Rogue Forces

“They started being very cautious about what they were saying, Colonel,” Kris Thompson replied. “I think they suspect they’re being bugged.”

“The guy’s smart, that’s for sure,” Wilhelm said. “Can we confiscate the paper they’re writing messages on before they destroy them?”

“Sure—if we want them to find out they’re being bugged.”

“Wish you had set up a video bug in there instead of just audio. All this high-tech gear around here and you couldn’t set up one simple baby-crib camera?” Thompson said nothing—he could’ve easily set up a video bug, but he was uncomfortable enough installing an audio bug in the general’s CHU; a video bug was too much. “He mentioned the ‘boss,’ and then Masters sounded like he was going to say ‘the president,’” Wilhelm commented. “President of what?”

“The company, I assume,” Thompson said. He paused, then added uncomfortably, “I don’t feel right bugging the general’s CHU, Colonel.”

“I got the order straight from the Army chief of staff, who got it through the attorney general and the secretary of defense—gather information on McLanahan’s activities, including eavesdropping and wiretaps, until the FBI and State Department take over,” Wilhelm said. “They’re gunning for this guy, that’s for sure. The president wants his head on a platter. They ordered his freighter searched and every piece of equipment on board cross-checked with the official manifest. If he’s bringing in any unauthorized stuff, they want to know about it. I don’t think the Turks will allow it to land here, but if it does, Washington wants it searched for unauthorized weapons.”

“What kind of weapons?”

“How the hell should I know, Thompson? You have the manifest—if it’s not on there, it’s contraband. Confiscate it.”

“Isn’t anyone around here going to support McLanahan at all? The guy’s just trying to do his job. He saved our bacon during the attack and probably saved the vice president’s, too.”

“McLanahan will be okay, Thompson, don’t worry about him,” Wilhelm said. “Besides, we have our orders, and they come from the very top. I’m not going to let guys like McLanahan ruin my career. Send the recordings to division as soon as possible.”

“Hiya, big guy.”

“Dad?” There was nothing like hearing your son’s voice saying “Dad,” Patrick thought; it always gave him a thrill. “Where are you?”

“Still in Iraq.”

“Oh.” Bradley James McLanahan, who had just turned thirteen, was still a kid of few words—like his old man, Patrick surmised. “When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I think it’ll be soon. Listen, I know you’re getting ready for school, but I wanted to…”

“Can I try out for football this year?”

“Football?” That was a new one, Patrick thought. Bradley played soccer and tennis and could water-ski, but he never showed any interest in contact sports before. “Sure, if you want to, as long as your grades are good.”

“Then you got to tell Aunt Mary. She says I’ll get hurt and turn my brain to mush.”

“Not if you listen to the coach.”

“Will you tell her? Here.” Before Patrick could say anything, his youngest sister, Mary, was on the line. “Patrick?”

“Hi, Mare. How are—”

“You are not going to allow him to play football, are you?”

“Why not, if he wants to and his grades—”

“His grades are okay, but they could be better if only he would stop daydreaming, journaling, and doodling about spaceships and fighter jets,” his sister said. Mary was a pharmacist, with grades good enough for medical school if she had the time between raising Bradley and two of her own. “Have you ever seen a middle school football game?”

“No.”

“Those players get bigger and bigger every year, their hormones are raging, and they have more physical strength than the skills to control themselves. Bradley’s more of a bookworm than a jock. Besides, he just wants to do it because his friends are going to try out and some girls in his class are going to try out for cheerleading.”

“That always motivated me. Listen, I need to speak with—”

“Oh, I got an e-mail this morning saying that the automatic deposit from your company from last week was reversed. No explanation. I’m overdrawn, Patrick. It’ll cost me fifty dollars plus any other penalties from whoever I wrote checks to. Can you get that straightened out so I don’t get buried in bounced check fees?”

“It’s a new company, Mary, and the payroll might be screwed up.” His entire paycheck from Scion went to his sister to help with expenses; his entire Air Force retirement went into a trust for Bradley. His sister didn’t like that, because paychecks from Scion were irregular depending on if the company had a contract and had any money to pay upper management, but Patrick had insisted. That made Bradley more of an outsider than he wanted, but it was the best arrangement he could make right now. “Give it a week or so, okay? I’ll get all the charges reversed.”

“Are you coming home soon? Steve wants to go to a rodeo in Casper next month.”