be able to hash out the other mission aspects.”

“Very good. On behalf of the Director, we appreciate your help and will be looking for any information you can pass us. Hanko,” he added, “nice to see you’re still among us.”

“Just keep in mind, Stan, that Katheryn Hanko is dead. And I don’t exist.”

SPUD, Hank, Amigo and Edge gathered in the library to work on the initial framework for the mission while the remainder of the team concentrated on potential duties they might encounter, with Cloud and Crow determining possible scenarios involving aircraft and Voice considering programming that might need to be done to Hal to accommodate the mission’s needs.

“You didn’t get much of a reprieve, Amigo, before having to jump into a mission head first,” Hank observed.

“Just means I have to work a little harder.”

“I like your attitude.”

“Ok, Spud said. “The first thing we have to do is try to think like these terrorists. And toward that end, we have here the case files from our FBI gunny that they believe are connected.”

The four looked at four file boxes of printed documents.

This is going to be one helluva task, Hank thought. “Thoughts on how these can be sorted?”

“An obvious one would be by method,” Edge said. “Firearm versus bomb versus arson, etc.”

“Another would be by person or organization targeted,” Hank said. “Religious versus political versus some other ideology. That could help us identify future targets.”

Edge added, “We might also want to get Voice in on some of this. I think it’s probably a given that there are other cases that didn’t make their way into these files.” He scratched his chin. “Looking at what’s here might give us some clues as to what sorts of victims we might want to include in the list.”

“And we want time frame,” Spud said. “If we assume a few things, then we come to some conclusions on that. First assumption is that the group has an ideological leader or leaders. Second, that the group organized and became actively engaged in terrorist activities at a particular point in time, meaning we won’t have to look back earlier than a certain date.”

“We might want to consider, also, that the people involved aren’t domestic. Remember the 9/11 terrorists weren’t U.S. citizens, but foreigners,” Hank reminded. “How did the Bureau arrange what’s in the boxes?”

“Date,” Spud replied.

“Great.” She didn’t say it in a complimentary way. “Did they do any kind of indexing for the cases they believe are linked?”

“There’s a file here that references which cases they think belong together and what that’s based on.”

“Probably step one should be for us to sort the files according to the way the Bureau thought they were connected. Then if we each take one of the clusters, maybe we can find some commonality that links all the cases. That might give us a better idea of what we might be looking for,” Hank said.

The group set about pulling the files that the FBI’s list said should be grouped, placing them in piles. It was more of a tedious task than a daunting one, given the Bureau had already identified a number of clusters, all grouped according to method: firearm, bomb, arson. They sat back when finished and looked at the piles, two for shootings and one each for bombings and arsons.

Hank slid a pile in front of her. “These are all shootings.” She grabbed the first file from the top of the pile she’d chosen. “This case involves the shooting of a black businessman in Norcross, Georgia.” She opened up the next file. “This one is the shooting of a Jewish rabbi in Fort Lee, New Jersey.” Pulling the next, she read, “A white lawyer from Valparaiso, Indiana.” Continuing to open files, “A Hispanic restaurant owner in Amsterdam, New York. A Jewish rabbi in Yorktown Heights, New York.” She scratched her cheek. “If it weren’t for the white guy, I’d say we’re looking at non-white and non-Christian victims. The white guy is the odd guy out.”

Edge took the first five files off the pile in front of him as well. “These are bombings: a Catholic church in Lititz, Pennsylvania; a Planned Parenthood clinic in Cincinnati, Ohio; a Jewish synagogue in Palm City, Florida; a convenience store in Santa Cruz, California; and a mosque in Dover, New Hampshire.”

“Three out of five are non-Christian houses of worship, but a Planned Parenthood clinic and a convenience store?” Spud strummed his fingers on the table. “Voice, come to the library, please.”

The four sat pondering until Voice showed up. “I take it you need some data analysis?”

“Yes, and the worst part of it is that we’re not quite sure how to analyze the data yet,” Edge said.

“What type of data is it?”

“We have multiple categories that could be associated.”

“Categorical data analysis,” Voice said. “It can be complex, but it’s not undoable.”

“Can it be done in a way that will allow us to shuffle things around to see which categories correlate best with which others?” Amigo asked.

“Someone’s always got to be difficult,” Voice said. “Yeah, sure◦– I can make it interactive.”

“Alright,” Spud said. “While Voice is drawing up the program, it will be up to the rest of us to determine just what categories we want to be looking at. So, here comes the tedious part, because we’re going to need to go through all of these case files and determine which ones fit into each category.”

AMIGO WALKED into the library to find Hank already there, pouring over the files stacked on the table.

“Bugging you, too?” Hank asked.

“Yeah. I don’t see a common denominator yet. I’d have expected something like a common religious target, or minority. But if that were the case, what’s the deal with the white lawyer? And the convenience store?”

“I’m thinking we need to reverse engineer the cases. See if we can work backwards from the events,” Hank said. “Look at the victims and see what links them. The convenience store, for instance. Who owned it?”

From over their shoulder, Spud added, “That might give us an idea of the time frame as well.”

“This one keeping you up, too?” Hank asked.

“It’s either that, or I’m wondering why my wife sought out the company of another man.”

“You’re blind right now, right Amigo?”

“As a bat.”

Hank leaned back, her eyes inviting Spud to a kiss. When he leaned down to do so, she put her hand behind his neck to ensure she got a long, lingering one. Finishing, she asked, “So, which one is it?”

“You didn’t have to convince me, though the kiss is certainly appreciated,” Spud said. “This case.”

“Thought so.” Hank pulled another five files off the stack she’d been examining earlier. “Montgomery Village, Maryland. Severna Park, Maryland. Lawrenceville, Georgia. Lake Zurich, Illinois. Tampa, Florida. The Montgomery Village and Severna Park cases are linked, both in time and in method. Both occurred within the same week, and both involved shootings. The Montgomery Village case involved the shooting of a judge. The Severna Park case saw a lawyer get shot. Both were Hispanic. And the ballistics matched. Both were shot with a .308 rifle.” She sat back. “I wish we had Voice’s program. I’d like to see how many of the other cases involved the .308 that matched up here.”

“Voice needs to know the categories.” They turned to see Voice walking through the door.

“Well, look who else this case is bugging,” Amigo said.

Hank threw up her hands. “The whole thing is woven together like a tapestry, but we can’t make out the picture. Should we just start going through all the cases and pulling out anything that seems to fit a category?”

“Voice can correct me if I’m wrong,” Amigo began, “but I think what we need to do is take each case and go through it for any data it might hold. Basically, start a big spreadsheet. List the case, the date, the victim, the method… everything we can glean from the files. Then try and see if we can fill in any blanks. That will give Voice some of the data he needs to get the analysis done.” He thought for a bit, and then asked, “Which brings up a question I’ve had: who the heck is Hal?”

The others laughed. “It’s not who the heck, but what the heck,” Hank said. She pointed at the door to the mainframe bay. “Hal is the mainframe array. If you ask for Hal over the comm link, you get the computers directly. I hope Edge told you that the mainframe bay is off-limits.”

“Yeah, he warned me about the double tap.”

“A certain individual was not so kind to me on that score. He invited me to tap the sensor with my access card, and then had to call off the dogs.” Hank gave a glance in Spud’s direction.

“At any rate. I’m going to suggest that we draw up a simple spreadsheet and start plugging in data,” Amigo suggested. “Trying to just sort these files into piles is going to be futile, given how interwoven the cases are.”

“Did everyone decide they could work this case without me?” Edge said, coming into the library.

“Not really, but I guess you’re as puzzled as the rest of us,” Hank observed.

“So, here’s what we’re doing,” Amigo began, and proceeded to explain the whole process. Afterward, the five team members sat and went through the files, one by one, pulling data and having Hal record it in a spreadsheet. It was late into the night before anyone decided they should get some rest.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Voice told the gathered team members working intelligence on the incident data. “The good news is Hal has an idea of when everything started. That looks to be about two years ago. The bad news is that although Hal has an idea of why the targets are picked, there are cases that either don’t appear to fit the profile or for which there is lacking information.”

“What’s the profile so far?” Edge asked.

“Well, so far Hal says if you’re not white, not a Christian, and not an American citizen who was born here, then you’re a potential target. But like I said, there are exceptions. The white lawyer, for instance. The Planned Parenthood building in Cincinnati. If I add ‘anti-abortion’ to the list, it pulls in a few more of the cases, like the Planned Parenthood case and a couple of white doctors who performed abortions. And if I put in the exceptions of Catholics, Mormons, and Episcopalians on the Christian front, it pulls in a few more.”

“Why Catholics, Mormons, and Episcopalians?”

“Catholics? They’ve sort-of been traditionally held as non-Christian by the more fundamentalist Protestants. Mormons are a similar case: they get labelled as a cult. And Episcopalians because of the church’s stand on homosexuality. And for that matter, it’s likely if we put homosexual groups and prominent homosexuals into the mix, it will explain a few more of the cases.”

“Did Hal make a list of the outliers?” Hank asked.

“Yes, and you’ll find it on your tablets as a file simply called ‘Unconnected.’ Many of those cases just don’t have all the info in them Hal needs. Some, like the white lawyer in Valparaiso, just don’t seem to fit at all.”

“One thing I’ve been thinking about is how the individuals in the group are communicating,” Edge said. “How is it that the NSA hasn’t picked up any unusual chatter?”

“It might be due to how the NSA monitors communications,” Voice answered. “They have a set of keywords that their computers look for, and when one is encountered, it’s held for analysis. The only problem is that they end up wading through a lot of garbage. You can call your friend, for instance, and say, ‘You should see this new comedy◦– it’s the bomb,’ or you can say, ‘We can take out that building with a bomb’ and both communications will be tagged because the word ‘bomb’ was used in both cases.”

“What if we did the analysis backwards?” Hank asked. “For instance, we look for an unusual word or phrase that rises in frequency of use around the time one of these incidents occurred? That could give us an idea if they’re using some innocuous word as a code word in their communications.”

“That would require that we get the NSA to give us the raw communications data for the past two years, if Hal is right on the time frame,” Spud said.

“So why not do that?” Hank asked.

“Do you have any idea how much data we’re talking about wading through?” Amigo asked. He did a quick look-up for the figure. “According to what Hal has on that, there are about six billion cellphone calls alone made every day in the United States. Over two years, we’re talking about nearly one point five trillion cellphone calls. And then you have texts, social media, remaining land lines, emails…”

“But you figure,” Edge began, “that if these guys are moving around, it’s most likely that they’re using cellphones and either calling or texting their messages.”

Voice shrugged. “We can get our FBI gunny to ask the NSA for that raw data. Then maybe we can figure out how to pare it down so we’re not spending all our time waiting for Hal to get through crunching it.”

“HAL’S BEEN CRUNCHING the data, but it’s going horribly slow,” Voice said, sighing. “We got to find some way to pare this down to a manageable level.”

The remaining four working the intel on the cases all sat, chin in hand or leaned back in their chairs, staring at the case files in front of them.

“Maybe we can start asking Hal to eliminate some phrases,” Voice mused.

“Maybe we can cut out a whole bunch of this raw data by only looking at dates around when each case occurred,” Spud said.

“That’s an idea,” Hank agreed. “If we make an assumption that the key players are communicating right around the time of the events, we could eliminate a lot of the raw data for Hal.”

“Say, take the day of the event, the day before, and the day after,” Spud said. “And if we can’t find anything in those time frames, expand it by a day on either side.”

“That should be fairly easy,” Voice agreed. “We already have the dates plugged into the spreadsheet, so if I tell Hal to sort the spreadsheet by date…” He started to tap out commands on his tablet. “…Then it will be easy to eliminate raw data that falls outside the selected range.”

As Voice became absorbed in the task of reprogramming the mainframes, Edge pulled up the “Unconnected” list on his tablet.

“While he’s doing that, let’s see if we can’t work through some of these oddball cases. Like the one I find the most oddball of the lot: the white lawyer,” Edge said. He picked out the case file and opened it up. “Valparaiso, Indiana. It’s about half-way between Chicago and South Bend, Indiana. Predominantly white, not particularly affluent though quite a few of the properties fall in the quarter million-dollar range. Interestingly, lies within the county in Indiana that has the highest homicide rate.”

“Was our lawyer a criminal lawyer?”

“File doesn’t say.”

“I’d be interested in knowing that,” Spud said, “as well as who he defended if indeed he did criminal law. That info might tie him in to one of the racial or religious categories.”

“Should we ask Stan, our FBI gunny, if they can get us that information?” Hank asked.

“Don’t have to,” Amigo replied. “I’m betting the guy had ads telling what kind of law he practiced. Then we can just approach his firm.” Amigo proceeded to search the internet for the lawyer. “And, bingo. Our lawyer was one of those guys you see on the billboards. He did a lot of personal injury work.”

“Now we can look up his cases, given, unless sealed, court records are public,” Edge said. “Who’s going to get to ride the bird?”

“No need,” Amigo said. He turned his tablet so the others could see. “Turns out you can download the cases online. We’ll have to wade through the cases, but that can’t be any worse than having to wade through all of these,” he added, indicating the FBI case files on the table.

“IT LOOKS like these ostensibly unconnected cases actually are connected, Spud said. “Our lawyer had a prominent case in which he represented a black man accusing a white police officer of inappropriate use of force during an arrest that resulted in injuries. Our convenience store was owned by an Iranian immigrant. And the list goes on.

“So, the attacks are against minorities, immigrants, various religious groups, abortion clinics and doctors, etc. Basically, any person or group that doesn’t fit the white, ultraconservative profile.”

“Basically, over half the country,” Edge said. He sighed. “So how do we predict where they’ll strike next?”

“By looking at the chatter.” Voice sat at the table and dropped a printout in the center. “Hal has pulled out a phrase for us that’s our likely code phrase. ‘Aunt May’s house.’”

“Aunt May’s house?” Amigo asked.

“Aunt May’s house.” Voice slid the printout back in front of him. “If you look at the period from one day before to one day after a majority of the incidents, the phrase ‘Aunt May’s house’ shows up at an unusual frequency. In fact, it’s hardly ever seen unless it’s in proximity to one of the cases.”

“Can we ask NSA to go back and pull out any conversations within our target period that include ‘Aunt May’s house’?” Edge asked.

“I’m one ahead of you,” Voice said. “I already asked Hal to do that. The good news is it was a pretty easy task for Hal. The bad news is it pulled out a lot more cases than what the FBI gave us. This group has been active, to say the least. I’ve asked NSA for the data for the year previous to when we thought everything started as well.”

“Maybe ask them for the phone numbers involved, too,” Edge said. That could help us identify some of the players.”

HANK AND AMIGO settled in to the firing point on the long-distance rifle range. “This will be a switch for me,” Hank observed. “This is where your experience will likely show, and my lack thereof as well.” She laid down behind the spotting scope and focused in on the two-hundred-yard target.

“You haven’t done a lot of spotting?” Amigo asked, settling down with his rifle.

“Nope. I wasn’t a sniper for the FBI, just love to shoot as a hobby. Most of my long-range shooting has been done solo. Just me and my little voice.”

Amigo chuckled. “Your little voice, at least, must have some pretty good experience. You don’t miss.”

“Guess you could say that.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “Ready anytime you are.”

Hank settled back down behind the spotting scope as Amigo loaded a magazine into his Remington MSR’s magazine well. “You’ve got wind off your right, about five miles per hour if I’ve read the grass correctly.” She pulled out a ballistics chart. “Wind drift should be six inches left. Bullet drop will be negligible.”

Amigo made what he considered suitable changes to his scope settings and settled on his rifle. “Shooter ready.”

“Send it.”

Hank watched the round go downrange and hit the target. “About two inches left of center. I possibly read the grass incorrectly. Go ahead and adjust one MOA right, and let’s try it again.”

“Shooter ready.”

“Send it.” Watching the round fly, Hank announced, “Hit. Center. Nice job. Want to head on out to five hundred?”

“Sure.”

Hank readjusted the spotting scope for the five-hundred-yard target and gave Amigo suggested scope settings. “Spotter ready.”

“Shooter ready.”

“Send it.” Watching once more, she announced, “Hit. Center. Nice job.” She turned to him with a grin. “Ready for pea soup?”

Amigo grinned back. “Sure.”

She adjusted the spotting scope. “You should have about a two-point-eight MOA drop, two-point-four MOA left drift. Your target is ten feet left of the lower corner of the gong. Spotter ready.”

Amigo adjusted his scope. “Shooter ready.”

“Send it.” Hank watched, reveling at the ability to see the round as it flew its arc to the target. “Guess you owe me a quarter,” she said. Just off the left side.”

“I’m not giving you no damned quarter,” Amigo said. “I only missed because you can’t spot worth a damn.” She laughed, and he gave her a playful shove. “Let me make a little adjustment here, and let’s see if I can cook. Pea soup, anyone?”

Amigo made a slight adjustment to his rifle scope and announced, “Shooter ready.”

“Send it.” Hank watched and saw the can skip off to the right. “That time you winged it on the left side. Target is now two feet off the left corner of the gong, and maybe five feet farther away. Try it again, Amigo. Spotter ready.”

Amigo re-acquired his target. “Shooter ready.”

“Send it.” Hank watched the round send a plume of liquid from the can. “Nice hit.”

“Good spotting.”

“You can spot better,” she acknowledged.

Amigo laughed. “Does it make us even if you can do better at shooting?”

Hank smiled. “Just makes us a good team. We’ll be a great team when I can spot as well as you, and you can shoot as well as me.”

“Tell me how you get the accuracy you do with these three-hundred-grain bullets and a one-in-ten barrel twist on the Sako?”

Hank laughed. “I cheat.” Becoming serious, she added, “Truth be told, Luigi rebarreled the Sako for me. Made me one with a one-in-nine twist. He said that would improve the accuracy, and he was, as usual, right.” She sat up. “We’re going to have to break it down. The Marines want their range today as well.”

The two of them set about putting equipment back into cordura cases and reloaded the black SUV they’d driven to the range with their gear. Then they went downrange to retrieve what remained of the can of peas.

“I’ve always been tempted to leave an intact one out here along with one I’ve shot and paste a paper message on the gong saying, ‘we did it, how ‘bout you?’ but I don’t think the Marines would be amused.”

Amigo laughed. “You shouldn’t give me ideas.”

As they drove back to the unit’s facility, Amigo asked, “What chance do you think we’ll be needed for this mission?”

“I’m wagering a very good chance,” Hank said. “And we’re going to want to be dead accurate. We don’t take anyone out unless there’s a real need to do so. What we’ll be wanting here is a debilitating, but non-lethal shot so we can interrogate the perp. Hal says the group is probably numbered twenty or more, and we’re going to want to get all of them. Or at least those that have been involved in the criminal activity. And my intuition tells me we’ve probably got a leader out there. Someone charismatic who’s convinced all these people that killing anyone not aligned with their way of thinking is a good idea.”

Arriving back at the unit’s BEQ, Amigo and Hank gathered up their gear and delivered it back to Luigi in the armory, then headed to the cafeteria. The rest of the team was arriving for lunch as well, with the exception of Voice, who was in the kitchen, cooking on the day when Edge would have.

“What’s he making back there, Edge?”

“Pizza.”

“You can cook pizza, you know,” Hank said. “It’s not that hard.”

“As you’ve heard, boiling water is hard for me,” Edge said, to the laughter of the others.

“Using knives for defense is hard for me, so I tell you what: I’ll teach you how to make pizza, and you can teach me how to use a knife.”

Last to arrive, Cloud and Crow plopped into chairs, each sporting a happy grin.

“You two guys look like you just won the lottery,” Edge said.

“In a manner of speaking,” Crow said. “We just got word that our new birds have not only been approved, but are just about ready. From here on out, the only time we’ll need to request a bird is for transporting the chopper should we need to get it somewhere quickly. Then it’ll go by military transport. But in the future, gentlemen and lady, we will have the full-time availability of two Citation Latitudes. They seat nine in the back, two in the cockpit, so we can ferry all of you nice people, including the medical support team, and the other can ferry all of your nice gear plus more folks if need be. And if two of you play your cards right, we’ll see about getting two of you rated quickly enough so that we can take both of them at once.” Crow turned and smiled at Hank. “We’re lookin’ at you, kid◦– given you already have some flight experience.”

“Yeah, in a Piper Warrior. With about the only similarity to a Citation being it has a low wing.” She mused. “And I still don’t know how the FAA will issue a certificate to a non-person.”

