“We get the job done, sir. No matter what it takes.”
“Yeah, I heard that about you guys.”
“Wanna come watch the fireworks? GT’s quite the site when he’s on his game.”
“Huh,” laughed the major, “Ah, yeah, don’t mind if I do.”
Scott and Major O’Malley walked through the rear hangar door, after strolling the 200 feet toward the parts warehouse. At the door, Scott gave clear instructions.
“Hang back, sir. GT sees you, the nuanced dynamics of our interaction will change.”
“Ah, okay.”
“I’m serious. He sees you, you’re gonna cost us hours, maybe even days.”
“I get it, Scott.”
“Here we go. Hang back by the door and keep hidden. Watch me rev up GT’s mental search engine,” said Scott. He laughed enthusiastically and entered the door. He left it open for the major to listen and watch.
CHAPTER 8.17-A Change is Made
Connor leaned against the dusty Caprice outside the KFC, assuming a position of calm detachment. McLeod stood next to Connor—less calm, but trusting in Connor’s judgment. They both stared south along Brownsville Road where their eyes followed two men walking at a leisurely pace in the middle of the wide street. Connor struggled to read the insignia on the men’s uniforms and, as they neared, he spoke in the calm, but firm, tone he often used when commanding men in battle. “That’s far enough, captain.”
“Yes, sir,” said Captain Daubney. He and Top stopped twenty feet from the Chevy, presumably waiting for further orders. While the captain was content to wait, the sergeant’s eyes never quit moving, first assessing Connor and McLeod for an immediate threat before focusing his gaze on the KFC to see if there was any threat from that direction.
Connor, meanwhile, did his own assessment of the two men. Years of experience had allowed him to develop an intuitive gauge that measured confidence, inherent ability, physical attributes, and possible military combat experience. Connor had led enough teams over the years to recognize well-seasoned competence. The larger man had the rank of First Sergeant and he appeared to be unarmed. His attitude suggested that he wasn’t very happy to be separated from his weapon. Having trained such men, Connor realized that this man took serious his role in providing for the safety of his commanding officer. This fact is what caused his apparent unease.
“You’re safe, Top,” he said, trying to put the soldier at ease. “We’re standing down.”
“Are you Colonel Connor MacMillen?” asked the captain.
“Who wants to know?” asked Connor with an edge to his voice.
“Yes, of course, colonel. I’m Captain Marcus Daubney and this is First Sergeant Mickey McGuire.”
“Captain, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You too, Top. Now—who wants to know who I am?”
“Sir, I’m on duty as part of the president’s Expedition and Recovery Team.”
“Starkes?” asked Connor.
“Yes, sir—Colonel Hannah Starkes.”
“How about that, John?” asked Connor without taking his eyes from the two men. “The president’s Expedition and Recovery Team.”
McLeod’s anxiety lessened considerably at this news.
“We’ve tried to locate you for awhile, colonel,” said the captain. “May we approach?”
Connor turned and smiled at McLeod who nodded. Connor turned back to the two men. “Yeah, sure, come on ahead. Let’s see where this goes.” He pushed away from the Chevy and walked to meet the men half way, McLeod following. When they met near the curb they shook hands warily, continuing to assess each other.
“I never said that I was this colonel you’re trying to find,” said Connor.
“That’s not necessary, sir. We saw your face before and I was briefed in on your full military jacket—you know, mission briefs, commendations.”
Connor hadn’t anticipated the level of access in today’s world. “How’s it possible that you saw that, captain? Most of that data’s full of black ops and way above your pay grade.”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“That data can’t be easy to access.”
The captain nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s true. But we still got some access, colonel.”
“You hear that, John?”
“Yeah, Mac.”
“You’re Colonel MacMillen?” asked the sergeant. He wasn’t as easily convinced as Captain Daubney and wanted definitive proof.
“How many men you got backing you up, captain?” asked John McLeod. He smiled at Connor, remembering their first-time meeting.
“We got a ten man unit on the ground including Top and I assigned specifically to locate Colonel Connor MacMillen.”
McLeod was impressed by the man’s honesty. First Sergeant Mickey McGuire was briefly frustrated by his commanding officer’s revelation of unit strength. Connor noticed. “You against the direct approach, Top?”
The sergeant looked caught between a rock and a hard place, but the captain came to his rescue. “Speak your mind, first sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir. Colonel, I voted against this little waltz. I don’t like going into a situation where I don’t know who I’m dealing with. I wanna know if you’re Colonel Connor MacMillen.”
“Yeah, Top, I’m Colonel Connor P. MacMillen, 82nd Airborne. Now, answer me this: why are you so jittery?”
“I don’t like being out in the open, sir. Especially unarmed and with the sniper hanging around. I’ve seen what Marty can do.”
“How’d you know Marty’s part of my team?”
“Amanda Abbington told us about him, sir.”
“Top, don’t fuck with me,” said Connor, searching for some sign that the first sergeant was telling the truth. “That’s music to my ears. Top, that’s the best piece of information I’ve heard in years! Alright!” Connor bear-hugged McLeod, lifting him off the ground and turning a full circle. McLeod tried to laugh, but grunted from his compressed ribs. “Captain Daubney,” said Connor, releasing McLeod, “I need a sit-rep right this instant. Please give your first sergeant orders to clear your men. I wanna hear everything.”
“Yes, sir, colonel,” answered the captain, smiling. The colonel’s exuberance was contagious. “First sergeant, radio the men the all clear and have them come in—weapons neutral.”
“Yes, sir.” Mickey issued the order. Briefly, he ignored the return chatter and concentrated on the current conversation.
“I still can’t believe we found you, colonel,” said Captain Daubney.
“Yeah, captain, it was an incredible display of logistics, intelligence-gathering, and grid searching on your end.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s too bad we missed you guys at the Hall of Fame in Cleveland.”
“Yes, sir, I agree.”
“But come to think of it, I did come upon a minor dustup.”
“Minor, sir?” asked Mickey, laughing and somewhat abashed by his outburst.
Connor smiled at him. “Okay, maybe not so minor. But, the only thing I care about right now is that Amanda’s okay. She’s okay, isn’t she, Top?”
“Yes, sir, my team pulled her outta the flames when she went down,” answered Mickey, matter-of-factly.
Connor offered his hand to the first sergeant once more. “I owe you my life, Top.”
Mickey was a bit out of his element dealing so intimately with a high-ranking officer, but clasped Connor’s hand firmly. “You owe me nothing, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.” The first sergeant released his grip, embarrassed by his familiarity with top brass. He continued. “I’ve heard some good things about you too, sir.”
“They’re all lies, Top.”