“My dad’s a professor,” interrupted Jason. The evident pride and spontaneity was refreshing to hear.
“A what?”
“Professor. Doctorate. Psychology. NYU,” said John McLeod.
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, Connor Mac. If you can believe that. I did a good bit of psychological consulting for the DOD off and on for twelve years before the avian flu.”
“Wow. Department of Defense work, huh?”
“Yes. I’m probably still alive from of all those damn inoculations. Year after year, they kept sticking me with needles—they said to keep me safe from the diseases other men might harbor. I rather think they enjoyed sticking in those needles. Everyone in my family had to go through it, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Anyway, for the ten years before the Sickness, DOD had me in charge of team-building exercises—coursework or seminars on topics like military cohesion analysis and combat stress.”
“Pretty weird meeting someone like you nowadays, John.”
“Statistically, I’m not so sure how weird it really is. I’ve given it some thought. I think there’s a much higher survivor rate among soldiers or the inoculated, so that increases the likelihood I’m here to begin with.”
“I see. I’ve been wondering about that, too.”
“You know, one of the last courses I taught was called The Psychology of War. Pretty well read on the subject.” McLeod paused for a moment, considering what he had said earlier to Connor. “I’m sorry, Connor Mac, I probably shouldn’t have said anything about your crew you might have considered offensive.”
“Nah, that’s okay. And, c’mon John, they’re not my crew.”
“They will be. The necessary integration has already begun.”
“Wow, starting with the psycho-babble bullshit on me already, are you?”
McLeod laughed, choosing to ignore the gentle insult and continued. “Connor Mac, as you might imagine, I can get pretty hyped up meeting new people who might be worth a damn… given the current demographics.”
“Psycho-babble and ten-dollar vocabulary! Well then, I think I’ll take that as a compliment, McLeod. I too, enjoy when events become both viable and provocative. Find it keeps me sharp, know what I mean?”
“I do. Oh, I seriously do.”
A noise off the porch near the shed made the six men turn toward the sound. Marty stood at the open shed door, the sniper rifle held at port arms. At the sound, Connor noticed that BB’s hand slipped inside his duster to the small of his back, presumably for a weapon. Quickly, Connor moved to the porch railing to intervene.
“Hold on, guys! He’s with me. He’s part of my crew,” said Connor. BB relaxed slightly. “He’s with me, guys. Marty, stand down.”
“Copy that, Mac.”
“Marty?” asked BB, stunned.
“Come on up here and meet these guys, Marty.”
The sniper shouldered his weapon, confident in Connor’s ability to assess the absence of an imminent threat, and walked to the porch steps. BB straightened his coat, convinced that the moment of danger had passed.
“Hello, Marty,” said John McLeod, walking to the top of the porch steps with his hand outstretched. “My name’s John McLeod.” The older man had expertly attempted to ease the tension from the situation.
“How ya doin’,” answered Marty as he reached the top step and shook the man’s hand. “My name’s Marty McCullough. Pleased to meet you.”
Standing just behind McLeod, BB took note of the beautiful sniper rifle and the easy way Marty carried himself. His shock and surprise was apparent.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” said BB. He brushed past McLeod toward Marty. “I come half way around the world to avoid your ugly mug and you turn up here?”
“No fucking way,” said Marty, incredulously. “BB! Where ya been hiding all these years, you recon pussy?” The two men crashed together in a fierce embrace like two rams colliding in battle.
Any remaining tension in the air evaporated and Connor smiled at the unpredictable reunion. “Obviously—you two know each other. Where’d you guys meet?”
“Iraq,” answered Marty, his hand resting on BB’s shoulder. Both men wore silly grins as if their chance meeting, so far from their last one, bespoke of some great achievement.
During the excitement of the reunion, Connor waved Amanda in from the trees. Knowing her training had allowed him to anticipate her approximate location and he had caught her movements at the tree line. She shouldered her weapon and walked brazenly toward the porch.
The McLeod contingent noticed her approach, but relaxed when they recognized her. The sense of danger did not equal that of the appearance of Marty—the men had seen her briefly during the porch ruse.
“I wondered where she disappeared to,” said McLeod. “I figured she was still in the house. Who is that lovely lady, Connor Mac?”
“That’s Amanda. But, I call her Snuff for good reason. She’s my primary backup since finding her in Kansas four months ago.”
“That’s your Snuff? A woman? I’m ashamed to admit that I find that surprising. I guess I have some stereotypes I need to work on—it’s good to see I can still be fooled.”
“Uh, huh.”
“So, she went in the house earlier and slipped around behind us?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Nicely done.”
“Thanks. She’s worth having on your side.”
CHAPTER 4.19-An Olive Branch
“Here they come,” said Major O’Malley. “Stay sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” they answered. Chad and Burroughs stood at attention outside the command post watching Captain Daubney escort the two visitors their way. Edgars and Rice trailed behind the guests, keeping pace with Larry Reed and Phoenix Justice.
Captain Daubney stopped a few feet from the major and the entourage followed suit. “Sir!” he said. “I’d like to introduce, Mr. Phoenix Justice and Mr. Larry Reed. Gentlemen, this is Major Michael T. O’Malley, United States Army.” The captain took one large step to the side of the three men, assuming a position of parade rest.
Major O’Malley and Phoenix shook hands, nodding amicably to one another. Phoenix was dressed in a beautiful blue Armani suit that, despite its pre-Sickness creation, was well kept and expertly tailored to fit his large shoulders and heavily muscled frame. He looked the part of a man accustomed to control, even while unconsciously brushing back a strand of his curly red hair. It was combed straight back from his forehead and he was clean-shaven.
“It’s nice to be meeting under better circumstances, major,” offered Phoenix. His handshake was firm and well practiced. His smile was perfect.
“Yes, Mr. Justice. Let’s not have a repeat of our earlier meeting.”
“Of course not, major,” Phoenix agreed. “Major, I’d like to introduce my right hand man in all matters, Mr. Larry Reed.” Larry was dressed in a dark brown suit that hung uncomfortably from his broad-shouldered frame. Formal wear was a new experience for the man. He held out his hand in greeting.
“Hello, major.”
“Mr. Reed.” The major turned to Captain Daubney. “Captain, you and your men are dismissed, thank you.” The three men walked briskly away.
“Mr. Justice, Mr. Reed,” said the major, “follow me, please.” He turned and opened the door to the command post, entering the large room with Larry Reed and Phoenix Justice close behind. “Mr. Justice, Mr. Reed. I’d like to introduce you to Colonel Hannah Starkes, President of the United States.”
Hannah Starkes was concentrating on a detailed, hand-drawn map of the new Cleveland area with Shamus, GT, and Scott. Shamus was patiently pointing out key reference points to the colonel. The four pointedly ignored the approach of the guests, continuing their discussion of the maps.