“We’ve got a gunny there,” Cloud said, winking.

“How did you manage to get two jets?” Edge asked.

“Well, we could have gotten one G550. The cost is about the same for two Latitudes, but the big difference is the ability to use shorter runways. The Latitude can take off in a little over two thousand feet less runway than the G550, and having two means if one is down we have the other still available. And we don’t have scheduling issues. Big plus,” Crow said. “Cloud and I will be headed to Wichita for type ratings at Advanced Flight, then back with a couple of instructors in tow to deliver the two birds here. Our gunny here is making sure the birds have a nice nest to sleep in as well.”

“Sweet,” Edge said. “I’d like to raise my hand for flight training.”

“That will beat having you in the galley,” Hank said, giving him a playful grin.

“I guess this means you won’t teach me how to cook after all?”

“No, I’ll still teach you how to cook.”

“Oh, shit!” the others moaned in unison.

VOICE and the other members of the intel team convened in the library after dinner. He sat down, looking dejected, and announced, “I have bad news.”

“Which is?” Edge asked.

“Hal says the numbers being used by the terrorists are disposable phones. Use them once, toss ’em.”

“No way we can find out where they were purchased?” Amigo asked.

“Those records aren’t kept.”

“And now we know why we got this case,” Spud said. He thought for a while and then continued, “What kind of data comes along with the actual conversation we get from the NSA?”

“Which number made the call, and which received it. Which carrier was used. The general location where the call originated and where it went,” Voice replied. “But on both ends, the numbers track back to disposables.”

“How does the data show the locations where the call originated and where it went?” Amigo asked.

“It shows what cell towers were used to pick up the call and which broadcast it to the phone receiving the call.”

“So, how far away can a cell tower be and still have the phone capable of reaching it?” Edge asked.

“Good question.” Voice pulled out his tablet. “Hal, what’s the typical distance a cell phone tower can be reached by a cell phone? Display on Voice tablet.” He looked to his tablet for the answer. “Hal says, the typical distance is ten miles. In some instances, out to twenty-two miles, and a typical cell phone can reach a tower that’s forty-five miles away.”

“So, we have three zones of probability,” Spud said. “A ten-mile, a twenty-two-mile, and a forty-five-mile radius. Can we see if each incident occurred within one of those zones?”

“Hal will have to harvest the data on which towers were used, but after that it’s an easy job,” Voice said.

“And the receiving tower. If the terrorists in the field are communicating with a base, then it stands to reason that the base must be within at most forty-five miles of the nearest cell tower,” Spud added.

“Ok. This is going to take a little bit for me to get Hal programmed for the job, so I suggest we call it a night and reconvene tomorrow evening,” Voice said, scooping up his tablet and heading out the door.

Hank got up and filed out with the others. “Spud…” She turned and noticed that he hadn’t left the library. Heading back, she saw him sitting in the media center. Not good. Coming closer, she heard a cartoon playing on the monitor. Not good at all.

“What’s got you watching cartoons?” she asked.

Spud leaned back in his chair, a vacant look on his face. “Do you remember when you begged me not to say I didn’t want you?”

Hank felt an instant stab at her heart. “We aren’t still hung up on Spot, are we?”

“I’ve been asking myself why you should want me. I sat and watched him stalk you, grab you, start to rip off your clothes… I should have gone right away. I made you a promise that I would protect you.”

“Did you think the best way to protect me was to make me believe I couldn’t protect myself?”

He looked up at her.

“You know, I got a lot of satisfaction watching him spit out his teeth, too. So much so,” she reached into her pocket and drew out a closed hand, which, when opened, revealed the two teeth, “that I kept them. A kind of reminder that I can hold my own. Someone once demonstrated that to me.” She sat on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. “And maybe it’s good that you don’t have to worry about your wife while we’re both trying to do our jobs. I don’t want it nagging me that you’re worrying about me while I’m trying to make a shot. I want you to have faith in me.”

“There are so many things,” Spud began, fumbling for words. “I’m thirteen years your senior…”

“Spud, I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything other than the fact that I love you. That’s all that matters. I made you a promise, too. I promised to love you forever. And you make it so easy for me to keep that promise.” She leaned and kissed him, a gentle kiss, and then rubbed her cheek against his. “Luigi told me you chose ‘Time in a Bottle’ for us to dance to. Can I choose a song?”

She stood up, and said, “Hal, turn off cartoon. Play Staind: ‘Tangled Up in You.’” As the music began to play, she reached out her hand to him and said, “May I have the honor of this dance?”

Spud stood up and put his arms around her. She hugged close to him, resting her head on his shoulder as they danced a slow two-step to the music. “I hope you’re listening to the lyrics,” she whispered.

“I never doubted you,” Spud whispered back. “You’ll have to forgive this old man if he doubts himself.”

“You’re not old,” she said. Rubbing a thumb over a slightly-greying temple, she added, “But you are very dignified-looking.”

As the music ended, she said, “How ‘bout it, handsome? Would you like a little something at my place?”

“Depends,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I have a very snuggly comforter I wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“OK. First question I want to ask you, Hank, is if you actually carry a knife,” Edge said.

Hank reached into her pocket and pulled out a folding knife. “I’m kind-of fond of my Kermant.”

“Not a bad knife at all. What do you use it for?”

“Mostly clipping off bits of stuff for my ghillie suit.”

“Good enough. But you can learn to use it as a tactical blade as well,” Edge said.

“Really? I thought all you Krav Maga guys liked double-edged blades.”

“All us Krav Maga guys like any weapon that will do the job. I’ll pick up a big stick if it will get me the result I want,” Edge said. “Keep in mind: Krav Maga is sort-of like street fighting on steroids, Israeli-style. You already carry a knife, so what I’m going to do is teach you how to use it to defend yourself.”

He took the knife from her. “Lesson number one is going to be getting it open.” He stuck it in his pocket, then withdrew it, the blade partially open in his hand.

“I see I have some learning to do,” Hank said. “Opening the knife always takes two hands for me.”

“It’s probably because you’ve never noticed this,” Edge said, pointing out a grooved, triangular piece on the back of the blade. “Hold your knife like this, in your right hand, back of the blade to the left. Now take your index finger and pull back on that lever.”

Hank did as instructed. The blade of the knife popped nearly completely open.

“Hmm…” Edge took a look at Hank’s knife. Looks like this thing hasn’t been cleaned since it came out of its box. “Let me see if I can make this thing work the way it’s supposed to.” He took a little honing oil and put a sparing drop where the blade met its scales, then worked the blade back and forth a few times. “Try it now.”

Hank tried and was rewarded with the click! of the knife blade locking straight.

“Now you can stab me. But please don’t,” Edge said with a grin. “Because then I’d have to block you and stab you back.” He took the knife from her a second time and folded it. “You can also do it this way, with this little thumb knob that’s on the heel of the blade. Just push with your thumb like this,” he said, demonstrating, “and you can just keep pushing until the blade locks.”

Hank tried it. After struggling with it a bit, she concluded, “I guess my thumb isn’t as strong as yours is.”

Edge laughed. “Yeah, your trigger finger is stronger. No problem. As long as you have a way of getting the knife open quickly and with one hand, you’re ready to rock. Then the only other trick is to keep your knife in your pocket in a way that keeps it oriented so that when you put your hand in your pocket for your knife, you can easily get your index finger on that lever.”

Hank gave it several tries. “I’m not as quick as you are.”

“Give yourself some time to practice. You’ll get better. And Hank? Clean and sharpen your knife. It’s pretty atrocious. It looks like you’ve been using it to mow the lawn.”

Hank laughed. “I did tell you I use it mostly for cutting vegetation. Can I just use the same sort of strop rods I use for kitchen knives?”

Edge gave her a look that clearly indicated he found the idea ridiculous. “Go to Mike and tell him you need a knife-sharpening kit, and if we get a little time tomorrow I’ll show you how to use it.”

“Speaking of using knives, I think maybe it’s my turn to show you how to use the ones in the kitchen.”

“You’re sure you want to tackle teaching me how to cook? The guys gave up, you know.”

“What do they know?” Hank said, smiling. “What did they have you trying to make? An apple pie?”

“Pie is hard?”

“Pie is easy. Pie crust is hard. If you don’t get just the right amount of water, or if you cut the shortening into the flour too much, or even if you handle it too much, you can really screw up a pie crust,” Hank said. “I won’t have you doing anything difficult. You’ll need to cut some vegetables and mix up a dip. And voila! Edge’s dippable veggies.”

They walked into the kitchen, and Hank started taking vegetables out of the walk-in refrigerator. “Bell peppers, celery, cucumbers, broccoli, cauliflower, and cherry tomatoes,” she said, setting them on a prep island. “I’m going to teach you some tricks for making the job easy. First trick: drying off veggies after you rinse them. Cucumbers, just do as you’d always do: rinse them and dry them off with a clean kitchen towel.”

“That I can do,” Edge said, making Hank laugh.

“Cherry tomatoes. Rinse them in a colander, shake out as much water as you can, drop them onto a kitchen towel, and grab the corners like this,” she said, picking up the four corners of the towel to make a little hammock, “and rock them back and forth,” lifting first one end, then the other so the tomatoes rolled back and forth. “You can do the rest of the veggies the same way you did the tomatoes. Celery. Easy way to make celery sticks? Don’t separate the stalks until after you cut the sticks. Just trim off the dried end, cut the length you want.”

Hank continued to give Edge instructions on slicing vegetables and then had him set about getting it done.

“Now the dip,” she said, satisfied with the prepared vegetables. “The recipe says use a cup of sour cream, but that won’t be enough for everyone so we’re going to double the recipe. One pint of sour cream.” She took it from the refrigerator. “And now we cheat. One envelope of onion soup mix. And to dress it up a bit, we’re going to add some sliced black olives and some pickled pimiento peppers, chopped up a bit. Then mix everything together. Save some of the olives and diced peppers to go on top of the bowl of dip. Just makes it look pretty.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I can do that,” Edge said.

Up in the BEQ where the rest of the team was playing poker, Crow took a look at his watch.

“Uh oh.”

“What’s up?” Amigo asked.

“Everyone had better hope you’ve got some popcorn stashed away in your quarters. Hank’s cooking tonight, but she’s got Edge in the kitchen with her.”

“If I know my wife, she’ll rescue Edge if he gets in over his head,” Spud said. “After all, she’s got to eat it, too.”

“Bet you we’ll be able to tell what she made and what he made just by tasting it,” Voice said.

“If the rumors are true, I’m not taking that bet,” Amigo said.

The five descended down into the unit’s facility and made their way to the cafeteria. Centered on the team’s table was a plate of nicely-arranged raw vegetables with a bowl of dip in the middle. They proceeded to munch on them while waiting for the rest of the food to make its way onto the serving tables. “Great dip, Hank,” someone remarked. She and Edge looked at each other and grinned.

“Ok, it’s ready,” Hank said. “But…” She walked over to the table. “I’m betting,” she began, taking out five quarters, “that someone, while you all were upstairs, saw ‘1’ and ‘7’ in the kitchen on your watch and decided there would be something inedible in tonight’s offerings.” She slapped the quarters down on the table. “Ante up.”

Five hands went into five pockets and procured a quarter apiece, stacking them next to hers.

“Very well. Tonight’s offerings are chicken and roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, and peach cobbler for dessert. Dinner is served.” She retrieved the now nearly empty plate that once held the vegetable and dip appetizer and returned it to the kitchen.

The five all served themselves while Hank and Edge waited, serving themselves last, Hank retrieving what was left of the veggies and dip for her own plate. She sat, listening to the speculations of the others on which of the offerings was made by Edge, eating with one hand while drawing and opening her knife with the other.

“What are you doing there, Hank?” Crow asked.

“I gave her a lesson in getting a folding knife out and locked one-handed today,” Edge said. “You’re getting pretty good, Hank. Keep practicing. You want to have your knife open the minute it clears your pocket.”

“I gave him some kitchen knife lessons today, too. And so far, no one has guessed what part of tonight’s meal was his.”

“I don’t think he made any of it,” Voice said.

“Wrong-o, Gamer Gus,” Hank said, flipping her knife open, then closing it and putting it back in her pocket. “What did you all think of the appetizer?”

“It was a nice touch, Hank. You made a really tasty dip for the veggies,” Amigo said.

“Nope.” She drew her knife, flipped it open, and stabbed in Edge’s direction. “He made the dip. Cut all the veggies and arranged everything on the platter as well.” She then reached out, scooped up the quarters, took hers and put them in her pocket, reached over, and stacked the rest in front of Edge. “Buck ’n a quarter, my man,” she said.

“WE HAVE A WINNER,” Voice said, dropping a printout on the table in front of him as he sat down with the rest of the intel group in the library. “According to Hal, we have at least one communication linked to each event in which the code phrase ‘Aunt May’s house’ was used. Each of those communications came through a cell tower within twenty-two miles of the event, and each of them ended at a cell tower,” he turned on the monitor in the library and showed a map of the United States, “here. In Nebraska.” He zoomed in on the location. “Pretty much in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska, to be exact. Near Henderson. Not a lot going on out there. A bunch of big farms, very few buildings, and most of those are farm houses and barns.”

“If it’s in the middle of nowhere, do we have anything there?” Amigo asked.

“Actually, yes,” Voice said. “Here, near Bradshaw. We have a remote facility that used to be an old Atlas missile silo.” He popped up a satellite view and zoomed in on the site.

Spud was smiling. “Nice little farm.”

“You’ve been there?” Hank asked.

“Actually, yes. The facility is underground, like this one. We have a caretaker who lives in the house you see, and the facility is underneath the grain silo. There’s an airport nearby in York. Maybe we can contact Crow and Cloud in Wichita to see if the new Latitudes can get in and out of it. Plus, there’s Offut Air Force Base, so if we need to bring in a chopper, we can get one ferried into there by transport and then bring it over to York from there.”

“Maybe bring everything into Offut to avoid any suspicion about what a bizjet and a chopper are doing in York,” Hank suggested.

“Or into the airport in Lincoln, which is closer and certainly can be done with the Latitudes,” Spud said. “Plus, there’s an Air National Guard unit there, so if we need to bring in a military transport with a chopper it won’t seem unusual.”

“FT4, FT5,” Hank began, “how much longer are you two going to be in Wichita?”

“Hank, we finish up our type ratings in two days,” Crow said over the comm link.

“Crow, we have a need to be in Nebraska ASAP,” she continued.

Cloud returned with, “Team, there’s no way we can push the schedule at this point. Our date with the examiner is in two days, and our arrangement with instructors to help bring the birds to Quantico is for the afternoon of the checkride.”

“Damn,” Hank said to no one in particular. “At this point, it will be a two-day wait to get the birds home, so the best we can do is departure in three days.”

“Team, just how critical is it?” Cloud asked.

“Cloud, we haven’t gotten word from NSA of any chatter that would indicate that there’s an immediate threat, but we have narrowed down the location of a possible base of operations, so the sooner we can be wheels up to Lincoln the better,” Spud answered.

“Team, do you have a specific location?” Cloud asked.

“Cloud, not yet. The best we could do was find the nearest cell tower that’s been handling communications for the terrorists,” Voice replied, “which is part of the reason we’re going to need air support. It will be quicker for us to scout locations by air than try to do it on the ground, and we don’t want to spook them by showing up on their doorstep unannounced, either.”

“Team, let our Quantico gunny know that we’re going to need military transport for a helicopter to Lincoln, Nebraska. Once Crow and I return, we’ll get the field team and medical support packed up and ready to go. We only have capability to take one of the Latitudes this time given the planes are rated for two-pilot operations, so get your gear packed and ready to go with the copter by transport. See you all in two days.”

“NOW WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Amigo asked as he and Hank waited for the helicopter to be loaded in a military transport plane prior to loading the firearms and ammunition they would be shipping out to Nebraska.

Hank sat with her knife and a whet stone, honing the blade to sharpness. “Sharpening my Kermant,” she said. “Edge wasn’t happy with my first attempt. He says I held the blade at the wrong angle to the stone, and that there were little nicks still on the edge.” She wiped the blade with a rag and then rocked it back and forth, noting little areas where the light reflected. Those little areas told her Edge would still not be happy with the state of her knife. “You know, I always thought sharpening a knife was easy. Just use a carbide rod and strop it. But apparently that’s only good for cutting tomatoes, and not for stabbing an opponent.” She proceeded to work at sharpening the knife once again.

“Not quite sure why you’re interested in using a knife as a defense tool to begin with,” Amigo said. “Why not stick with guns?”

“It works like this, Amigo. Here I am, lying flat on my gut with my face on my Sako. And Mr. Bad Guy comes up behind me. I can’t very well swing the Sako around and take him out before he takes me out◦– that’s a given. So I go for my 1911. To engage him, I’ve got to roll over and draw, which isn’t all that tough◦– I’ve practiced it ad infinitum. But now say he lands on me after I shoot him. He’s still alive, and unless I got him through the head, he can still kill me. I can’t even get aimed shooting from retention, and shooting him through the back might mean I shoot myself as well. So instead of that, I take out my trusty Kermant and stab him. Unlike a bullet, the blade isn’t going to go right through and get me, too. Make sense? Besides, I don’t always carry a gun, but I’ve always got this knife in my pocket.” She examined the edge of the blade again. “There’s a lot of value in having some hand-to-hand skills.”

“Helicopter’s all set. Ready for the guns,” Spud said, coming down the loading ramp of the military transport.

Amigo pulled out his tablet. “Two snipers, seven M4s, seven handguns, two .308s and ammo for all of those,” he said, looking at the gear. “The rest of our field gear goes on the plane with us.” The three of them formed a line and loaded the gear onto the transport bucket-brigade style.

“I’m tempted to just ride back here with the gear,” Amigo said.

“I tend to like comfort before I have to dash through briars and crawl through mud,” Spud said. He looked at his watch. “Crow and Cloud should be arriving in another two hours. Looks like we have time to go grab something to eat.”

Once back at the unit’s facility, Hank, Spud and Amigo made their way to the kitchen. As they made sandwiches and grabbed fruit, Voice entered and said, “Library◦– NSA has chatter.”

They dropped what they were doing and followed him. “They intercepted a message originating from our Nebraska cell tower and ending at a tower in Benton Harbor, Michigan.” He went to the table in the library and dropped his tablet down on it. Bringing up the monitor, he showed a map of the area. “It’s located on Lake Michigan, about forty miles north of South Bend, Indiana. This is a community of about ten thousand people, eighty-five hundred of whom are black.”

“That fits the terrorists’ profile for victims,” Hank said.

“That’s not necessarily a good thing for us. It means we’ve got a town full of targets,” Voice said.

“Which one is the most prominent one?” Edge asked.

“The city’s mayor. Not only is he black, but he’s been making some noise lately with the state regarding an issue they’re having with their water being contaminated,” Voice said. “But it’s virtually certain he’s the target. The communication talked about ‘Cousin Bill,’ and the mayor’s first name is William.”

“We cannot let this terrorist group harm this man, nor anyone else in Benton Harbor,” Spud said. “But, we’re in the middle of a deploy to Nebraska.”

“Our materiel is already headed to Nebraska, but I say get Crow and Cloud to get us up to Michigan,” Hank said. “Amigo and I can rooftop with a couple of .308s in case our perp gets to be too much of an immediate threat. Luigi has spares in the armory. We can try to ID our perp before that, though, and get him into custody for interrogation. That could get us to our suspected base of operations in a lot less time than scouting out an area forty-five miles in radius by air will. Any idea why this particular time has been chosen?”

“City council meets tomorrow,” Voice said.

“Crow,” Hank asked over the comm link, “when are you and Cloud on the ground?”

“Team, landing in twenty.”

“Crow, Cloud, we’re going to need you to do a quick turn. We have an incident in progress. Destination will be Benton Harbor, Michigan.”

“Team, roger, Benton Harbor, Michigan. See you in twenty. Be ready at the ramp. Get our Quantico gunny to have refueling ready for us.”

“Alright, team, time to scramble,” Spud said. “Hank and Amigo, to the armory. Everyone needs to have street clothes for this one, so Amigo, give Voice access to your quarters so he can grab some clothes for you. Hank, I’ve got you covered. Edge, notify Doc Wright and Jana◦– they’re medical for this one. Let’s go, everyone.” Spud tapped out commands on his watch, and immediately an alert tapped on the watches of everyone in the unit, accompanied by an insistent message through their earpieces: “Unit, scramble, Unit, scramble, Unit, scramble.” The facility erupted in organized chaos as support personnel ran to their duty stations with communications flying back and forth between various people relaying their needs to those who would fulfill them.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for,” Amigo told Hank as they headed to the armory.

