The naked edge

12

As the Gulfstream took off from Teterboro airport and sped toward Iowa, Cavanaugh and Jamie unpacked two more bug-out bags.

Seated in a leather chair that swiveled, Rutherford interrupted his appreciation of the jet's luxurious interior to study the contents of the bags. "Pistols, knives, ammunition, miniature flashlights, duct tape, money. Some soldiers in Third World countries aren't as well equipped. I don't suppose you're licensed to carry those firearms in Iowa."

"Afraid not," Cavanaugh said.

Rutherford sighed. "Does this phone work?"

"Yeah, but you need to leave fifty cents on the table."

After giving Cavanaugh a dry look, Rutherford took a notebook from his suit-coat pocket, found a number, picked up the phone, made his call, and identified himself. "I need to speak to the agent in charge… We expect to arrive around your time eleven p.m. I want to confirm that lodging has been arranged and that your team will be assembled for a six a.m. briefing… Good. Also, I need temporary law-enforcement credentials for two civilians so they can carry concealed handguns. I'll give you the serial numbers when we land… Thank you." Rutherford set down the phone.

"You're a handy guy to know," Jamie said.

"As long as you don't expect me to make a habit of pulling strings for you."

"Hey, we helped you a couple of times," Cavanaugh said.

Rutherford sighed again.