“I’d just as soon never have to scramble,” Hank said. “But it’s hard to get some people to realize that the energy they devote to criminal acts could be better spent devoted to more legitimate purposes. Ones that wouldn’t leave them watching over their shoulders for people like us.”

“How many of these missions have you done?” Amigo asked as they gathered up firearms and ammunition from Luigi.

“Counting this one? One.”

“For real? I had you taken for a veteran.”

“FBI veteran. I didn’t get to this unit much before you did,” Hank said.

With gear slung over their shoulders and ammo cans in their hands, Hank and Amigo made their way back around to the staircase leading up to the BEQ and out to where a van awaited to take them to the airstrip. The other members of the team were also piling aboard, throwing their gear in the back and taking a seat. Page was in the driver’s seat, taking stock of who was present. “Medical 1, Jana… present. FT1, FT2, FT3, FT6, FT7… present. I hope you all went wee and turned off your irons before getting in, because we’re not returning for anything you missed.”

“I forgot my teddy bear,” Edge said, getting everyone laughing.

“Our Quantico gunny knows we’re on the move?” Page asked as she pulled out.

“He’s been notified. You can put your foot in it, Page,” Spud said.

Hank and Amigo were unprepared for the speed that Page drove from the unit’s BEQ to the airstrip. “I should have warned the two of you that all of the nurses can drive like state troopers,” Spud said by way of apology.

“Getting updated information from Hal,” Voice said. “The most recent communication intercepted indicates the event is planned for tomorrow morning. I suspect it’s likely to coincide with the arrival of the city council members at city hall. I’ve got Hal trying to get us information on where the mayor usually parks by researching old aerials of the building and identifying his vehicle. As of right now, we know the building has three entrances: one in the front and one in back, as you’d suspect, and one on the left side of the building as you look at it from the front.”

“I see you’ve been doing a little programming of Hal since the last mission,” Spud said. “Seems like you’ve got a lot more info on this mission than even the last one.”

Voice was paying more attention to his tablet than he was to Spud. “No reason you shouldn’t get all the info you can,” he muttered. “There’s an airport right there in Benton Harbor. Southwest Michigan Regional Airport. Crow,” he began, initiating contact via the comm link, “you have an airport right in Benton Harbor. Southwest Michigan Regional. Identifier KBEH. Currently ceilings overcast twenty-seven hundred, winds currently two-niner-zero at nine knots. They have an ILS on runway two-eight, runway length of six thousand five feet, elevation of six-four-niner feet mean sea level.”

“Voice, we’re waiting for you on the ramp, getting an extra two thousand pounds of fuel aboard. And we have two rather puzzled gentlemen to get back to Wichita. Thanks for the info. We should have our IFR clearance by the time we’re loaded and ready to go.”

Arriving at the ramp, Spud hopped out and went over to the aircraft that was being readied for the flight. “You must be our instructors from Wichita,” he said, approaching two men standing on the ramp.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” one of them said, extending his hand. “I understand you’re the boss?”

In his earpiece, Spud heard Edge whisper, “Spud, how come you’re always the boss?” Spud smiled and ran a thumb across a temple touched with grey.

“You understand correctly,” Spud said, shaking and then putting his hands in his pockets. “I hope you also understand that you should not discuss anything you’re seeing right now, nor should you ask any questions.”

“Your pilots gave us the head up on that.”

“Good. This can work out well for you. There might be a place here for you in the future if you prove dependable in this regard,” Spud said, holding out the standard carrot. “At the very least, we’ll be asking for you specifically for recurrent training for our pilots.”

“I think I can speak for us both when I say we appreciate that.”

“Our driver will make arrangements for your return flight to Wichita, including hotel accommodations if we can’t get you home tonight. As you can see, we’re rather busy at the moment, so I’ll apologize for making this a short conversation,” Spud said. He smiled, looking all the part of a businessman dressed in casual pants and a dress shirt open at the neck. “Some deals require rather hasty action to complete successfully.”

“Thoroughly understand,” the instructor pilot said. “You’ll love your new Latitudes, sir. Your pilots are already well-versed in the aircraft, so enjoy your flight. I hope we meet again in the future.”

They shook hands again, and Spud climbed aboard, followed by the rest of the field team and medical personnel. Cloud and Crow were standing on the ramp, flipping a quarter. “Damn!” he heard Cloud say. Crow then climbed aboard and took the captain’s seat in the cockpit while Cloud grumbled and closed the airstair, then made his way to the first officer’s seat.

“Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen,” Crow announced from the cockpit. “My name is Crow, and I’ll be your captain today as you enjoy a one-hour, twenty-five-minute flight to Benton Harbor, Michigan aboard one of two brand new Citation Latitudes procured for your exclusive use. Please enjoy the new airplane smell. Cloud has received our clearance, and we will be wheels up as soon as we can taxi and receive our take-off clearance from our humble hosts at Quantico.” He glanced back to where Hank and Spud sat opposite each other, their legs stretched out and feet entangled. “And for our married couple,” Crow continued, “mile-high operations are not authorized.”

“Well, fuck,” Hank said playfully.

“He just said mile-high operations are NOT authorized,” Edge emphasized, having overheard Hank’s remark and getting the rest of the people aboard the aircraft laughing.

“Then what’s the bench seat for?” asked Spud, getting them laughing harder.

“HERE’S our building that Voice told us about,” Hank said, pointing out a building across from the Benton Harbor City Hall. “It’s the public library, so we should be able to BS our way onto the roof by claiming to be doing an inspection. Right here is a cooling tower, so we can say we’re checking it out for any signs of problems. If we make our way over to this area,” she added, pointing out the spot on the aerial view, “we should have a good location from which to observe our mayor when he comes in plus see if we can identify our perp.” She and Amigo slung their AR10 rifles down the front of their bodies, then pulled on loose work coveralls to conceal them. Going inside and their ruse being successful, they made their way up to the roof, made their way to the location that would give them the best view of the area where the mayor usually parked, and laid down with binoculars to watch.

From their vantage point, they could see Edge and Spud, similarly dressed in work coveralls, pulling weeds and raking in a small area across from where the mayor typically parked. Across the street they observed Voice parked in a rented panel van such that he could easily observe the entrance to the city hall as well as parking areas near the building. In their earpieces, the team could regularly hear his reports detailing movements of people and vehicles around the building’s entrance.

“Team, a vehicle just arrived in the parking lot on Sixth,” Voice reported. “Driver is walking northwest toward the library.”

If he wanted to go to the library, why didn’t he park in the library’s parking lot? Hank thought. She tapped Amigo on the shoulder and whispered, “Amigo, stay here. I believe that’s suspicious activity,” pointing to the portion of the roof that overlooked the library’s parking lot. “Edge, Spud, go across to the library and work in the flowerbed in front. Suspicious individual headed your way.”

Hank made her way to the corner of the roof and looked down. The man she’d been watching was now directly below her, leaning against a tree. Every so often, he would stand up and survey the street in both directions. She noticed he was fidgeting, shuffling his feet, and had his right hand stuck in his pocket, never removing it, even when he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Always your left hand, never your right.

“Team,” she whispered, “our man is standing next to a tree on the southeast corner of the library, smoking.”

“Hank, are you sure?” Spud asked.

“Spud, positive. He’s nervous, he’s watching the street in both directions, and he’s guarding something in his right pocket. Consider him armed◦– it’s probably a gun he doesn’t want to take his hand off.”

She and Amigo watched as Spud and Edge casually made their way across the street and began weeding the flower bed in front of the library. The man she was observing at first regarded them nervously as they made their way across the street, moving as if to bolt back to where he’d parked, then leaned against the tree and watched them for a while as they appeared to ignore him and work at weeding among the flowers.

“Team, mayor is arriving,” Voice announced.

“Team, apprehend. Now, now, now!” Hank whispered.

The man was now preoccupied, watching the mayor’s car arrive. Edge and Spud jumped up and grabbed him, Spud pinning his right hand against his thigh, then pulling it from his pocket and twisting it up behind him. Edge reached into the man’s pocket, withdrew a handgun, and dropped it into a cargo pocket in his coveralls. They pushed him ahead of them to where Voice was parked in the van across the street, gesturing as if they were giving him directions to somewhere. Amigo watched as the mayor entered the city hall, then walked across the roof to where Hank was now standing.

“Time to join the rest of the team?” he asked.

“Yessir. I do believe this cooling tower is a-ok,” Hank said with a smile. She slipped the sling of her rifle back over her back and once again concealed the rifle under her coveralls.

Making their way back down and over to the panel van, Amigo and Hank climbed in the back where Edge and Spud were already situated, their captive sitting on the floor of the van with his feet and hands manacled in front of him.

“Head to the airport, Voice,” Spud said. Then turning to the man, he demanded, “Who do you work for?”

The man just grinned at him, while seeming to scratch under the waistband of his pants.

“You were asked a question,” Edge said in a menacing tone.

“Yeah, and I ain’t answerin’,” the man said. From under the waistband of his pants, he withdrew what looked like a small bottle of energy drink and gulped it down.

“Shit!” Hank exclaimed, slapping the bottle away from him. She retrieved the bottle and gave it a sniff.

“What?” Spud asked.

The man began to laugh. “You ain’t never gonna defeat us,” he said. “And you ain’t never gonna find Camp Chaos.” Then his eyes grew wide. He began to gasp as if he was struggling for air, then convulsed and began to foam at the mouth.

“Cyanide,” Hank said.

The team watched helplessly as the man continued to convulse, then grew still.

“You know when you told me on the plane that you weren’t into any shadow group fringe shit run by some crazy-ass motherfucker who wants to rule the world?” Spud asked Hank. “This guy fits the bill for belonging to just such a group.”

“Fuck this shit,” Hank said. “If all of this group’s operatives are like this guy, they’re fanatic enough to choose death over betraying their organization.” She shook her head. “You can’t watch something like that and believe you understand the criminal mind.”

“So, now what do we do?” Amigo asked. “We’ve got a body and a car. Put the body in the car and light on out of here?”

“No,” Spud replied. “We take both with us. Get them back to Quantico. Both the body and the car are evidence in the investigation. We’ll want to go over both thoroughly. Plus, if we can make it look like this guy just skipped out on doing his little deed, maybe the rest of ‘Camp Chaos,’ as he called it, won’t get nervous and hide someplace where we’d have to start over at finding them. Crow,” he added, initiating a comm link, “we’ve got two things we need to get back to Quantico. One we can take on the plane with us, the other is going to need to be shipped.”

“Spud, what are we shipping?” Crow asked.

“Crow, a vehicle. An older sedan.”

“Spud, what are we taking with?”

“Crow, a body.”

23

“Here’s what we’ve got so far,” Edge said, bringing up information on his tablet. “Our John Doe has a tattoo that’s distinctive. It shows that he was once a member of a white supremacist group based in Wyoming. That group seemed to disappear off the map about a year ago. We recovered a disposable cellphone from his car. The last number showing was called and came back not in service. Other than that, the car told us nothing. It’s a jumble of parts, multiple VINs where they exist, all identified as having belonged to cars with salvage titles. It looks like it was cobbled together from junks. And the tags were stolen.”

Hank was sitting with her feet up on the edge of the seat she was sitting in, her arms wrapped around her knees, reflecting. “They’re thorough.” She shook her head. “And we’re making mistakes. We should have stripped that guy buck naked to make sure he didn’t have anything else on him.”

“How could we have guessed he would commit suicide? Never mind have prepared to do it,” Amigo said.

“We didn’t think about it, but we’d better start thinking about it,” Hank replied. “If this guy is any indication, this group is showing itself to be composed of fanatics. Maybe following a Jim Jones-style leader. If this guy was prepared to drink the Kool Aid, I’m betting every operative they have is also prepared to do it.”

“At any rate, we’re back to Plan A on finding our terrorist base,” Amigo said. “We’ve got materiel on the ground in Lincoln, Nebraska, so we should probably be thinking about joining it soon.”

“Crow and I have a Latitude all set to go. Given the hour, I’m going to suggest that we get a good night’s sleep and load up in the morning,” Cloud said.

The members of the team all filed from the library, tapping the shutter on Honor Way that read “Mission First,” then a gentle tap on the three occupied niches as they filed silently past. Once around the corner, Hank drew her folding knife from her pocket and snapped it open and locked.

“Not bad, Hank,” Edge said from behind her. “Let me look at that blade.”

She snapped the knife closed and handed it to him. Popping it open, he carefully examined the sharpened edge. “Looks like you finally got the hang of getting it sharp as well.” He closed it and handed it back to her, and she continued to draw and open, then close and return the knife to her pocket.

“Want to get a little knife work in before dinner?”

“Sure, what the fuck. Anything beats constantly mulling over this perp’s suicide,” she said.

They headed down to the gym, Edge going to his locker and coming up with a rubber knife. Handing it to Hank, he said, “Here’s your knife for right now. Stab me.”

Hank jabbed at him. He pushed her away and ran to the other side of the gym. “Bet you didn’t think the big guy could move that fast, did you?” he said with a grin.

“Really? The Krav Maga guy runs away?” Hank asked.

“Sure. Unlike your gun, unless your opponent is good at throwing a knife, simply getting out of range is your best bet. So, give your knife-wielding perp a shove and get out of range.” He came back to her. “The only trick is getting out of range quickly. For that, you want to be able to read your opponent. Is he one of these reckless street fighter types, or is he truly accomplished with a knife? So that’s what we’re going to practice today. How to read your perp. You did a pretty good job in Michigan reading your perp, so you should be able to fall right into this little exercise.”

Hank went over and leaned against the wall, then slid down until she was sitting, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. “I didn’t read that perp well enough,” she said. “He should be alive, in custody, and singing like a canary. Instead, he’s in cold storage over in the warehouse.” She sat staring at her feet.

“You can’t be blaming yourself for that, Hank,” Edge said. “What the guy did was nuts.”

“Maybe. But not being alert to the possibility means the Camp Chaos group will have more time before we can locate them. More time means potentially more innocent victims. I figure from the dates on the files we got from FBI HQ that they’ve been tracking this group for two years. We can’t afford to let it be another Unabomber-type investigation. It took seventeen years for the FBI to crack that case, and he wasn’t anywhere near as prolific at killing as this group is. We now know they’ve been active for more like three years, with five hundred and seventy-three dead. Divide that by three, and you get a hundred and ninety-one dead every year. Now multiply a hundred and ninety-one times seventeen and you can see what we might be looking at if we can’t catch these people and this case lasts as long as Unabomber.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Edge. I just can’t do this right now. I think I’m going to devote a little time to figure out how to handle the apprehensions better, now that we know these guys will off themselves.”

Watching her go, Edge initiated a comm link with Spud. “Spud, I think your wife needs a shoulder to lean on.”

“Edge, what’s the problem?”

“Spud, she’s taking this perp’s cyanide trip a little personally.”

Oh, shit. Spud walked from the range where he’d been doing a little handgun practice over to the quartermaster. “Mike, you home?” he asked.

“Yeah, just working up a little clothing here,” Mike said. He came around the corner from the cutting room and up to the counter. “What can I help you with?”

“Got a chocolate bar?” Spud asked.

“Sure.” He reached under the counter and came up with one.

“Thanks. Hank is in kind-of a funk.”

“You want that for Hank?”

“Yeah. I’ve drawn her out of a funk once before by sacrificing my chocolate bar. I figure maybe it will work again.”

“Yeah, she likes to nibble on chocolate when she’s moody,” Mike agreed. “But not that kind.” He reached back under the counter and came up with two bars of dark chocolate and a bag of dark chocolate chunks. “A little moody gets two bars, big moody gets a bag of chunks. Which is it?”

“I have no idea,” Spud said. “She’s never let on to me that she has a requirement for chocolate when she’s moody.”

“Did you let on to her that you have a requirement for cartoons when you’re moody?”

“You’ve got a point.”

Mike shrugged. “She asked me to keep them in stock. She’s not here a lot, but when she is, this is what she wants.”

“Better give me the bag, just in case,” Spud said.

“Here ya go. Hand me back the bar I gave you.”

“Heck no,” Spud said. “I’m keeping it for me.”

“You in a funk, too?”

“No. I just like a chocolate bar from time to time, and if I recall correctly, she got my last one. And wouldn’t let me have a single piece of it.”

CROW BROUGHT the Latitude smoothly into Lincoln Airport, touching down and gaining taxi clearance to the National Guard location. “It’s 0930 local time, folks,” Cloud announced to the cabin. “We’ll be parking next to our transport, and we have two vans already arranged for team and gear to get to our remote base in Bradshaw. Crow and I will be working with the ANG crew to get the helicopter unloaded and will catch a ride to the farm as soon as we’re done.”

Spud reached out and gave Hank a shake, and she roused herself sleepily from where she had curled up in one of the Citation’s seats to nap for the two-and-a-half-hour flight from Quantico. “I take it we’ve arrived.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Crow said, walking into the cabin. “Rise, shine, and get your shit off my airplane.”

“Yeah, your airplane,” Cloud groused. “I don’t care what the fucking quarter comes up with◦– I get the left seat on the way home.”

“The children are fighting over the new toy,” Amigo said, grabbing the things he had in the cabin and heading for the door.

“And as your shooting buddy would say, fuck off, Amigo,” Crow said. Amigo just laughed, knowing this was just the ordinary interactions of the team and not anything personal.

Having loaded gear in one van with Jana driving and personnel in the other with Doc Wright at the helm, the team made for the facility dubbed “Lockridge Farm.” Having once been an intercontinental missile silo, it had been converted into a remote base of operations for the unit that encompassed living quarters, medical facilities, and materiel storage areas as well as the necessary areas to handle utilities such as water storage and electrical generation.

“You’ll find the facility layout on your tablets,” Spud told them. “You might want to give that a study while we’re en route. Our quarters are located in the old silo area that once housed the missile. The medical facility is through the tunnel to what used to be the launch control center. Main access is through Medical. Once inside, you’ll find both an elevator and a stairwell down to the tunnel that goes into the quarters area. Likewise, the quarters area has a central elevator and stairwell. There’s what’s basically a mine cart rail that goes through the tunnel, so heavy gear can be loaded onto that for passage through the tunnel.

“Our man here is Gilbert Pizzo. He goes by Gil. He doesn’t have a bum ticker, so if you want to talk with him for some reason, you’ve got to go find him or use the closed landline system. In exchange for making sure the facility is always immediately available for us, he gets free room and board and any profit he gets from farming the land around the complex. If, for some reason, you get asked about why you’re at the farm by anyone outside of unit personnel, it’s a family reunion.

“We’ll be stashing the vans in the barn. Everything you brought from Quantico for the mission will be stored in the common area on Level 1. Personal items go in your assigned quarters.

“A little head up on how systems work during scrambles. The elevator will automatically go to the lowest level, meaning, my dear,” he said, addressing Hank, “you and I need to make sure we get our asses in gear quickly, or we’ll hold up the whole show. Our quarters are on Level 7. If we don’t need Crow and Cloud, we can get the elevator to skip level 6 and go straight up to Level 5 for Voice and Amigo. Once Edge gets on at Level 4, we’ll go straight to Level 1 to pick up any items we need, then back down to Level 2 to egress through the tunnel. Those of us not above deck might want to be practicing the routes, including using the stairwell if for some reason we lose power. We shouldn’t. There’s a back-up generator down on Level 10 and another on Level 9 in the event the pumps fail and 10 floods. That’s not an entirely remote possibility, as the lower levels are below the water table. Water is pumped out continuously. That which isn’t needed for habitation needs is pumped above ground and used for irrigation. Everything is pretty much redundant.

“I hope everyone got all that. There will be a quiz when we get to the complex,” Spud concluded. Everyone laughed.

Hank sat and watched the countryside go by as they traveled along Interstate 80. “It sure isn’t Albuquerque,” she remarked. “I can see that one thing I’d better start doing in my copious free time,” she added with a smirk, “is study a bit of the geography of this country.”

“It’s true you never know where you’re going to end up when the unit scrambles,” Spud said.

Doc Wright took a turn to the north.

“We’re close now,” Spud said. “Maybe two or three miles further. Once we’re off Road H, it’s just a short jaunt east on US 34 and then north on the access road.”

“Nothing but flat farmland for as far as you can see,” Hank said. As the van made its turn up the access road her thought was that it was just more of the same. At the end of the road stood a house, barn, and large grain bin. Next to the barn stood a combine, and next to it, a man with a weathered face clothed in shirt and jeans. He started to walk toward the open doors of the barn as the two vans were driven inside.

As the team began to unload themselves and their gear from the two vans, the man walked up and greeted them.

“Spud, you old man, I see the unit hasn’t managed to get you to retire yet.”

“Hello, Gil. How’s farm life treating you these days?” Spud asked.

“Same as usual. Too much to do, not enough time to do it in. And then I’ve got to put up with this family of yours showing up on my doorstep. How the hell ya doin’, Doc Wright? And I see Edge over there, too. And a couple of new faces.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a couple of replacements for you to meet,” Spud said. “Amigo over there is our newbie. He took Turtle’s place after Turtle broke his leg pretty badly in a training accident. And Hank came in not long before Amigo, replacing Falcon when he retired.”

Gil walked up and looked Hank up and down closely. “You ain’t no guy.”

The team members all laughed. “I’d hope not, Gil,” Spud said. “Hank’s my wife.”

Gil jerked his head back in surprise. “What happened to ‘no fraternizing’?”

“The rest of the team insisted on a rule change,” Spud said.

“’Cuz of you?” Gil asked Hank pointedly.

Hank grinned. “I think I was half responsible.”

“You’re not going to give my wife a hard time, are you, Gil?”

“Naw. She’s little, but I’m betting she can kick my ass.”

Hank pulled a small pouch that hung around her neck out from under her shirt. Opening it, she dumped Spot’s two teeth into her hand. “These are from the last guy that gave me a hard time,” she said, her head cocked sideways and smiling. “After I kicked him in the balls, his face got down where I could give it a kick, too.”

“Ok, I’m just gonna stand over here,” Gil said, moving back, “and be very polite to your wife, Spud.” The guys laughed again as Hank just grinned and dropped the two teeth back into their pouch.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got gear to move inside,” Hank said. She went over to the equipment van, took out the two hard-shelled traveling cases for her Sako and her AR10, sticking the case for the AR under her arm and then grabbing the handle for the Sako’s case. Then she took an ammo can from Amigo and made for the entrance to the unit’s underground facility.

“Looks like she can haul her weight◦– literally,” Gil remarked to Spud.

“I might be just a hair biased, but yeah◦– she’s quite a gal,” Spud replied.

“Love her?”

“More than words can express.”

“Guess that’s all that counts.” Gil made for the entryway to the facility himself. “I figured you all would git here about noontime, so I made sure lunch would be ready for ya. You guys git yourselves settled, and I’ll git the food on the table.”

“Just don’t let Hank get to it first,” Edge said. “Both her legs are hollow.”

“I TAKE it everyone’s settled in?” Spud asked.

“Not just settled in, but we did a little reconnoiter of the airport in York.” Crow said. “It’s a pretty small outfit, but one thing we did find out is that there’s a guy there who rents airplanes. He’s got three Cessna 172s.”

“And what’s significant about that? Don’t we have not only one of the Latitudes here, but also a chopper?” Edge asked.

“Here’s the problem with that,” Crow said. “You can’t do surveillance from a Citation. It just plain flies too fast. And flying a grid with the chopper will raise anyone’s suspicions. Next thing we know we’ll have some newspaper reporter from Lincoln out here asking questions◦– especially when they find out the chopper is coming out of the Lincoln Airport. But a C172? We can do all kinds of surveillance and not raise an eyebrow. Someone goes to the York airport and they’ll get told, ‘Yeah, we’ve got a guy in here giving some flight instruction.’ The only thing we need to do is make sure this instruction occurs over our target area.”

“Our target area should be right around here,” Voice said, pointing out a location on the map. “The cell tower that’s getting hit the most for both outgoing and incoming calls is this one, just north of Henderson. I’m figuring this location that I’ve indicated on the map is the most likely location of the base of operations. If it were west of this, this cell tower here,” pointing on the map, “would be the one being hit. East and this one gets hit. South, one of the ones in Sutton gets hit. So, I’m putting it somewhere within a ten-mile radius of this point that I’ve marked with a red pin.”

“Well within reach of a C172 coming out of York. And pretty remote, so we have the standard flight instructor excuse of practicing there so as not to bother people,” Cloud said.

“Plus, we have two willing students: Hank and Edge. If Spud won’t knock Edge’s teeth out, I’m going to suggest that one of us train Hank, and the other train Edge, and we introduce them as boyfriend/girlfriend,” Crow added.

“If they’re in separate planes, then Boyfriend can’t lay his lips on my wife, I suppose,” Spud said.

“She’s got a couple of teeth from the last guy who tried to lay lips on her◦– other than you, that is,” Edge said. “That’s something I don’t think I want to risk.”

“GOT ANYTHING YET?” Voice asked.

“Nope,” Edge replied. “All we see out there are farms. Houses, barns, and silos.”

“Yup. I’d say the only progress we’re making is that Edge is getting plenty of flight time,” Cloud affirmed.

Hank and Crow joined the group. “How about you guys?” Voice asked. “Anything?”

“Corn, corn, and more corn,” Crow said.

Hank grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down with the rest of the group. She had a puzzled look on her face.

“I take it Hank’s sick of practicing turns around a point, too,” Amigo noted.

“Got something bugging you, Hank?” Spud asked.

“Yeah, and it isn’t turns around a point.”

Crow studied her. “Starting to think Voice got the wrong place?”

Voice was musing himself. “I wonder if they’re traveling away from their base before communicating. Maybe they know the cell towers can get someone close to them.”

“Maybe we just have to devise a Plan B at this point,” Spud said.

Hank sat back. “I think I want to go practice turns around a point again tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Really. My little voices have been chattering ever since we flew over this one farm.”

“Little voices?” Cloud asked.

“Yeah. When I’m thinking, it’s like I’ve got a couple of little voices arguing up here,” she said, waving a finger at her head. “And one of them has been telling me there’s something strange about this farm.”

“What’s unusual about it?” Spud asked.

Hank shrugged. “On the surface, nothing. Just looks like a typical small farm. Farm house, barn, grain silo, a couple of small buildings that look like storage sheds. They’re running cattle on a portion of it. But my little voices are saying ‘look at it again.’”

The rest of the team studied her, not quite sure what they should think of her intuition.

She shrugged again. “Might be nothing. But I want to take a second look at it, even if it’s just to shut my little voices up.”

“DO you know how to get back to this farm?” Crow asked.

“Yes. It was right on the VOR radial you had me track yesterday.”

Hank flew until she saw by her navigation instrument that she was on the course dictated by the Lincoln VOR Crow had chosen the day before. She tracked it outbound to the west-southwest.

“There it is.” She flew so that the farm was on the left-hand side of the airplane and circled it, getting a good look at it as she did so.

“I’m going to reverse direction, Crow. Get some good pictures of this farm as I do so. Then I’m going to practice some S-turns across that north/south road, and then some rectangular course work as well. Get as many pictures as you can.”

“You really think there’s something to this farm?” Crow asked.

“Don’t know. But my little voices are in agreement on it, and that doesn’t happen often. I think we need to give this farm a hard look.”

She continued to fly maneuvers until they were both satisfied with the number of pictures they’d obtained. Then she turned and flew back to the York airport.

“Three times around the pattern for touch-and-goes,” Crow said.

“For real? We’ve got mission-related stuff to do here, Crow.”

“Got to get you soloed at some point. I figure this can wait a whole fifteen minutes.”

Hank sighed, really wanting to get back to Lockridge Farm to get a look at the photos. Completing three circuits, she made a final landing and taxied to the ramp. “You’re making real progress, Hank. And I got something for you, just in case we find ourselves doing a lot more flight training while we’re here.” He handed her a piece of manila paper. “Student pilot certificate.”

“How’d you manage this one?” she asked.

“Told you. We’ve got a gunny at FAA headquarters. How do you think we’ll keep the ownership of the Latitudes secret?”

The drive from the York airport back to Lockridge Farm was a mere five minutes, but Hank felt like it was taking forever. Once the van was stowed in the barn, she grabbed the camera from Crow and trotted off to the entrance to the old missile launch complex. Not even wanting to wait for the elevator, she skipped down the stairs and through the tunnel. Checking her watch, she saw that the rest of the team was in the common area.

She ran up the stairwell and went directly to a monitor situated at one end of the room. Plugging the camera into an HDMI cable, she turned on the monitor and proceeded to look through the pictures of the farm.

“This is our farm that’s had you so wound up?” Amigo asked.

“This is the one.”

“What caught your eye?” Spud asked. “It just looks like a typical dairy to me.”

“Except for this,” Hank said, pointing to a junk yard on one side of the property. “Why does a dairy need a pile of old cars?”

“Who knows?” Edge said. “Maybe they’re using old parts to fabricate things around the farm.”

“Or maybe they’re cobbling parts together to make an untraceable car, like the one our perp in Benton Harbor had,” Hank said. “We might want to check in with the county sheriff and see if they’ve had a rash of stolen plates around this area.”

She studied the photo she was looking at closer. “There’s something very familiar about the whole thing,” she muttered. She strummed her fingers on the edge of the monitor, staring at the image. Then she rubbed the back of her neck, staring at the ceiling. She stared at the ceiling a bit harder, then swept her gaze around the circumference of the room.

“What’s the diameter of the silo?” she asked.

“Fifty feet,” Amigo answered.

“And how big is the grain bin that’s above us? What’s its diameter?”

“Forty-eight feet,” Cloud answered. “The top of the silo basically serves as the concrete base of the grain bin.”

“Hal,” Hank said, initiating contact with the mainframes, “using a vehicle as reference, estimate size of grain bin in image on monitor LF1. Respond to team.”

“Team, grain bin is estimated at fifty feet in diameter,” came the response from the mainframes.

“Hal, estimate from standard section divisions acreage enclosed by boundaries seen around grain bin in image on monitor LF1. Respond to team.”

“Team, acreage enclosed by boundaries is estimated to be twenty-five acres.”

“Hal, overlay grain bin in image on monitor LF1 with grain bin at Lockridge Farm Mission Complex. Display overlaid images on monitor LF1.”

The image on the monitor flickered, and then the image of the farm was displayed with the diagram of the Lockridge Farm complex shown as semi-transparent over top.

“Look at this,” Hank said, barely able to contain her excitement. “Right here at Lockridge, we have a barn situated such that it hides the entrance to the old launch control complex. This,” she said, pointing to a structure at the dairy, “is a milking barn. But the east end of it is at just the right distance to cover the entrance to a launch control complex if you assume their grain bin is an old Atlas silo. There’s twenty-five acres here at Lockridge and twenty-five acres at the dairy farm.

“During the Cold War, they were planting more than corn out here in Nebraska. Lockridge Farm isn’t the only old Atlas F site out here◦– there are lots of them. This is just a bit too coincidental, don’t you think? I’m betting if Crow and Cloud take a casual flight across this farm at night and take a few FLIR images for us, they’re going to find out that this is another old missile silo location.

“This is why we’ve had such a hard time finding them. Just like us, they’re underground.”

FROM BEHIND CROW in the helicopter, Spud kept a careful eye on the FLIR images on the monitor in front of him. Approaching the dairy farm, he began to pick up areas of differing heat.

“Move out a bit to the left of the farm,” Spud told Crow, who then swung the chopper so it would pass to the left of the dairy farm.

“Keep going straight. Get, say, ten miles away, then bring us back over so we can get the other side of the farm,” Spud requested. “Just an Air National Guard unit on a night training exercise, Camp Chaos,” he muttered.

Crow continued straight away from the farm, then circled around to bring the chopper back over the other side of the dairy.

“This is looking good,” Spud said. “Head back to the Lincoln airport, and let’s get this footage back to Lockridge Farm.”

Once back at the mission complex, Spud called the unit’s team together in the common area on Level 1. Displaying the FLIR footage on the monitor, he said, “Looks like Hank was right.”

Edge stood up to take a closer look at the footage. “That’s one damned huge complex,” he said.

“And this is all underground?” Amigo asked, noting the two round areas that defined the original Atlas F silo and launch control complex as well as additional rectangular structures. “There’s got to be at least five acres of underground structures here, and who knows how many levels on each of them.”

“Not only that,” Crow said, “but look at the corn fields around the dairy. These,” he said, pointing out elongated heat signatures, “are cattle. But these,” pointing out other heat signatures, “are people.” He tagged them using a pointer. “By my count, forty-seven of them. In this windbreak, and in the corn all around the southern fifteen or so acres of this farm.”

“And we have no idea how many are in the farm house or any of the underground structures,” Edge said. “A complex this size could be hiding a lot of people.”

“We have to determine how many there are,” Hank said. “This is going to require doing a little surveillance work. We’re going to have to get into this corn ourselves. And to be cautious and not reveal ourselves nor have another case of cyanide silence, we’d better start assuming that Camp Chaos has lots of resources. What did it cost the government to turn Lockridge into a mission complex?”

“About ten million dollars,” Edge said.

“Now look at this complex. We’re talking about a lot more development than Lockridge required. They had to build additional underground structures. Even at just one level apiece, we’re talking many more millions than Lockridge. Someone has to be bankrolling this place.” Hank scratched her chin. “This kind of money means either one very wealthy individual, or a group of them.”

24

“We’re going to have a devil of a time trying to determine how many people we’ve got in the Camp Chaos base,” Edge mused.

“Not necessarily,” Voice said. “They may not have approved a Predator drone for us, but I’ve been playing with some little toys that we might be able to use.” He placed a box on the table in the common area and opened it. Removing some packing material, he brought out a small device.

“A dragonfly?” Spud asked.

“Nope. A drone.”

“How does it work?” Hank asked.

“You see the wings. They’re made of graphene. Basically, scraps left over from when Mike makes the vests and Doc Gillie makes the protective eyewear. Turns out that if you subject graphene to a small electrical current, you can get it to do this.” He took a pencil and depressed a small button on the belly of the dragonfly, and the wings began to beat. Removing his hand from under it, it continued to hover in flight.

“How do you control it?” Spud asked.

“The same way you control one of the remote-controlled drones you can buy in any toy store or hobby shop,” Voice said. “Look here, too,” he added, pulling a small frenzel magnifier out of his pocket. He held it so it magnified the eyes.

“Little cameras,” Spud noted.

“Yup. The same sort you find in the cameras put in cell phones. Then I just beveled the housings so they look like the compound eyes you see on a real dragonfly. Each eye has a different magnification, so you can use one to see something up close, the other for things more distant.”

“Amazing,” Edge said. “How long will it take someone to learn how to control it?”

“It didn’t take Amigo long at all. Take a look. This is how what the drone sees displays on a tablet.”

He held out his tablet for the others to see. The tablet showed a view of the table with the team members sitting around it.

“Wait a second,” Crow said. “This dragonfly can’t possibly be getting this view.”

“You’re right. This one can’t.”

“There’s another one in here?” Spud asked.

Voice grinned, getting the rest of the team members looking around. Everyone except Amigo, who took his hands from under the table and put them on top, revealing that he held what looked like a standard gaming console controller.

“Where the fuck is it?” Hank asked, more to herself than anyone else. The team members other than Voice and Amigo all got up and started looking in likely spots where the tiny drone could be hidden for taking the view they were seeing on Voice’s tablet.

“There,” Edge said, pointing out the dragonfly clasping the edge of a light fixture. He walked up to get a closer look, his face appearing larger on the tablet. Then the dragonfly dropped and flew off.

Amigo laughed. “This thing is so fucking much fun to play with. And you can make it act just like the real thing. The toughest thing to learn was how to get it to land and cling to things the way you see real dragonflies do. But once I got the hang of it, it got to be pretty easy. The trick is to think of it like flying a helicopter. You’ve got to get it hovering near what you want to land on. But when you do that, you’re basically mimicking the way the real thing lands.”

“I take it you’ve played with a few of the commercially-available drones,” Crow said.

“Actually, the Border Patrol started using small drones to monitor remote areas of the border in our sector a few years ago. I was one of the lucky ones who got to operate them.”

“Hank pointed out your experience with drones during the selection process. Given how things turned out, I wish we’d chosen you to begin with rather than choosing Spot,” Spud said, a combination of anger and remorse on his face.

“Water under the bridge,” Amigo said. Laughing, he added, “You’ve got me now, like it or not.”

“How close do you have to be to keep one of these under control?” Crow asked.

“About five miles, which also assures we get good images returned from it as well,” Voice replied.

“That’s pretty amazing from something that small,” Cloud remarked.

“Look at your cell phones,” Voice said. “The computing someone holds in their hand these days used to occupy an entire room. And the communications capability, as we saw when we first started tracking down where Camp Chaos is, can reach out to forty-five miles. So even though they’re small, five miles isn’t unimaginable capability.”

“And you just cobbled these things together from scraps of graphene?” Cloud asked.

“Scraps of graphene and some graphene-printed circuits. So, the whole thing is light as a… well… bug.”

“Sending one of these inside the Camp Chaos complex might be noticeable, though,” Hank said. “What happens if someone smacks it with a fly swatter?”

“Oh, for inside we use a different one.” He picked a second device out of the box.

“A cricket?” Cloud asked.

“Sure. Watch this.” Voice pulled out a controller, set the cricket on the floor, and proceeded to have it creep and hop around the room, all the while displaying everything within its camera view.

“And it can pick up the controller inside the building?” Crow asked.

“Probably not. But in that case, it has some autonomous programming. Kind-of like one of those automated floor cleaners. It will find a wall and then creep along it, handling it like a maze. Just keeps the wall on either its left or right until it picks up control signals again.”

“Voice,” Hank began, “has anyone ever told you you’re a fucking genius?”

AMIGO AND HANK crouched on the ground, rows of corn concealing them from view of the buildings on the Camp Chaos property. They watched the images that appeared on the tablet between them. Perched on a weed within sight of the entrance to the milking barn sat one of Voice’s dragonflies, its far-sighted eye trained on the doorway. Each time the door would open, Hank would tap her watch. On the face of the watch was a message: “Hal, store image.”

High above them, its own eye trained on the fifteen acres of the Camp Chaos complex, a Keyhole-11 satellite passed overhead, soon to be replaced by another KH-11, then another. Data from the Keyholes passed via the unit’s own satellite links to the mainframes in their Quantico base. Once analyzed by Hal, the information then was relayed to the team in the field. Within their Lockridge Farm mission complex, the other five team members worked at doing the final analysis of the data from both the Keyhole satellites and the tiny drone, as well as monitoring the progress of a second tiny drone, shaped like a cricket, that was steadily closing the gap between the point where it was released and the entry to the milking barn.

“I mean to tell you,” Amigo whispered, “it is fucking hot out here today.”

“Makes you feel right at home, doesn’t it?” Hank whispered back, her tone chiding.

“Yeah, right. It would get to a hundred degrees, sure enough. But in Arizona, they skip the fucking hundred percent humidity. I swear, I’m soaking wet from sweating.”

Hank turned to him, grinning, and placing her pinky alongside one eye, said, “Which would you like? To see the world’s tiniest tear, or,” rubbing her index finger against her thumb, “hear the world’s tiniest violin? Suck it up, Buttercup.”

“Why do we have to be out here in the middle of the day?” Amigo asked. “It’s at least a little cooler at night.”

“But we aren’t,” Hank replied. “Given the amount of money it likely took Camp Chaos to put this complex together, it’s reasonable to assume they have the same sorts of capabilities we have◦– including FLIR. With outside air temperatures being about the same as our own body temperatures, we’re less detectable during the day. So again, Buttercup…”

“And fuck you, too,” Amigo replied. “What I’d really like is to hear Hal say ‘image matched’ for every image we send in.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” admitted Hank. “The more operatives we identify, the trickier it’s going to be to get them all without having them decide not to be captured alive. We really need to get the cricket inside. I’m betting that the complex is somehow rigged. Meaning trying to storm it might be futile, or even dangerous.”

Amigo studied the images being sent back by the cricket as it made its progress toward the milking barn. “Voice has got to be one of the cleverest guys I’ve ever met. Have you been watching how this thing is getting to the barn?” He pointed out a pinned spot on the progress map for the cricket. “He just tells it, ‘go here.’ If it encounters an obstacle, like a corn stalk, it just follows around one side of it until it has a clear view along the line leading to the programmed destination. Then it resumes its programmed path. He says it will do this once it’s inside as well. Hopefully, it will find an opening into the underground facility that it can squeeze through.”

Hank leaned over to get a look at the tablet displaying the cricket’s progress. “Looks like it’s encountered a big obstacle at the moment,” she said. “Am I wrong, or is that the edge of the concrete that the milking barn sits on?”

“Yes. Our little buddy has arrived. Now watch what it can do.”

Hank watched as the cricket appeared to scratch at the concrete with its front legs. One caught on a rough area, and the camera view shifted to vertical, showing the out-of-focus edge of the concrete and a view of the sky. The view shifted, and now showed the edge of the concrete in focus.

“It just swapped its far-distance camera for the near-distance one,” Amigo explained. “Now it’s going to start looking for foot holds.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like a guy scaling a climbing wall. It will look for imperfections in the concrete and then reach for them with a leg. Watch closely when you see it reach out with a leg and you’ll see there are two tiny hooks on the end of each one. It will hook either a little projection or a hole in the concrete and haul itself up. Then it looks for another one and hooks it with the other front leg, then hauls itself up again.”

Hank watched as the camera scanned the concrete, and, finding a crack, watched a leg reach out and hook the edge. The camera image then slid toward the hooked leg, and the process repeated itself, until before long the top edge of the concrete was reached. The camera view then rotated, showing the concrete platform that the milking barn sat upon. Again, a leg reached out toward a tiny hole in the concrete, and the cricket’s camera showed it resting level on the concrete’s surface. The camera then showed the cricket bounding by leaps across the concrete. Reaching the edge of the building, it turned to the right and began to inch along the corrugated panels that made up the side of the milking barn.

“Now it’s looking for an opening.”

The camera view showed the cricket scanning the lower edge of the panels. It stopped and the camera view shifted to one looking straight at a rusted corner of a panel.

“It’s got one. Now let’s find out how big it is in case we need it for something else.” Amigo thumbed the cricket’s controller and a set of grid lines appeared over the image of the rusted gap in the panels. “Looks like it’s roughly two inches around. Hal, mark location,” he instructed the mainframes. A red pin appeared with a set of GPS coordinates next to it.

“Now it’s going to get iffier,” Amigo said. “Voice wasn’t sure how well we’d be able to communicate with the cricket once it made its way inside a structure. It has its autonomous programming so it can search the area on its own, and it also has an ultra-micro SD chip to record images. When I asked Hal to mark the location of the opening, it set those coordinates as a default location for the cricket to return to when its juice starts to run low. Hopefully, we can get it back out to here so we can retrieve it and download the images it has.” He looked at his watch. “And according to the alarm I set for us, we need to start heading out and catch our ride back to Lockridge, so our little buddy is on his own. I’m going to bring the dragonfly back out so we can grab it, and then tomorrow’s surveillance team can pick up where we left off.”

He picked up the controller for the dragonfly, and soon had it flying back to where he and Hank were hidden in the corn. Bringing it in, he had it land in her hair, grabbing it, nearly laughing out loud at her comic attempt to see where it had landed on the top of her head.

“Let’s go.” They made their way back through the rows of corn to a road a quarter of a mile south of the Camp Chaos complex, where they encountered Cloud with one of the panel vans, pretending to investigate something under the hood.

Seeing them arrive, Cloud said, “Looks like it’s all fixed.” Dropping the hood, he slid open the door to the van. Amigo and Hank looked to see if anyone was within view of the van, then hopped inside, shutting the door as Cloud started the engine and drove off.

“Hank, you’ve got a bug in your hair,” Cloud observed.

“Yeah. Amigo’s a smart ass.”

“That’s what makes the two of you a perfect team.”

“No, Spud and I are a perfect team. Amigo comes in a distant second.” She pulled the dragonfly from her hair and handed it to Amigo.

Taking in the countryside while they drove back to the Lockridge Farm mission complex, Hank reflected that the team had now been five days staking out the Camp Chaos location and still had not managed to identify all of the operatives within its underground walls. Voice’s tiny dragonfly drone consistently returned images of people that didn’t match images taken earlier. And Hal’s analysis kept increasing the potential number of terrorists within its walls.

Arriving at the mission complex, she greeted Doc Wright and Jana as she passed through the medical area of the complex, then through the tunnel and up the stairs to the common area. Spud was sitting with his tablet, going over the latest conclusions Hal had come to with regard to the potential number of terrorists at Camp Chaos.

“So, what does Hal say now?” she asked.

“Only one new face today. Hal is now estimating 550 operatives.”

Hank sighed. “Trying to bring this group to justice before they all decide to gulp an energy drink is going to be damned near impossible.”

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions before we get the data back from the cricket,” Voice said. “If the complex is rigged in some way, then we should be able to see from the cricket’s data feed just how they’re doing it. Maybe even see how to disable it.”

25

“We have chatter,” Crow said. “Another incident being planned by our neighbors to the south.”

“Where?” Hank asked.

“Kearny, New Jersey,” Spud answered. “In the northern part of the state, near New York City and Long Island. About 40,000 people, half of whom are Hispanic. Hal picked up the outgoing call from our usual tower here, north of Henderson. The call was then routed through a tower right there in Kearny.”

“So, we’re going after Hispanics this time,” Hank said. “Anyone significant that we should be looking at for being the target?”

“Once again, we have a mayor who fits the bill. He’s Hispanic,” Spud said. “And about twenty percent of the population is non-citizen. Most of them are also Hispanic. Apparently, that’s what’s setting our Camp Chaos group off. Chatter was that ‘Uncle Rob’ didn’t know how to control the cousins.’ The mayor’s name is Roberto.”

“Kearny is practically a suburb of New York City,” Amigo said. “What’s it look like? Pretty dense urban area?”

Hank had already thought of the possibilities. She slid her tablet over in Amigo’s direction. “A few parks, but pretty much rooftops and roads. If you look at the mayor’s office, though, there’s a park right next door.”

Cloud had also been investigating what would be necessary for air operations. “Kearny sits within the New York Class B airspace. They have established helicopter routes there, so any helicopter support is going to be out. The best we can do is get the team into Newark Liberty, which is practically next door to Kearny. About seven or eight miles as the crow flies. Or as Crow flies, depending upon which side of the quarter is up,” he added, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

“You need to get one of those fake quarters where both sides are the same,” Spud said with a smile.

“Quit giving away my secrets,” Crow said, garnering a scowl from Cloud.

“Can I suggest that Voice stay here and continue to work on the data from the dragonflies and the crickets, and the rest of us head to New Jersey?” Amigo said. “We’ll need Cloud and Crow to get us there, and then perhaps work this the same way we worked Benton Harbor, with Edge and Spud taking care of the park and Hank and me up on a rooftop.”

“That sounds like a reasonable plan,” Spud said. “So now we just need to figure out what to take and get our two fly boys here to get us there.”

“I’ve already got the flight time calculated,” Cloud said. “We’re about three hours’ flight time to Newark.”

“And I’ll get a call in to the fixed-base operation at Lincoln so we can taxi over and get some fuel,” Crow said. “I’m not sure they could fuel the Latitude there on the National Guard ramp, but if they can then we should be ready as soon as we can get our clearance and take off.”

“I don’t think we’ll need the sniper rifles in this environment, do you, Hank?” asked Amigo.

“The AR10s should work and will be easier to conceal. So, two rifles, handguns for everyone in the team, spotting scope, and I’m going to say just to be on the safe side, three loaded magazines apiece. The rooftops are white, so our coveralls will work both for bluffing our way onto the roof and concealing us while we’re there. Let’s get it loaded up, Amigo, so we’re ready to have Jana scare us to death while flying down I-80 to the airport in Lincoln.” She thought a moment. “You know? Maybe we should see if the DoJ will authorize an ambulance so Jana won’t have to risk a ticket all the time.”

SPUD AND EDGE worked at pulling weeds in the park across from the mayor’s office. Their vantage point allowed them to see most of the front and the rear of the building, as well as the interior of the park itself.

“It’s a virtual certainty that our guy will be somewhere here in the park when the mayor arrives,” Spud said. “It’s got a lot of natural cover.”

“Agreed,” Edge said. Both would occasionally look in another direction and shift so as to keep a constant eye on their surroundings.

“Hank, Amigo, do you guys have eyes on anything from up there?” Edge asked. He stood up and pretended to stretch, looking across the front of the building to where the tops of the sniper team’s heads were visible, binoculars scanning the ground below.

“Spud, Edge, not a thing,” came Amigo’s reply.

Hank scanned the ground from their vantage point once more. Her forehead wrinkled, her face disturbed. Something’s not right. Where’s our perp? She looked to where the mayor’s car was parked. He had apparently arrived early. Maybe our man missed his mark and left?

Look harder, one of her little voices murmured.

“Team, mayor is coming out of the coffee shop across the street from his office,” Spud announced.

Shit! He’s not in the building! He went for coffee!

Hank started searching more than the ground around the building.

“Got him,” Amigo whispered next to her. Keeping his binoculars aimed, he pointed◦– not down, but across to the roof of the coffee shop.

Hank kneeled and scanned the roof with the scope on her rifle. “Team, our perp is on the roof of the coffee house across from the mayor’s office.” As she watched, she saw the man raise a rifle and begin to take aim, just as Amigo announced, “Gun.”

She placed the reticle of her scope centered on the perp’s head. “Hank, no time for Spud and Edge to get to him before he shoots the mayor. Shooter ready?”

“Shooter ready,” she said, sliding the safety off with her thumb.

“Two clicks up, wind is negligible.”

“Roger, Amigo, two clicks,” she said, making the adjustment on her rifle scope.

“Send it.”

She squeezed the trigger and heard the suppressed pop of the round as it escaped the barrel through a silencer, then watched the man on the rooftop jerk and fall out of sight. Then she lowered her forehead onto the stock of the rifle. “Goddammit.”

“That was a good shot,” Amigo said.

“That was an unnecessary shot,” she said, turning to him with her eyes glazed with tears. “We made an assumption. Perp will be on the ground. We should have considered that he’d find himself a rooftop◦– just like we did.”

Amigo took in a deep breath and blew it out. “But the good news is right there,” he said. “Our mayor is alive, and just walked through the door of the building. The shot had to be taken, Hank. It was that guy over there, or the mayor.”

“Hank, Amigo, report,” Edge said.

“Edge, perp is down. Now all we have to do is figure out how to get him off the roof and over to the airport.”

Hank was hiding her rifle back under her coveralls. “I’ve gotta get the fuck off this roof,” she said. She headed to the rear of the building and climbed down the fire ladder there, followed by Amigo, then made her way to where the team’s rented van was standing in front of the park. They climbed in, Spud and Edge having already done so.

Amigo pulled out his tablet. “According to the satellite view, there’s an alley behind the coffee shop. Good chances are there’s a fire ladder or fire escape there that our man used to get on the roof.”

Spud drove the van around to the alley. “We got a bit lucky here,” he said. “There’s a fire escape. That will make recovering the body a bit easier.”

“That’s got to be his car,” Hank noted, pointing to an older sedan parked facing out of the alley. “Looks to be another cobbled-together car, and he planned a quick departure parking it the way he did.”

“How do we get the body transported?” Amigo asked. “We don’t want to be turning in a rented van with blood evidence in it, do we?”

“No,” Hank said. “Just like the guy in Benton Harbor, we need to get this guy out of here. The body is evidence, and so is the car. My suggestion is going to be to put the body in the trunk and one of us drives the car to the airport. Park it, get a military transport in here ASAP, and have them load both up and deliver the package to Quantico. That will need to happen right now, because we don’t want him decomposing in the trunk, either.”

Hank climbed the fire escape and made her way across the roof with Edge and Spud behind her. The terrorist’s body lay crumpled on the roof, his head resting in a small pool of blood.

“Not much blood, if you stop and think about it,” Edge said.

“Dead men don’t bleed,” Hank observed. “Once their heart stops, so does any bleeding. The blood is probably just what he had in his skull when he took the bullet. I at least have the consolation of knowing he died instantly. A clean kill, as they say. I should be so proud.” Her voice had the obvious sound of someone who wasn’t proud at all. She picked up the terrorist’s rifle in her gloved hand. “I can’t help take him down,” she said. “Just can’t. We should take the rifle with us and not pack it in the car with him.” With that, she turned and made her way back down the fire escape, the terrorist’s rifle in hand.

“No real activity in the alley,” Amigo told her when she reached the ground.

“Good thing. It would be bad if someone saw me with this in my hands,” Hank said, opening the door of the van and placing the terrorist’s rifle inside, along with her own. “We’d better keep a look out for anyone who might see the body as well. Crow,” she added, initiating a comm link, “we’re going to need arrangements for a military transport to pick up a package at Newark Liberty.”

“Hank, another car?”

“Crow, yes. With an additional package inside the trunk.”

EDGE LOOKED down at where Hank lay curled on the bench seat near the galley. She was not asleep, but staring across to the side of the airplane opposite her. He continued down the aisle in the Latitude with his coffee until he reached the seat facing Spud. “I think you’d better go talk with your wife,” he said.

“She’s sleeping, isn’t she?”

“Nope. Thousand-mile stare.”

“Shit.” Spud got up and went forward.

“Excuse me, M’am, is this seat taken?” he asked, looking down at Hank.

She sat up, and he sat next to her. “My lap makes a good pillow,” he offered.

She laid back down, her head in his lap, and resumed staring while he stroked her hair.

“Talk to me, Hank.” Feeling a tear drop into his lap, he looked down. Continuing to stroke her hair, he repeated, “Talk to me.”

“Have you ever shot someone in the line of duty? Other than Sugar’s killer?” she asked.

“No.”

“I’ve never shot anyone. Until today.” She looked up at him. “What did you feel when you shot Justice Man?”

“I didn’t feel anything at first. I was more concerned with Sugar.” He hung his head and thought for a moment. “Then I regretted it.”

“Why? He shot your partner.”

“Not just my partner. I had recruited Sugar as well. But I would rather have seen the guy alive, standing trial, so others could see the lunatic he was. With him dead, it was like Sugar died for nothing. I was angry. Pissed. I kept going over to the perp’s body, checking, hoping he was still alive. I didn’t believe he was dead until the FBI put him in a body bag.” He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “They put Sugar in a body bag as well. It was the hardest thing to watch that I’ve ever had to. We loaded him in a van and took him back to Quantico. Seeing that body bag go on the plane was the last I saw of Sugar until I put his ashes in the niche. I couldn’t think about Justice Man. All I could think about was Sugar.”

“I guess it’s a little different when someone you know dies at the hands of the guy you shot.”

Spud searched for words. Sighing, he said, “It’s part of what we signed up for, Hank. It was part of what I signed up for during my Secret Service days, and part of what you signed up for while working for the FBI.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel good about shooting that guy?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to feel good about it. It’s the problem with being a normal human being with a conscience. You’ll never feel good about killing another human being, no matter what the circumstances.”

“I wish I could stop seeing it.” Her stare intensified. “It’s like a video on a loop. I keep seeing it over and over. Keep hearing Amigo give me the firing solution, keep seeing the reticle on the man’s head. And I was thinking, ‘To do this, you have to see a paper target.’ But it stops being a paper target when you see the blood spray out of the wound and watch the guy fall.” She started to sob silent, aching tears.

“You can’t feel good about it, Hank. But you can justify it. It was either kill a criminal who was about to kill an innocent man, or let a criminal kill that same man. Which video would you like to be seeing right now?”

Her sobbing slowed, then ceased. “I guess I’m too much of an idealist. I’d like to live in a world that didn’t require someone like me to have marksmanship skills beyond putting holes in paper or making a piece of steel ring.”

“I’d like that world, too. I think everyone aboard this aircraft right now would love that world. But the truth is, we don’t live in that world. We live in this one. And we’re not the only ones who have to deal with the job we do to try to turn it into that other one. Look at all the policemen, firemen, and ambulance drivers that pick up broken bodies all the time. Look at all the doctors and nurses who watch their patients die without any way of curing them. I’m thankful that I don’t have to deal with the tragedies as often as they do. Frankly, I don’t know how they do it. Maybe it just takes concentrating on the ones you can save, and trying not to be overly affected by the ones you can’t.” He untucked his shirt and dried her face with it.

“Sit up here for me,” he said, then went across to the galley after she’d done so. Opening a cabinet, he retrieved a bag and went back to sit with her. Taking something from the bag, he proceeded to unwrap it.

“Open your mouth.”

Hank looked at him, questioning. He smiled and cocked an eyebrow. Opening her mouth, he popped in a chocolate chunk.

She smiled weakly. “Dark chocolate,” she said through a mouthful of it.

“Notice I brought a whole bag.”

“Might take a whole bag.”

“That’s ok. Can I have one?”

She smiled a bit more. “You’re just still mad that I ate your entire chocolate bar.”

“You’re damned right.” He unwrapped another one and held it out, popping it in her mouth when she opened it.

She, in turn, reached into the bag and took one out. Unwrapping it, she held it out for him, popping it in his mouth. “Are we even now?”

He reached into the bag and, unwrapping another chunk and popping it into his mouth said, “Nope.”

“You’ve got chocolate there,” she said, pointing at his mouth. Then she leaned over and kissed him. “Got it,” she added, quietly. “I love you, Spud.”

“I love you, too. Are you ok now?”

“I guess. As ok as I can be, considering.”

He drew her to him and just sat with his arm around her, cradling her head on his shoulder. Emotionally drained, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

“Good work, Boss,” Edge said, returning his empty coffee cup to the galley and seeing Hank asleep. “You’ve got a good woman there.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

CLOUD BROUGHT the Latitude down smoothly into the Lincoln Airport. As he taxied into the National Guard ramp, Crow notified their passengers in the back of their arrival. “From here, we have about an hour drive to the Lockridge facility,” he announced over the cabin PA. Our man Edge back there with you will be driving us out.”

As they drove along I-80 to the Lockridge Farm Mission Complex, their passenger said little. Just watched the countryside slip past. “Edge, what do you think he’s here for?” Cloud whispered over the comm link.

“No idea.”

Arriving at the complex, the four men made their way inside and up to the common area where the rest of the team was gathered. Voice extended his hand. “Welcome to Lockridge,” he said.

The man turned and looked at Hank. “Nice to see you again, Stan,” she said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from our FBI gunny?”

“Those at headquarters believe that this case has developed to the point where the FBI can now take over,” Stan said.

“We don’t have nearly the intelligence on this group nor their facility for an operation to be successful at this time,” Cloud remarked.

“We believe that we can successfully invade the facility and capture the operatives,” Stan said.

“Are you out of your minds?” Hank asked incredulously. “There’s five acres of facility that they have underground, and our drones haven’t gone through all of it yet.”

“We have no idea what we’re looking at. We don’t have the big picture,” Crow added.

“Just how big a picture do you think you need?” Stan asked.

“Big enough of a picture so that we can at least minimize the loss of life,” Crow replied.

“If I got your count right when you revised our figures for the number of cases involved, we’re already talking about five hundred seventy-three deaths attributed to this group, including forty-seven black parishioners burned to death in an arson of a Baptist church,” Stan countered.

“And you want to add five hundred fifty or more to that figure by trying to take the Camp Chaos facility?” Spud asked.

“We’re two for two on these terrorists carrying cyanide so they don’t get taken alive,” Crow said. “If you go storming in there, there will be five hundred and fifty more bodies with little bottles on the floor next to them.”

“I am far less concerned about those five hundred fifty than I am about adding to the five hundred and seventy-three,” Stan said callously.

“Maybe you ought to talk with Hank about that,” Crow said. “She’s already watched one drink the Kool Aid and had to put a bullet through another.” He saw Hank lower her head. “Sorry, Hank.”

“These are determined individuals,” Edge said. “If you think there’s going to be some wonderful outcome to storming the facility they have, especially without having complete information about the facility itself, then I think you’re dreaming.”

“There is no reason to delay acting,” Stan said, sounding annoyed.

“There is every reason to delay,” Crow said. “Voice, just how much data do we have on the facility?”

“We have large areas that the crickets haven’t accessed yet.” He brought up a map of the Camp Chaos facility as seen via FLIR with an overlay of the areas already covered by the cricket-shaped drones. “We believe that, with this many operatives identified, that there must be a weapons locker, but the crickets haven’t found it yet. We also believe that the facility is rigged, either with explosives or something else. We can see these unusual objects installed throughout the areas that have been explored, and we have no idea what they are nor what they do.” He showed a picture of one on the monitor. “They’re placed up high, but don’t appear to be placed at areas that are structurally critical, so we don’t believe they’re bombs designed to bring the complex down. But we do believe they’re some sort of suicide device. We’re trying to get a cricket up to one, but so far they’ve not been able to crawl high enough up the wall to get a look without running out of footholds.”

“We need more time, Stan,” Hank said. “We can’t just go in and risk killing five hundred and fifty people, and perhaps some agents as well.”

“With the bombings, the BATFE is wanting to get involved,” Stan said.

“Is that why you’re so anxious to storm this place?” Hank demanded with sudden anger. “You can’t go in there and risk killing five hundred and fifty people over a pissing contest with the ATF! Have you forgotten history? This has all the makings of another ATF botched operation, with the Bureau having to try to clean up the mess as it’s getting messier and messier. Go in there now, and all you get is another Waco. Lots of dead people◦– lots more than the four ATF agents and eighty-two Branch Davidians at Waco. And the Bureau is still responsible for that in many people’s minds. Do this now, Stan, and it will be a disaster for everyone involved◦– especially the Bureau. It will be shit hitting the fan like never happened over Waco, and everyone at any upper level having anything to do with it will be asked to whack their heads off and serve them up on a platter. And that will likely include you.”

She sighed. “Why don’t you just hang tight right here while Voice finishes his data-gathering on the facility? When it looks like we’re close to being able to turn it over, you can get the agents you’ll need in here, positioned in Lincoln. Voice, do you have a time frame for when mapping the facility will be done?”

“If we just continued to use the crickets, we’re probably talking at least a month. But I’ve been working on something.” He reached out and slid a box on the table so it was in front of him. “This,” he began, opening the box, “is new.” He withdrew a small drone from the box and placed it in front of him so everyone could see it.

“It’s a mouse,” Crow said.

“Yup. It can move a lot faster than the crickets, has a lot more data and battery capacity, even sounds like a mouse when it moves.” He turned it over and depressed a button on its belly with the tip of his pencil, then placed it on the floor. It scurried across the floor, making a muted ticking sound like tiny toenails on the hard concrete. “Plus, it has a high degree of autonomous programming that includes memory of where it’s been, so unlike the crickets it won’t keep going over the same areas and have to be retrieved for reprogramming. And it has tools.” He sent it scurrying again, and the mouse went over to a cable and started to chew. “I’ve got to stop the little guy right there, or he’ll take out the power to the monitor,” Voice said, getting up and retrieving the device, then shutting it down with another press of the tip of his pencil.

“I think someone already told you this, Voice,” Spud began, “but you are a genius.”

“I believe that was ‘a fucking genius,” Voice said with a smile, looking in Hank’s direction.

STAN SAT LOOKING over the map of the Camp Chaos facility as additional data was added to it.

“Spud and Edge have another mouse coming in,” Voice said to the rest of the team. “And another one sent in.”

“I have to admit,” Stan said, “the additional information will make taking this complex a lot more assured of success.”

“Voice,” came Edge over the comm link, “we’ve retrieved all of the dragonflies as well. Heading back to the farm.”

“Edge, roger.” He turned to the FBI gunny. “Stan, the dragonflies are done mapping the outside of all of the buildings as well. Edge and Spud will have them back here along with the latest mouse.”

Hank sat musing. “Look at all of this,” she said, waving her hand at the monitor which was currently displaying video footage of one mouse’s travels through the Camp Chaos complex. “How did this group get the money for all of this? Everyone we’ve identified is a former member of some right-wing fringe group. These aren’t successful people with lots of money, but we’re looking at a facility that cost millions. Someone has to be bankrolling this, but we haven’t seen a single face of anyone who could possibly be doing so.”

Crow came into the common area with a jar in his hands. “What have you got there?” Cloud asked him.

“A mouse. And not one of Voice’s, either. This little cretin was eating our crackers.” He tapped on the jar, getting the mouse scurrying. “There’s acres and acres of corn out there, and you think you’ve got to eat our food?” he said to the mouse, scowling.

Hank shook her head. “Some people’s idea of a pet.” She turned her attention back to the video. “There’s one of those odd canisters,” she said, seeing a view of it as the mechanical mouse had looked it over. “What the hell are the openings around the top for?”

“I think we’re about to get an idea,” Voice said. “It looks like one of the crickets finally got up to one.” He switched the display Hank was watching over to a series of still photos taken by the cricket on its ascent up a wall to one of the canisters. Everyone watched as the cricket reached one of the openings in the canister and then rotated to look inside. They could see its legs reaching for the air above it, and finding no foothold, the view rotated again to look directly inside the canister.

“What is that?” Cloud asked. “Looks like salt. Or sugar.”

Voice was rapidly sketching what he’d seen as the cricket looked inside the canister. “It’s got a funnel-shaped object in here, with a stopcock that appears to be rigged with a servo.”

Hank stood up. “Fuck!”

“What?” It was Edge, returning with Spud and the drones they had gathered outside the Camp Chaos facility.

“They went with what they knew,” she replied. “My bet is that the white powder is potassium cyanide, and the vessel above it is some kind of acid. Probably hydrochloric, also known as muriatic acid. It’s available at any hardware store. Open that stopcock and the acid flows down into the cyanide. The whole facility is rigged to flood with cyanide gas.” Turning to Stan, she said, “This is why intel has to be thorough. If you had sent in a bunch of agents without knowing what these canisters were for, you’d have a bunch of dead agents as well as a bunch of dead terrorists.”

“I think you’d call that a cluster fuck, wouldn’t you, Hank?” Spud said.

“To say the very least.”

“So, how do we get into this place without having someone trip the system that sets all these canisters off?” Edge asked.

“Find the control panel, number one,” Crow said. “Somewhere, there has to be something that activates it. If we can take that out, then everything stays just as it is.”

“But we still have to worry about some or all of them being armed and taking out the rest Jonestown-style. You escape the Kool Aid, you get the bullet,” Cloud said.

“Not only that,” Edge said, “but they’ve all got their own personal stash right here.” He rubbed the waistband on his pants.

“Voice, there’s wiring leading to this canister. Do you think one of the mice can be programmed to follow it? It will have to lead to either another canister or the controls for the canister system,” Cloud said.

“Agreed, and that won’t be hard at all,” Voice said. He already had a mouse in his hands. “I’m on it,” he added, rising and heading to his work area.

“When I heard there was a guy on the team that started out doing video games, I thought the unit was out of their mind,” Crow said. “But he is a fucking genius.”

Overhearing the remark, Voice simply smiled and sat down at his workbench to modify the mouse.

“Another thing we ought to think about doing is grab at least one of these guys so he can be interrogated,” Hank said.

“What’s your suggestion?” Amigo asked.

“They come out and position themselves around their complex at night. Hidden in the corn.”

Voice turned from what he was working on. “Let me see if I can modify one of the dragonflies to give us infrared images. Then you could use it to corner one of them and grab him.”

“Keep working on the modification to the mouse,” Amigo said. “We can probably get the images we need to isolate one of the Camp Chaos people from Keyhole images. We just need Hal to route the images to us.”

“Hank, you, Amigo, Edge, and me on this one,” Spud said.

“Gotcha. I’m wagering they’re armed out there. So, handguns and knives?” She turned to Edge. “Do you think I’m good enough with a knife yet?”

“You’ll do fine, Hank. But I’ll have your back, and so will everyone else.”

“WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY?” Amigo asked, watching the news feed on the monitor while waiting for nightfall so the four who would be going to attempt abducting one of the Camp Chaos operatives could set out.

“Name’s Sesogo,” Crow said. “You’ve never heard of him?”

“I’ve heard the name, just never have seen the face before.” Amigo scowled. “He sure seems like he thinks he knows how to manage things better than the government can.”

“People are starting to connect the dots on these terrorist acts themselves,” Edge said. “They’re afraid. They see all these apparently random acts of terrorism and they wonder if they’re next. This guy, with his ‘if I was running things’ spiel, sounds good to them.”

“If you ask me, he sounds like a lunatic,” Voice said. “He doesn’t think people should trust the government to do things, but he thinks if he was the government that everyone should have complete faith in him.”

“We need strong leadership that can address these attacks on minorities, non-Christian faiths, and the institutions that protect individual freedoms,” they heard Sesogo say on the newscast. “Which is why I will seek election in November. Washington needs someone who hasn’t been influenced by the good old boys inside the Beltway.”

“He may be right on some points, but I hardly see how a wealthy businessman is qualified to stand at the head of the strongest democracy in the free world,” Crow said. “Does he think he can just come in and run it as if it was a business? ‘Do it my way or you’re fired’?”

“He’s ultra-left wing as well,” Edge said. “Strongly believes in socialism as the most viable form of government. Could you imagine what would happen with him in the White House?”

“Pfft!” was the only comment Hank made.

“Fruitcakes aside, folks, it’s time to go grab us one. Good luck, guys. And gal,” Voice said.

Spud headed down the stairs and through the tunnel to the medical complex, followed by Hank, Amigo, and Edge. “Ready, just in case?” he asked Doc Wright and Jana.

“We’re all set. I hope no one needs us. Good luck, team.”

The four team members loaded into a van and drove off to an area just outside the zone where their previous FLIR overflights and Keyhole images regularly detected Camp Chaos personnel patrolling in the corn at night. In the moments it took to arrive at their chosen location, they reviewed the mission profile and any potential extraction procedures that might be needed to remove a team member should a worst-case scenario unfold.

“Remember: these guys are likely armed. Don’t assume that what you see is what they’ve got,” Spud advised.

“Also keep in mind that both of the terrorists whose bodies we have had a bottle of cyanide tucked in the waistband of their pants,” Hank said. “If you see our guy go for his waistband, be ready to get to that bottle before he does.”

“Team,” they heard from Voice over their comm link, “Keyhole images are coming in now. Square up when you get to location so Hal can tag you.”

“Roger, Voice,” Amigo responded.

“Here we are,” Hank said, parking the van off the roadway alongside the rows of corn. “Just stand right here outside the van until Voice lets us know that Hal has us marked.” She tapped on her watch and was rewarded with only the faint blue glow of an empty screen. “Come on,” she muttered impatiently. Her watch screen flickered and then displayed a number of luminescent dots. “There’s our Keyhole image,” she announced. A group of four closely-spaced luminescent dots showed her the location of their four-person group. She continued to watch as each of the dots representing them were marked in red.

“Team, you should have Keyhole with team identified,” Voice said over their comm link.

“Voice, we have Keyhole plus team,” Hank replied.

“Let’s move out,” Edge said.

The team spread out across the rows of corn, making their way slowly down the rows with five rows of corn to each side of them not occupied by another team member. Watching their progress on the displays on their watches, they made their way toward one of the luminescent dots that identified the heat signatures of the Camp Chaos men also roaming through the corn.

“Spud, we have a target coming up one of the rows between us,” Amigo whispered.

“Amigo, I see him. Looks like he’s in between the rows immediately to your right. I’ll move over to be one space to his left. Team, Amigo and I are on intercept. Hank, move in front of our mark; Edge, move to behind our mark. Edge, grab him from behind.”

Spud made his way quietly through the corn stalks to position himself for the grab. Hank moved quietly through the corn as well, slowed, then knelt and waited for the terrorist to be directly in front of her. She watched her display, seeing Edge move forward, then cut behind the man. When the man had walked to be between Spud and Amigo, Edge reached out and grabbed him, his hand tight over the man’s mouth, and yanked him off his feet. Spud and Amigo then shot across from either side to grab the man’s arms.

Hank stood up and put the muzzle of her 1911 against the man’s forehead. “Don’t move. Don’t even breath,” she whispered. She saw the man start to claw for his waistband.

Spud and Amigo jerked his arms back, and Hank reached in with her left hand and pulled out the small energy drink bottle. “You don’t want to drink this,” she said, dropping it into a pocket of her cargo pants. “Gag him, and let’s get out of here.” She went around behind him and zip tied his hands behind his back. “Give us any trouble, and we’ll zip tie your ankles and drag you out of here,” she added. “Blindfold him, too.”

The four of them guided the man back through the corn stalks to the place where Hank had parked the van. Loading him inside, the three men took positions with him in the back of the van while Hank got in and drove off, heading back to the Lockridge complex. Parking the van in the barn, they then walked their quarry into the underground complex, bringing him into the medical area.

“Doc, we’ve got a patient for you,” Amigo said.

The man began to struggle and kick as they pushed him into a bed and restraints were tightened onto his wrists and ankles, securing him.

“You put up a lot of fight for someone who was willing to poison himself,” Hank said as Crow, Cloud, and Voice made their way into the room. “Is our visitor watching upstairs?” Hank asked.

“Seeing the whole thing in living color,” Crow replied.

“Take off his blindfold and ungag him,” she said.

The terrorist spit, then glared at Hank. Then his face registered surprise. “You’re a fucking woman!” he spat.

“Gee, isn’t that a surprise?” she answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Did he have poison on him?” Cloud asked.

Hank took the bottle from her cargo pants, opened it, and waving her hand over the top to get just a whiff, said, “Jim Jones would be proud.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the man said. “That ain’t nothin’ but a drug.”

Voice looked at him with surprise on his face. “You think that’s some kind of drug?”

“They give us that drug so we’ll forget everything and not spill the beans about Camp Chaos,” the man said. “But looks like you must know about it.”

“This ‘drug,’ as you call it, will make you not spill the beans alright,” Crow said.

“I’m betting he won’t believe you,” Voice told Crow. “So why don’t you go grab that little cracker thief you caught earlier?”

“Do you know what cyanide smells like?” Hank asked.

“They say it smells like almonds.”

She opened the bottle and dipped a cotton swab in it. “Take a whiff,” she said, holding it under his nose.

He sniffed it, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to fuck with me. That smell ain’t from that stuff. That stuff’s harmless.”

“Maybe you need a bit more of a demonstration,” Voice said, seeing Crow arrive back with the mouse he’d caught in the jar. “Get that little bugger out of there,” he said to Crow.

“Sorry ‘bout this, little guy,” Crow said, pulling the mouse by the scruff of its neck from the jar. “But you shouldn’t have taken a liking to our crackers.”

Voice took a disposable dropper and held it under the man’s nose. “Smell any almonds?” he asked.

The man just glared at him and didn’t answer.

Voice then dipped the dropper in the bottle and drew out a little of the liquid within it. Holding it under the man’s nose, he asked, “How ‘bout now?”

The man sniffed, and just looked at Voice.

“If you yank that critter’s head backwards, it will open its mouth,” he told Crow.

Crow pulled the mouse’s head back, and when it opened its mouth Voice dropped a few drops of the liquid into it. Crow then dropped the mouse back into the jar. For a moment it behaved normally, then started to struggle as if it was suffocating. Falling on its side, it twitched and convulsed, the convulsions gradually subsiding, until it was dead.

“Still think it’s harmless?” Hank asked.

The man was staring at the dead mouse. “They fucking lied to us,” he spat. “They told us it was just a harmless drug. That all it would do is erase our memory of Camp Chaos.”

“As you can see, it’s quite effective at doing that,” Crow said.

“Just can’t fix stupid,” Amigo muttered.

“I got friends in that camp,” the man said. “They all think that shit’s harmless, too. They don’t know it’ll kill ‘um.”

Amigo got a tap on his watch and looked at it. “Hal has identified our visitor,” he said. “Seems Ronald Miller here has warrants. Something about a little bar fight in which a switchblade was used to cut off someone’s ear, followed by resisting arrest, assault on a police officer, and fleeing justice.”

“You think I was gonna hang around and let some nigger-loving judge put me behind bars?” Miller said. He spat. “That nigger should-a never been in that bar.”

If he uses that word one more time, I’m going to kick him in the teeth, Hank thought.

“Some folks just don’t know their place,” Miller continued. “That includes some cunts out there, too,” he added, glaring at Hank.

Hank’s face turned red with anger that threatened to boil over.

“Tómalo con calma, amiga,” Amigo said.

“And a few spics, too,” Miller added.

Amigo turned red and took a step toward him.

“Igualmente,” Hank said.

Cloud walked up to Miller and calmly said, “You will shut your fucking mouth and only say as much as needs to be said to answer our questions. Understand? Because you can’t do a lot to us while you’re strapped to that bed, but we can do a lot to you. Like maybe pour some of that shit you were so anxious to drink earlier down your throat.”

“Yeah, well you can strap me to a bed, but you can’t make me talk,” Miller said.

“Maybe the doc has something that will make you talk,” Crow said. He turned and looked at Doc Wright, then tapped out a message on his watch. “Got some normal saline you can inject in him?”

Doc Wright smiled. “I think I have just the thing.” He went over to a counter and prepared a syringe with nothing other than normal saline in it. Coming back over to where Miller was, he said, “After I inject this, you’re going to start to feel a little dizzy. Once that passes, you won’t be able to lie to us. With this medication, you can only tell the truth.”

“Medical 1, a little dizzy?” Amigo whispered so only the comm link could hear.

Doc Wright injected Miller with the saline, then turned away to face Amigo. “Amigo, if he doesn’t feel dizzy, then we know he’s not very subject to suggestion. In which case the ruse won’t work,” he whispered back.

The team stood around the bed Miller was in for a few minutes.

“Starting to feel dizzy now, aren’t you?” Crow said to him.

“Yeah, kinda woozy,” Miller said.

“You can’t fight that stuff, Miller,” Edge said. “You might as well just tell the truth. If you don’t, you’ll start puking your guts out.”

“Let’s give it a test,” Crow said. “Tell me your name.”

“Ronald Miller.”

“See that? You told me the truth, and everything’s fine.” Crow picked up a kidney-shaped sputum bowl. “Better hold on to this,” he said. Then he added, “Now tell me your name is John Smith.”

Miller looked at him with a bit of apprehension. “My name is…” He started to gag.

“Come on. Your name is John Smith.”

“My name is…” Miller threw up into the bowl.

Voice whispered via the comm link, “Team, weak minds are easily swayed.” He watched the rest of the team members grin.

“See that? Doesn’t go so well if you don’t tell us the truth, does it?” Crow asked. “How many people are in Camp Chaos?”

“Last I heard, there was six hundred and twelve,” Miller answered.

“Are they all located at the complex in Hamilton County?” Cloud asked.

“They’s maybe a half dozen guys out doing work,” Miller said. “A couple of ‘um run off. Chicken shits. How anyone could get cold feet about shootin’ niggers and spics is beyond me,” Miller said.

‘Team, we need to fucking wash this guy’s mouth out with soap,’ Hank whispered.

“Where did all these people come from?” Cloud asked.

“Some guys came to us and told us about Camp Chaos. Said the place had everything we needed. That we’d be taken care of. An’ we’d be trained so we could go an’ kill as many niggers, spics, kikes, mackerel snappers, and rag heads as we wanted. So, we up an’ joined◦– all of us. An’ they brought us down here. They been pretty true to their word on that score,” Miller said.

“I take it you’re talking about being true to being able to kill people,” Spud said. He swallowed, trying to get the sour taste out of his mouth.

“Sure. You’re a white guy. Don’t you want to see this be a white, God-fearin’, Jesus-lovin’ nation the way it was supposed to be from the start?”

“I’m afraid I’m in love with the person you called a cunt earlier,” Spud said, his eyes narrowing and anger showing on his face. “It’s hard to swing someone to your way of thinking when you insult his wife.”

“Yep. It’s always a woman got to get a man’s head all twisted.”

Seeing the anger in Spud’s face, Cloud stepped between him and Miller. “Who built Camp Chaos?” he asked Miller.

“Don’t know. They say there’s a rich guy wants to take over the government done it.”

“And you’ve never seen this guy?” Crow asked.

“Not so’s I’d know. All I know is he gonna get everyone over to our side, then he gonna take over and turn this country into what it should’ve always been.”

Crow shook his head. “That stuff’s going to start wearing off,” he said. “Someone shackle his feet and handcuff him to the bed rails. We’ll get someone to feed you when breakfast rolls around.” He turned to leave, starting an exodus of the other team members as well.

“What if I need to take a shit?” Miller asked.

“Then the nurse will bring you a bedpan.”

“After that, I’ve got to wash out my ears con lejía,” Amigo said as they walked through the tunnel to the silo portion of the complex.

“Yo también, Amigo,” Hank said. “Yo también.”

26

“Mr. Miller,” Edge said in that tone that neither conveyed respect nor even acknowledgement that Miller was human. “Do we have to give you another dose of our truth serum this morning, or will you simply cooperate with us this time?”

Miller glared at him from where he lay, still secured to the bed with manacles, shackles, and restraints. His pants were down so that he was naked from his waist to his knees.

“¿Eh, pendejo, que paso?” Amigo asked. “¿Tuviste que tomar una mierda?”

“What’d you say, spic?” Miller hissed.

“Doc, do you have something that will make this guy civil?” Cloud asked.

Hank walked over and looked down at Miller’s crotch. “Hey, Spud, come over here,” she said.

Spud walked over and she reached and pulled his waistband out. Looking down and looking back at Miller’s crotch, she said, “I just had to refamiliarize myself with what a penis looks like. I know you have one, but I’m having a hard time picking out his. Are you sure you’re a guy, Miller?” She giggled.

Miller twisted and yanked against his restraints. “You people got no right to treat me like this!”

Edge walked over and looked as well. “Maybe he’s got to spank that flesh puppet of his to make him visible.”

Miller went to spit at him until he saw Doc Wright hand Voice a syringe. “Alright, guys,” Voice said. “Let’s let the little man be until he answers the question. What’s it going to be, Miller? Cooperation, or a little injection?”

“Cain’t fight that stuff,” Miller said.

“So, it’s cooperation this morning?” Cloud asked.

“If I can answer it, I’ll answer it,” Miller said, defeated.

“Do you know what this is?” Voice asked, holding out his tablet with a picture of one of the canisters placed around the Camp Chaos complex on it.

“They tell us it’s a gas dispenser. Gives off the same drug they have us carry in the little bottles.”

Voice turned to the others. “That confirms that.”

“Is there a control unit that turns these on?” Cloud asked.

“There’s one in each of the rooms underground,” Miller answered. “Setting one off sets ‘um all off.”

“Do you know if disabling one will disable all the others?” Cloud asked.

“Don’t know.”

“What did they tell you the drug would do?” Edge asked.

“They told us it would make us sleepy. We’d fall asleep, and when we woke up, we wouldn’t know anything about Camp Chaos.”

“It sounds like it might be impossible to disable all of them before someone sets off the system,” Hank observed. “Does everyone have one of these?” she asked, holding up the energy drink bottle.

“Yeah.”

“Is anyone in the facility armed?” Amigo asked.

“I gotta answer questions from a spic?” Miller asked, glaring at Amigo.

Voice stood over him with the syringe in his hand.

“No,” Miller said, looking apprehensively at the syringe. “They don’t let us have weapons unless we’re either out doing a job or patrolling outside.”

“How come you didn’t have a weapon?” Hank asked.

“They don’t let everyone have one. Some of the guys carry, others of us just scout.”

“Someone cover him up,” Hank said. “I’m tired of seeing that dinky little thing.”

The other team members laughed. Jana brought over a surgical drape and put it over Miller’s crotch.

“Bet that man of yers ain’t got much to show, either,” Miller smirked.

Spud walked over, his hand on the zipper of his Cammie pants.

“You’re not,” Edge said.

He gave Edge a determined look. You’re damned right I am◦– that’s how sick of this guy I’ve gotten, he thought. Spud unzipped his pants, revealing the bulge in his boxers.

Hank walked over and cupped him with her hand. “Now, that’s a man,” she said. “You ought to see him when he’s in the mood.”

Miller was staring as Hank looked over her shoulder to note the “oh my God!” look on the other team members’ faces.

Spud removed her hand and zipped his pants back up. Smiling, he turned to Hank and, giving her a kiss, said, “Later, Love.” The rest of the team burst out laughing as Miller turned red.

“Miller would say something like that to the biggest man in the team,” Edge muttered with a smile.

“I thought you were the biggest man in the team, Edge,” Amigo remarked.

“Regrettably, not when it comes to that.” Turning back to Miller, he asked, “Where do they keep the weapons?”

“There’s a locker in the round room you go into when you enter the place,” Miller said.

Voice pulled up another image on his tablet. “Is this it?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s the door into it.”

“Neither the crickets nor the mice could get past that door,” Voice explained. “It’s tightly sealed all around.”

“Who has access to the weapons?” Spud asked.

“There’s a group of guys live in the farm house,” Miller said. “They got the keys.”

“Are these the same guys who told you that the poison you were carrying was a drug to make you forget?” Hank asked.

“Yeah. Them lyin’ motherfuckers.”

“Do they give you your orders on what people to kill as well?”

“Yeah. They pretty much run the show at Camp Chaos.”

“How many are there in the farm house?”

“Seven.”

“How about cameras? Are there security cameras in the complex?” Crow asked.

“Only at the entrance,” Miller said. “One right over the door.”

“How is the door secured?” Hank asked.

“It’s got a keypad. They change the code every day.”

“When?”

“First thing in the morning when the guys come in from patrol.”

“Voice, any way we can determine what the code is?” Hank asked.

“Do they change it at the keypad itself?”

“Yeah. One of the guys from the farm house comes out and does it,” Miller replied.

“Then it should be simple,” Amigo said. “I can fly in one of the dragonflies and just watch what numbers they punch in.”

“Are there people everywhere in the complex all the time?” Cloud asked.

“At night ‘most everyone is asleep in the barracks. Everyone ‘cept the ones on patrol and the ones out around the country.”

“Where is the barracks?” Voice asked, showing Miller the facility diagram that the unit had derived from FLIR and drone data.

“This ‘un right here,” Miller said, pointing to one of the underground structures.

“We measure that at two hundred by six hundred feet. And is it correct that it’s five stories deep?” Amigo asked.

“Sure is, beaner,” Miller said. Amigo turned away from him quickly to avoid back-handing him.

“Thank you, Mr. Miller,” Hank said, a note of disdain in her voice. “You’ve been very helpful. And now that you’ve been so helpful and so thoroughly humiliated, you’ll be turned over to the FBI, who I’m sure will give you a comfortable cot in a prison cell somewhere while you await your trial.”

“TIME FOR SOME MISSION PLANNING,” Edge said as the team reconvened in the common area on Level 1 of the Lockridge mission complex. “First item is to get the keypad code so we can get into the complex. Once that happens, we’ve got twenty-four hours to get the complex secured.”

“That will be relatively simple,” Amigo said. “We can either use one of the mice, or get a dragonfly in there and perch it where it can zoom in on the keypad, then fly it back out.”

“A mouse will probably work best,” Crow said. “Even situated on the floor, it can zoom in on the keypad, given the keypad is vertically mounted on the wall. Just have it sit there for three or four hours, then have it zip on back to our retrieval point. We’d have the code in plenty of time to get ready for a nighttime storm of the barracks.”

“I’ll suggest Hank and I for the early dawn mouse release and daytime mouse retrieval,” Amigo said. “We’ve already got ghillie suits here, so we can just turn ourselves into corn stalks.” He grinned.

“For the raid, we’re going to want to get both the group in the farmhouse and the men in the barracks. Question is, how do we get them all without risking having the cyanide system set off?” Cloud asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Doc Wright chimed in. “We could flood the barracks with an anesthetic. Those going in will need breathing apparatuses, but the standard ones used by fire departments with well-fitting masks should to the trick.”

“Won’t there be a danger of overdosing some of them and having them die?” Amigo asked.

“Not if we use xenon.”

“I thought xenon was just an inert gas,” Spud said. “Wouldn’t it suffocate them?”

“Xenon is an inert gas with an interesting property,” Doc Wright said. “It acts as an anesthetic. Actually, a very good one. Gets patients to sleep faster, and lets them wake up faster. Mixed with air it can anesthetize without suffocating. So, the only problem you’ll have is getting everyone subdued before they start waking up.”

“We’re going to need a shitload of zip ties,” Hank said, grinning. “And this is where we need to call on you, Stan.”

The FBI gunny had been sitting drinking coffee and taking in the details of the mission plan. “You need agents. Lots of them.”

“Basically, yes.”

“We’re going to need the ability to remove all of these people as well. So, we don’t just need a shitload of zip ties, as you put it, Hanko…”

“Hank.”

“Hank. We need a bunch of busses.”

“To be precise, eleven of them to carry the number of prisoners to be transported, if you use a bus that can seat fifty-five,” Amigo said, consulting data retrieved on his tablet. “Fewer if you use school busses that can seat seventy-two. Where do we put the busses until we complete the raid so they won’t draw attention?”

“I’ll suggest this east-west road here,” Spud said, pointing to the location on the map. “It’s close to Camp Chaos, but still a remote dirt road with hardly any traffic. Usually just an occasional truck or piece of farm equipment. We can always detain anyone who comes by until the busses can move out if we’re concerned about someone getting tipped off before we can do the raid.”

“Before we should consider even executing this plan, we probably should be trying to figure out who’s behind this place,” Voice said. “A facility this large? Where did the money come from? It won’t do us a whole lot of good if we catch all the little fish but the big one gets away.”

“Agreed,” Stan said. “The Joint Terrorism Task Forces can likely help with that. They do a lot of tracking of the financing of terrorist organizations.”

“Have them look to see if there’s any unusual financial activity among the right-wing wealthy,” Amigo said. “Whoever is behind this is recruiting right-wing fringe groups wholesale into the Camp Chaos organization with the intent to use them for terrorist activities against left-wing groups as well as minorities and various religious groups. Whoever this guy is, he’s got to have some serious right-leaning nut job ideas.”

“WHAT ARE YOU READING, HANK?” Voice asked, seeing her propped up in a chair in the Lockridge facility’s library.

“It’s a document by Henry David Thoreau called “Resistance to Civil Government.” It was written back during the Civil War, but still holds a lot of relevance to today’s situation. I’m hoping it can give me some insight into the mind of whoever is behind Camp Chaos.”

“I gather you’re turning profiler on us?”

“I figure it won’t hurt to have the kind of information that will help you figure out your perp,” she said. “There are a lot of people who have nutty ideas, but you have to be able to figure out who has nutty ideas and who’s willing to act on them.” She waved the small book. “Thoreau felt that government wasn’t doing the job it should be doing. That, in his words, government became perverted before people could get it to execute their will. I have a sense that our man behind Camp Chaos has similar notions. He feels that government has lost its way, so he seeks to create enough chaos through terrorist acts to be able to subvert the government and seize power. He sees himself as higher, nobler, holier than those in government, and thus more able to lead on his own than the five hundred and thirty-five people in Congress can.

“The oddity here, though, is that we currently have a conservative administration and a conservative Congress. So why is our money man attacking the liberal side of the nation? That seems counter-productive when you look at the Camp Chaos missions and the people and institutions that have been targeted.”

She adopted a posture usual for her: feet up on the edge of the chair she was in, arms resting on her knees, the small book in her hands, reading. “Thoreau writes that a single man can bend government to his will, and that the American people could have achieved more if government hadn’t gotten in their way. Maybe we should be looking at someone wealthy who has those same ideas. And not just conservatives.”

“But Hank,” Spud protested, “Camp Chaos’ agenda is entirely conservative. Radically right-wing conservative. Why would anyone with more central views or decidedly left-wing views support a group of six hundred and twelve ultra-right bigots and go around the country recruiting entire groups of them?”

“On the other hand, though,” Amigo observed, “the place is also rigged so that one pull of a lever sets off a facility full of canisters designed to generate cyanide gas. Get them all together, then kill them all. That would serve a very left-wing agenda.”

“That might just serve to protect the identity of the guy who’s paying for it all,” Edge said.

“I agree,” Cloud added. “If the facility gets compromised, as we are currently planning to do, then no one is left who can talk.”

“And our money man can just put up another camp and recruit more right-wing organizations,” Hank mused.

“We can speculate, or we can let Hal work on it,” Voice said.

“How can Hal help with this?” Hank asked.

“Hal can analyze news reports and find out who’s making a lot of anti-government noise. If this person is intent on overthrowing the government, he’s probably trying to set himself up as the one who takes over.”

27

“Hal believes he has our money guy,” Voice announced, looking at his tablet while the team worked at developing the plan for storming the Camp Chaos complex. He slid his tablet so others could see.

“Sesogo?” Amigo asked incredulously. “He’s anything but a right-wing conservative. He’s decidedly left-wing. The guy has given millions to radical, left-wing organizations and media outlets. He even spent millions to try to influence elections so people would vote against conservative candidates. Why would he spend all the money it took to build Camp Chaos and recruit right-wing extremist groups to it?”

“He’s also a bit of a nut job with a messiah complex,” Voice said. “Even once said he considered himself a god.”

“Well, there’s a way to see if he really fits the bill,” Hank said. “Spud being former Secret Service and this being right up their alley, I’m sure he’ll agree that the best way of finding out is going to be to follow the money. If Sesogo is our money guy, then taking a look at his financial accounts should show us the expenditures made for building Camp Chaos.”

“The guy’s filthy rich,” Crow said. “Even millions in expenditures might just look like another drop in his bucket.”

“Maybe if the drops in his bucket match the ones that fell into Camp Chaos, the case can be made,” Hank responded.

“How can we find that out?”

“I feel certain that somewhere around here there’s records of the money that’s come into the place. Someone had to have built it, and someone has to be continuing to support it. We just need to find out for certain if it’s Sesogo or someone else.”

“Our best candidates for having that information are the guys in the farm house,” Edge said.

“We can’t take the guys in the farm house without also getting the ones underground,” Cloud said. “If the ones below ground get the word that the farm house has fallen, then someone’s sure to set off the cyanide canisters.”

“Timing is going to be critical on this one unless we want to see a whole lot of dead people,” Voice agreed.

“You know, these people have been told that all the canisters do is dispense a gas that makes them fall to sleep and forget Camp Chaos,” Spud said. “It seems that if we use Doc Wright’s idea of flooding the area with anesthetic, when these guys start getting sleepy they’ll just think the camp has been compromised and that they’ll wake up without any memory of it.”

“Instead, they’ll wake up remembering everything, except how they got their hands and feet secured with zip ties,” Edge said with a grin.

“Doc Wright, can we get enough anesthetic for both the barracks and the farm house?” Spud asked.

“It’s doable. Xenon isn’t cheap, but generally we can get anything we need for our missions. I’ll get on it.”

“We’re going to need breathing apparatus for everyone involved in the raid as well,” Edge observed.

“Stan, do you figure you can get fifty agents here for this operation?” Hank asked.

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Fifty-seven people all storming through the corn is going to get noticed by the guys out there patrolling,” Amigo noted.

“We’ll have to gather them up first,” Hank said. “As we make our sweep in, we target the ones patrolling. Some of them will be armed. All of them will have a bottle of cyanide. But we’ll be able to tell where they are, because we’ll have Keyhole working for us. The only problem we’ll have is getting that info to our FBI agents.”

“I can program Hal to display it on our tablets,” Voice said. “With the Keyhole signatures, we can also get Hal to tag the agents so that everyone will know which Keyhole signatures go with the raiding party and which go with the terrorists.”

“Alright,” Hank said. “Let’s get everything we need together. Breathers, anesthetic, busses, personnel, and a shitload of zip ties,” she added with a grin. “See if we can find a space in Lincoln for staging the agents for briefing on the operation. Then pick a day. And Stan,” she said, turning to the FBI gunny, “if our intel comes back and shows a positive link between Sesogo and this camp, we’re going to need to know where he is. Putting him on a no-fly list isn’t going to stop someone with a personal jet. You’re going to need to secure the jet, and then be prepared to chase him if he runs. I’m sure you agree: we want the big fish.”

“WITH THANKS to our friends at the FBI, we now have a listing and timetable of financial transactions that took place within Sesogo’s accounts,” Voice said.

“Now to see if it matches financial information we hope is here at Camp Chaos,” Hank said. “If it does, you’re going to need to get your agents monitoring Sesogo to move quickly, Stan.”

“We have agents already in place to apprehend him, as well as the other two likely suspects your computers identified.”

“Timing will need to be close on the raid of the camp complex,” Voice added. “We need to get the guys patrolling the corn first. The plan here is to stage the agents along this east-west road to the north of the complex, with the busses along the east-west road to the south of the complex.” He displayed a satellite view of the Camp Chaos property and surrounding corn fields. “Agents will move as quickly as possible to the south, spread out along these four corn fields. Notice all the corn is currently planted north to south, so the agents can simply head down the rows until they get to a man and then grab him. Gather them up here at the south side of the fields and get them secured on one of the busses. Once they’re zip tied, they can be left with a single armed agent guarding them.

“Once all the guys in the corn have been immobilized, we begin phase two of the assault on the camp. We’ve had a mouse in place for the past three days in the milking barn. Our little guy is hidden in a small pile of leaves along the side of the interior of the milking barn. He pokes his nose out when they come out to change the code on the door, and the observations show that the code he records is the one that’s used to access the underground complex for the rest of the day, so unless something goes terribly wrong on the day of the raid, the agents who will be storming the barracks will be able to unlock the door. They proceed to the barracks, don their breathing gear, and let loose the cylinders of xenon gas. Then they have to sweep through the barracks quickly to zip tie the operatives there and take the cyanide off them.

“Simultaneously, our team will storm the farm house, along with three FBI agents. One man for each one of the operatives in the farm house. We sent in a mouse yesterday to disable the only canister control point we could find in the farm house. Apparently, no one has noticed that the wires have been chewed, because continuing observations by one of our dragonflies that we have perched on a windowsill show that the panel is still disabled. So, there should be no concern about anyone in the farm house setting off the canisters in the underground complex. The only task will be to disarm them if they’re armed and take the cyanide they carry off of them.

“Once the farm house is secured, the FBI can sweep it for evidence. We’re specifically looking for the financial records that hopefully the camp has kept. If those records match financial transactions by our main person of interest, then the agents who are watching him will apprehend him as well.

“Does anyone see anything regarding the plan that should be revised?”

No one among the team raised any objection.

“What about extraction scenarios?” Voice asked. “Spud, I think you were working on that?”

“The potential scenarios where we might have to extract either an agent or a member of the team are as follows: first, we could have someone injured in the attempt to apprehend one of the patrol. We have to assume that they are all armed, even though our guy Miller told us only some of them were. So, there’s the potential that someone can take a bullet during apprehending the patrol.

“Second, we have to assume that everyone in the farm house is also armed. The cyanide system there is intact but the triggering device is disabled. Same for the system in the barracks, but for that one the triggering system is also intact. So, without the system being set off by the men in the barracks, they can’t set it off in the farm house due to the control being disabled by one of the mice. Once again, there’s the potential for someone to be shot.

“Third, during the assault on the barracks, if someone has their breather get dislodged, they will also be anesthetized. That won’t be a huge issue, but it will mean we could end up one or more agents down, meaning the others will have to move that much faster to get the operatives in the barracks immobilized before the xenon clears and they wake up. Our intel tells us that only the top three floors of that area are occupied, so with the plan there being to gain access to all three floors and release the gas sequentially, we’re talking about forty-five agents to sweep each floor as the gas takes effect and immobilize about two hundred operatives before the gas wears off. If each agent immobilizes five operatives, the first group of five can then go to the next floor down, release the gas, start immobilizing operatives there, then move down and repeat the whole process until we’ve got everyone bound in zip ties. After that, it will just be a matter of marching them up and getting them on the busses, so about the only other potential problem might come if one of the operatives decides to get combative or if someone simply slips and falls on the stairs.

“The most critical areas for potential need for extraction are capturing the men in the corn and storming the farm house.”

“Jana and I are set to handle any of those contingencies,” Doc Wright said. “In the case of someone being exposed to the xenon, it will be a simple matter of waiting until they wake up. For the most serious situation of a gunshot wound, we’ve got our field hospital ready to go.”

“Cloud and I will be ready for any need for a medevac to bring someone from the camp to our complex here at Lockridge,” Crow said. “We’ll be staged with the copter about three miles away in an open field next to a cemetery.”

“And we have what we might need on board already so whoever isn’t flying can attend to anyone being evacuated,” Cloud added.

“What’s been planned for holding the prisoners once they’ve been apprehended?” Edge asked.

Stan spoke up. “With school being out, we’ve secured the use of the York High School for the pre-mission briefing of our agents. We’ve also secured an empty hangar at Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha to house the prisoners until they can be transferred to holding for trial near federal court houses. We’ll be moving the agents into position on the busses we’ve rented for prisoner transfer.”

“Sounds like we’re ready to rock,” Edge said.

HANK STOOD in front of the FBI agents gathered in the high school auditorium.

“Alright, everyone, listen up and listen carefully.” Still hearing some voices from the back of the group, she added in a louder voice, “For those in the back, ‘listen up and listen carefully’ translates roughly to ‘shut the fuck up.’”

“Leave it to Hank,” Crow remarked, grinning.

“Today, I’ll be briefing you on the mission to be accomplished tonight. The facility you see diagrammed on the first page of your mission detail is a large, for the most part underground facility. Intel we have been able to gather indicates there will likely be around five hundred and fifty terrorists located in this area,” pointing to the barracks, “after nightfall. An additional fifty will be patrolling the perimeter of the complex in these four corn fields. Seven will be located in this house, which is above ground.

“Timing on this mission will be critical. The first objective will be to clear the corn fields of operatives. This will be accomplished with all of you spread out along the north end of these four fields,” indicating the surrounding corn fields. “You will be equipped with night vision goggles, and will also be getting information from two of our team who will have access to Keyhole images of the complex and surrounding fields and who will be able to direct you to the nearest operative to you. To facilitate this, our central computers will identify each of you and tag you with a number once you’ve spread out along the edge of the fields. That number will correspond to your position along your line from west to east. For those of you who are direction-challenged, the west side of the line will be the person at the far right as you face down the corn rows. If you’re that guy, you are ‘one.’ To confirm that, we’ll have you line up across the road from the fields and walk across the road when your number is radioed, and we’ll compare your movement to your heat signature on Keyhole imagery. It’s critical that you remember your number once it’s confirmed as our two team members will be directing you to move to the left or right for the apprehend and will use your number to direct the correct person to the right place.

“Keep in mind that some of these individuals in the corn are armed. All of them are in possession of a small bottle that looks like this,” holding up an energy drink bottle, “that they believe is a harmless drug. It is not. It’s a bottle of potassium cyanide in solution, and they will attempt to drink it once captured. It’s held in the front waistband of their pants. So, once you make the apprehend and disarm them if they are armed, you must make every attempt to take this bottle from them.

“Again, I’ll emphasize that you must move quickly. Every attempt must be made to apprehend all of the operatives in the corn and do so before they can alert either any of the others or the people at the main complex. The reason for this will become obvious shortly.

“Are there any questions so far?”

“Yeah,” someone piped up from the center of the group of FBI agents. “Are you really a guy?”

Hank glared at him. “I’ll first point out that I asked for questions, not ridiculous and irrelevant questions, but in answer to your ridiculous and irrelevant question, no, I am not. I’d prove it to you, but my husband is standing right over there,” pointing at the unit team members, “and if I did he’d likely punch you in the face for asking your ridiculous and irrelevant question.”

“Can’t believe she said that,” Spud muttered to the others. The team broke out laughing, with Spud hanging his head and shaking it in disbelief.

“If there are no questions of a relevant nature, I’ll move on to your second objective.

“The second objective for you will be the assault on the underground barracks area of the complex, which is here,” indicating it to them. “This area is five stories deep. Intel tells us that only the top three floors are occupied. There will be approximately two hundred operatives on each floor, which is why each of you will be carrying a hundred zip ties to bind them hand and foot. You will be using breathing apparatuses as you will be flooding each floor as you reach it with a fast-acting anesthetic gas. Those of you handling the gas cylinders, simply lay it down on the floor and open the valve all the way. Once you see the operatives succumb to the gas, you will once again need to move quickly to immobilize each operative and remove the cyanide from them. They will likely not think anything about what’s happening to them, assuming they haven’t seen you, as they believe the facility is rigged with canisters that generate a harmless gas that will cause them to sleep and erase their memory of this facility and its leaders. It is not. It’s rigged with canisters that will generate hydrogen cyanide gas once activated. Five of you will be issued chemical agent monitors that will sound an alarm if this gas is detected. If you hear that alarm, evacuate the barracks immediately.

“Once you have immobilized five operatives, or if you’re one of the last ones to clear the floor and ascertain that all of the operatives have been immobilized, you will grab the additional cylinders of anesthetic gas and head down to the next floor. Clear that floor, then do the same for the last floor. Our estimate for the time to clear all three floors is thirty minutes. The gas will likely remain effective for longer than that, but again, speed is of the essence so that the lower floors aren’t alerted to the assault. So, try to finish in less time than that, if at all possible. And just a word on this: if you become exposed to the anesthetic yourself, never fear. You’ll wake up to all your buddies ragging at you for napping on the job. And we’ll all know you’re not a terrorist, because you’ll be wearing one of these fine navy blue shirts with the big, bold, gold letters and a bullet-proof vest, so you shouldn’t wake up zip tied hand and foot. Unless your buddies are like me, that is.”

The FBI agents all laughed.

“While all of you fine agents are taking the barracks, our team and three lucky members of your troop will be accompanying us in securing the farm house. Once again, the assumption is that everyone there will be armed. They will definitely have a bottle of cyanide on them. Those of us in the house will be one-on-one with the terrorists there. The cyanide cylinder in the house has been disabled, so we won’t have that worry, nor the worry of being inadvertently exposed to anesthetic. We will have to be concerned with disarming the terrorists, taking the cyanide they have on them, and getting them immobilized. Which should be lots of fun for us. Trust me, we live for this shit,” she concluded, getting the team members laughing.

Glaring at the guy in the middle of the room once again, she asked, “Are there any relevant questions?” Hearing no one speak, she said, “Good. Take the rest of the time you have before the mission goes active to review the mission profile and contingency plans for extraction should someone become incapacitated. We’ll be having food and beverages brought in for you, so relax, eat, study up, and be ready to go.”

CLOUD AND CROW sat in the helicopter they’d flown in from the Lincoln Airport and had positioned in a grassy field next to a cemetery. Voice sat in the back, concentrating on his own tablet. They watched on their tablets as Hal tagged each of the FBI agents standing in a line along the edge of the dirt road at the north end of the Camp Chaos property. The two of them would each be directing twenty-five of the fifty agents through the corn to apprehend the patrolling camp operatives, who could also be seen as luminescent dots moving along the rows of corn. Communicating with the agents via the agents’ ear pieces, agents could hear them instructing them: “Seven, move two rows to your left.” “Twenty-eight, move one row right.” They continued in this manner, lining the agents up with a space between the rows of corn that would allow each agent to simply run through until they intercepted an operative.

When the line was arranged, Voice communicated with the entire group of fifty: “Agents, on my mark: three, two, one, execute.”

Cloud and Crow watched as the agents streamed down the rows of corn, occasionally instructing one to move left or right as their quarry moved through the corn. Each blue numbered icon could be seen to converge on one of the luminescent spots, halt, and then after a brief moment move southward with their captive in tow. As each reached the south end of the fields, they would move to a central spot along the road, where the captives could be seen gathering as they were placed onto a bus and secured in a seat. Within the space of fifteen minutes, no additional heat signatures could be seen in the corn.

“That’s what you call a swift and surgical operation,” Voice radioed to the FBI agents. “Good work, men. Now for the big job.”

The FBI agents loaded aboard a single bus that moved northward over a dirt road, lights off, until it reached the entrance to the Camp Chaos complex. The van with Amigo, Edge, Spud, and Hank, along with three FBI agents, was already parked at the side of the road. Their computer-tagged icons could be seen positioned around the farm house as the icons showing the other FBI agents began to stream from the bus and position at the entrance to the milking barn.

When Voice once again saw that everyone was in position, he again radioed, “Agents, your code for entry is three, five, seven, seven, three. On my mark: Three, two, one, execute.” He watched as the agents streamed into the milking barn and raced inside, along with the seven at the farmhouse. My heart’s pounding, he thought, and I’m just observing. He was barely aware of the chopper lifting off to be repositioned on the road next to the camp complex as he watched his tablet, now devoid of any heat signatures and only showing the positions of the four unit team members within the house.

Amigo and the others burst into the farm house, four entering through the back and three through the front to converge on the room where they had seen the seven farm house occupants sitting, playing poker. As they entered, the men around the poker table all stood and turned to engage them, but were quickly overtaken by the seven in law enforcement apprehending them.

As he was finishing putting zip ties on his captive and removing the cyanide bottle from his waistband, Amigo saw Hank look around quickly for her mark. “Hank, behind you!”

Hank reached back and grabbed the man before he could contact her. Tossing him on the floor, she rapidly drew her handgun and pointed it at him. “Don’t,” she said. He stared at her wide-eyed and froze.

She went up to him and removed the cyanide from his waistband. Searching him, she discovered he was unarmed. “Roll over. Put your hands behind your head,” she commanded. When he did, she took his hands and crossed them behind the small of his back, then held them together with zip ties. Then she stood him and walked him over to the wall where the other six operatives had been placed on their knees, heads to the wall.

“We can do this the easy way,” Amigo said to the seven captives, “or the hard way. We want any records you have of your operation.”

The seven remained silent, kneeling with their heads against the wall.

Edge walked to the side where they could all turn and see him. He held a scanner in his hand. “This is infrared,” he said. “We can use it to find any hidden areas within the house. Walls, floors, ceilings… If you’ve got something hidden, we’ll find it. If we have to disassemble this house board by board, we’ll find it. The only difference is that without your cooperation, you could find yourself facing a much stiffer sentence. And given that the charge currently is violation of 18 U. S. Code § 2332b◦– Acts of Terrorism Transcending National Boundaries, as well as five hundred and seventy-three counts of conspiracy to commit murder, your choices might be life in prison or the death penalty. Depending upon the states these murders occurred in, that could also get every one of you up to the death penalty. So, choose. Will it be life in prison, or the death penalty?”

“I didn’t sign up to die,” one of the guys said.

Hank noticed the others all turn to look at one particular man. She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the wall. “Something tells me these guys are looking to you for answers.”

He stared at her.

She sighed. “You aren’t another guy that thinks he can hold out against a woman, are you?”

His eyes narrowed, and he glared at her.

Hank pulled a small medicine pouch from around her neck. Dumping its contents into her hand, she held it out for him to see. He looked down to see Spot’s two teeth. “This guy thought he could rape me.”

He regarded the teeth for a moment. “I didn’t sign up to die, either,” he said.

“Odd thing to say for a guy who’s been carrying around a little bottle of cyanide to drink,” she said, dropping the teeth back into the medicine pouch and putting the pouch back under her shirt. “You probably should have sniffed that stuff before you decided you weren’t being lied to.”

“Son of a bitch was willing to sacrifice all of us,” one of the others said.

“You’re catching on,” Amigo said.

“I’m still waiting to see if I need to crank this thing up,” Edge said, waving the infrared detector.

“Yes, we kept records. There are copies of bills in a file box in the attic, along with some accounting books,” said the man at Hank’s feet.

“Head up and see if our host is lying to us, Amigo.”

“Whose idea was it to use burner phones?” Hank asked.

“Mine.”

“But you’re not the guy behind this whole place.”

“No.”

“Who is it?” Edge asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

“Then how do you get your orders on who to kill?” Hank asked.

“We don’t really get orders from above. We were just told to pick some good targets. When we’d complete a mission, we’d get money sent to us.”

“How did you get the money? Was it sent by check? Direct deposit to a bank account?” Edge asked.

“Came as cash, via a courier.”

Fuck. “But you recorded the amounts and when it arrived?” Hank asked.

“Yeah. It’s all in the books. I figured this guy would want some sort of accounting at some point. He put a lot of money into this place, and has put more into each of the operations.”

Crow and Voice walked into the house. “Our FBI friends have got everyone from the barracks and from out in the fields loaded up in the busses,” Crow said.

“No losses,” Voice added.

“Can you ID our guy here for us?” Amigo asked Voice, indicating the man at Hank’s feet. He was holding a banker’s box in his hands.

“No need. I’ll tell you who I am,” the man said. “Name’s Skip Tiller.”

“Is ‘Skip’ your actual given name?” Edge asked.

“No. Gerald. But everyone calls me Skip.”

“Well, Skip,” Hank began, “tell me how this guy has been communicating with you.”

“We call him when we either need something or have completed an operation.”

“You have the number you call? Does it change?”

“No. The number is on a slip of paper in my wallet.”

Voice reached into Tiller’s back pocket and retrieved the wallet. Finding a slip of paper with a number written on it, he asked, “Is this it?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

As Voice began to tap instructions on his tablet, Cloud said, “We know you have some operatives still out around the country. How many are there?”

“We’ve got six out there right now,” Tiller said.

“Where are they, and what are their targets?” Amigo asked.

Tiller started naming people, locations, and what each operation’s objective was, while the FBI agents present took notes. “This will be enough information for us to grab these guys,” one of them said once Tiller was done.

“Motherfucker,” Voice said, scowling at his tablet.

“What? Didn’t a reverse number search come up with anything?” Cloud asked.

“Oh, it came up with someone, alright,” Voice said. “Hal was right.” He held his tablet so the others could see. ‘Search complete,’ the tablet read. Then it gave the name of the person that the number belonged to: Sesogo, Roger.

28

The team members packed their gear at the Lockridge Farm Mission Complex and loaded it into the two rental vans they had been using while in Nebraska.

“The chopper is already loaded, so our military transport is just waiting for the firearms and ammo,” Cloud reported. “And Crow has the Latitude ready as well, so we’ll be on our way back home just as soon as we can get ourselves and our personal gear aboard and get our clearance.”

“Who’s driving today?” Edge asked.

Cloud smiled. “The man from…” he glanced at Stan, the FBI gunny, who was riding with them, “you know. This guy,” he finished, pointing at himself with a thumb and grinning.

“I have to say, for the size of it that was one remarkably clean mission,” Edge said. “Not one single injury, not one single lost life on either side.”

“Not quite right,” Hank said. “One man dead from cyanide poisoning, one from a bullet in his head. My bullet.” The others couldn’t help but notice the sadness on Hank’s face.

“True,” Edge said.

“I wish we could credit the unit,” Stan said.

Edge shrugged. “We get our satisfaction from knowing the mission was successful.”

“You all might be interested in this,” Voice said, indicating his tablet as they piled into one of the vans.

Breaking news. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is reporting the successful capture of over six hundred terrorists associated with a right-wing terrorist group calling itself Camp Chaos, the largest domestic terrorism organization currently identified operating in the United States. Terrorist operatives were working out of a base in rural Nebraska, and are believed to be responsible for terrorist activity throughout the country.

“That’s not going to tip off Sesogo, is it?” Cloud asked.

“Consider him tipped,” Stan said. “Word I’ve gotten through headquarters is that they located him as he was headed to his private jet in Houston. When he saw agents guarding the jet, he took off running in his car. With the help of the Texas State Troopers, he was blocked in. They drove him across spike sticks, and he ended up going off the highway and into a ditch. He wasn’t injured, and gave himself up without incident.”

“Meaning he’ll stand trial,” Spud said as they arrived at the Lincoln Airport. “Which should send a powerful message to anyone like-minded that there are legitimate ways to be elected and ways that will get you tossed in jail.”

“Five hundred and seventy-three innocent people are dead at the hands of an organization he funded,” Cloud said as they boarded the airplane. “Under 18 USC §2332b, he could get the death penalty.”

“Yeah, but with his money, it will be appeal after appeal,” Crow observed, following the team and Stan aboard the aircraft.

“Perhaps,” Stan admitted. “But while he’s appealing, he’ll be in jail. The federal prosecutors intend to ask for bail to be denied. He’s got a plane and is therefore a flight risk.”

“I wonder if his attorneys plan on using the ‘not guilty by reason of insanity’ plea,” Amigo mused. “The man has literally said he’s a god. He’s delusional. An out-and-out fruitcake.”

“It won’t make much difference,” Spud said. “He’ll still spend the rest of his life in jail. Besides, since when is anyone who engages in the kinds of things he’s done not a nut case?”

“We’ll be about two hours and thirty minutes to touchdown at Quantico,” Crow, as pilot-not-flying announced over the PA to the cabin occupants.

Spud and Hank sat together on the bench seat in the Latitude. Once they were airborne, she nestled against him.

“Sleepy?” he asked.

“Thinking I’ll want to be well-rested for when we get back,” she said, smiling and making him chuckle.

AFTER THEY LANDED AT QUANTICO, Stan extended his hand to the team members. “I’m sure I speak for the Director when I say job well done. It was a pleasure watching how you all work. And Hank,” he added, getting her attention, “you make me proud to carry the badge. It’s always great to see a Special Agent going above and beyond.”

“Thanks, Stan. But I hope I never have to see you again,” she said. “Not to be rude, but Amigo and I have gear to unload from the transport.” She turned to head for the military aircraft.

“I’ll take care of our gear,” Amigo said. He nodded in Spud’s direction. “I think you should just grab your personal gear and get Jana to take you and Spud back to the BEQ.” He smiled knowingly and gave her a wink.

“Not quite fair to everyone else, is it?” she asked.

“Everyone else agreed while you were napping on the plane,” Amigo said. “We all noticed,” he added, tapping his left shoulder, “That things were pretty quiet the whole time we were in Nebraska.”

Hank blushed. “Just concentrating on the mission, I guess,” she said.

She walked off to where Spud was already standing by one of the vans, Jana already at the wheel.

“I guess they told you we’re getting priority treatment?” he asked.

“Those are a bunch of great guys,” she said.

Arriving back at the BEQ, they went through the passageway leading down into the unit’s facility and headed toward their quarters. “Fluffy comforter?” he asked.

“Fuzzy blanket is closer,” she said, ducking through his door as it opened and throwing her gear on the floor.

He set down his own gear and pulled her toward him. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed this,” he said, leaning to kiss her.

“Spud, Hank, report to Medical 2,” they heard in their earpieces.

“Oh, fuck!” she moaned. “Do we have to?”

Spud sighed. “If we don’t, she’ll come here looking for us. Frankly, I don’t think I’ll want to be interrupted.”

Hank growled and followed him down the hall. Entering Doc Rich’s office, they discovered Doc Andy with her.

“Welcome back,” Doc Rich said.

Hank quashed the urge to either grumble or release a string of expletives.

“What’s up?” Spud asked.

“That’s what we were wondering,” Doc Andy said. “Everything ok?”

Spud looked over at Hank. She was still looking annoyed.

“Sure,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s just that we noticed something while the two of you were in Nebraska,” Doc Rich said. “So, the first thing I’d like to ask is, were the two of you sharing a bed?”

“Yes,” Spud replied tentatively.

“Because every night, without exception, your biometrics were pretty much flat. As if all you were doing was sleeping.”

“Maybe because all we were doing was sleeping,” Hank said, annoyed.

Doc Andy raised an eyebrow at her. “Is there a reason for that?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, sounding even more annoyed.

Doc Andy and Doc Rich looked at each other, their faces registering a bit of concern.

“Can you tell us what the reason is?” Doc Rich asked.

“Sure. It’s this little unit motto. ‘Mission First.’”

Both Doc Andy and Doc Rich regarded Hank with concern.

Spud smiled. “My beautiful wife isn’t angry with me,” he began. “She’s angry with you. You see, we got about this far,” he continued, leaning to kiss her but not quite getting there, “before a bug in our ears told us you wanted to see us. And frankly, we wanted to get this far,” leaning and giving her a long, hungry kiss, “and a lot farther.”

Hank chuckled. Seeing where her hand was going, Spud admonished her, “Not here.”

“Are we excused?” Hank asked.

Doc Rich smiled. “Ok, children. You may go play now.”

Hank grinned at Spud. “Race ya!” She dashed out the door, Spud on her heels.

Doc Andy smiled. Looking at Doc Rich, he said, sliding a quarter onto her desk, “I bet I can tell you what we’re going to see on the biometrics in about five minutes, Lois.”

She slid the quarter back toward him. “That would be a stupid bet to take,” she said.

About the Author

Anne Fox spends her time traveling, writing, and spending time with her four cats in El Paso, Texas. An avid firearms enthusiast, instructor, and competitive marksman, as well as an FAA-certified commercial pilot, The Unit series marries her love for marksmanship and flying via an overly-active imagination to answer the question “What if?”

You can find Anne Fox’s books on Amazon in both print and Kindle format, as well as follow her author page for new releases.

You can also find Anne Fox on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/Anne-Fox-1119777951559223/

Copyright

CAMP CHAOS

Book 1 of The Unit Series

COPYRIGHT © 2019 ANNE FOX

FIRST EDITION 2019

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-950389-02-5

The Unit series logo by MICHAEL CRITZ

Cover Design by MOMIR BOROCKI

Cover Image: SHUTTERSTOCK

Photo of Agent LeVeille: FBI.gov

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process other than for “fair use” as defined by law, without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

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Content

Anne Fox
CAMP CHAOS
BOOK 1 OF THE UNIT SERIES

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About the Author

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