Target America

19

Crosswhite and Tuckerman sat in a holding cell in one of the local police precincts now being utilized by the 82nd Airborne as a forward operating base. On the front of the building was a sign that read Fort Apache. They had been cooling their heels there for the last eight hours, and Crosswhite was beginning to wonder what the hell was going on. It shouldn’t have taken more than a few hours for the Pentagon to renounce them for the liars they were and order them turned over to the Chicago police. The division was preparing to withdraw from the city by order of the president, so it was remotely possible that he and Tuckerman would just be left behind for the police to take charge of when they reoccupied the building. Still, it was odd that the major in command of the FOB hadn’t come to tell them what was going on or even just to chew their asses for having lied. He’d been a pretty big prick upon their arrival.

The guards who checked in on them from time to time claimed to know nothing.

Crosswhite let go of the bars and turned to look at Tuckerman, who sat on his bunk against the wall, clearly unhappy in the knowledge that he was destined to spend the rest of his life sleeping on such a bed. “Does this make any sense to you? We should have heard by now.”

Tuckerman looked up at him. “We’re not exactly a priority, Dan. We’re just a couple of two-bit criminals. Be careful you don’t go believing your own bullshit.”

Crosswhite frowned. “That’s not the point.”

Tuckerman smirked. “As if there is a point. Sit down, will ya? You’re making me nervous. What’s your hurry, anyhow? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a fucking cell. At least here we don’t have to put up with anybody’s bullshit.”

“I ain’t giving up that easy,” Crosswhite said. “The next time they open this door, we’re making our move. We may not get away, but we can at least go down fighting.”

“Not me,” Tuckerman said. “I didn’t get into this to kill GIs. I did the crime. I’ll do the time.” He tilted his head back against the wall. “Wonder if anybody will ever find that money. Maybe it’ll still be there if we ever get out. If I get out first, I’ll leave your half.”

“You’re fucking dreaming,” Crosswhite said. “They’ll never let us out. People are dead, remember? And it doesn’t matter they were shit bags. The law’s the law.”

“Yeah, but we also saved that little girl. We might get parole in twenty or thirty years.”

Crosswhite rolled his eyes and turned to grip the bars again. “Hey!” he shouted. “We need some food back here, guys!”

A steel door opened, and the sound of boots on concrete came echoing from around the corner. Sergeant Naples appeared and stood staring at him. “Guess what,” he said.

Crosswhite stared back. “Don’t tell me… the bomb went off in some other city.”

Naples shook his head. “I made some calls of my own. Turns out you’re not even active duty anymore. Word is you got run out of Delta.”

Crosswhite let out a heavy sigh and turned to lie down on his bunk, putting his boots up on the bars. “So what’s that tell ya?”

Naples scratched his head. “Tells me the brass musta been pretty pissed about you getting the Medal of Honor for making them look bad.”

“None of it was as it appeared, believe me.” Crosswhite laced his fingers behind his head and lay staring up at the ceiling. “Why don’t you do us a solid, Nipples, and unlock that door before you guys pull out, huh? You got my word we won’t make a move until after you’re gone.” He lifted his head. “Don’t just leave us to the local yahoos.”

Naples shook his head. “You’ll be gone long before we pull out. We just got word your CO is on the way to pick you up.”

Crosswhite stole a startled glance at Tuckerman and sat up on the bed, turning to put his boots on the floor. “Come again?”

“About an hour ago, Major Byard got a call from some guy named Pope back in Langley. I’m guessing you know him? Anyhow, Byard still can’t believe you guys are actually attached to SOG.” This was the Special Operations Group of the CIA. “I told him last night you were the real deal, but he didn’t believe me, and now he’s out there feeling stupid.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying the major’s embarrassment. “This Pope said to tell you your orders have changed and that you’ll remain here under protective custody until a Colonel Shannon arrives.”

At that, Tuckerman turned and put his boots on the floor. “Colonel Shannon.”

“Right,” Naples said, shaking a cigarette loose from a box of Marlboros and lighting up. “I don’t know what the hell your original orders were, but it doesn’t sound like SOG is too happy with you two. Byard was ordered to keep you under lock and key until the colonel gets here.”

Crosswhite stared across at Tuckerman. “What do you wanna bet the asshole shows up looking like Sam Trautman from Rambo? Just to rub my nose it.”

Tuckerman went slack in the jaw. “He wouldn’t.”

“Fuck he wouldn’t.” Crosswhite bummed a smoke from Naples and lay back on the bunk again, resting an arm across his forehead. “One thing is for sure… if Pope pulled him off that ranch of his and away from Marie, you can bet your jockstrap he won’t show up here happy.”

“What the fuck is going on anyway?” Naples wanted to know. “I put my ass on the line for you guys last night. The least you can do is cut me in.”

Crosswhite sat back up, drawing deeply from the cigarette. “Nipples, I’d love to cut you in — but I have absolutely no idea what the fuck is goin’ on.”

Naples grinned at him, clearly believing that he was lying. “You SOG guys are all alike. Sorry I can’t let you out, Captain.” He turned to walk away.

“Hey, how about a couple of MREs?” Crosswhite asked. “I don’t know where you’ve been the past eight hours, but these jamokes haven’t given us anything to eat all day.”

Naples chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. Sit tight.”

When the door slammed, Tuckerman opened his mouth to speak, but Crosswhite sat up and put a finger to his lips. “Be careful, Conman. The gods are obviously smiling on us. Let’s not risk saying anything to piss them off.”

Tuckerman nodded, getting up to take a leak in the stainless steel toilet mounted to the wall between the bunks. “Roger that,” he said over his shoulder. “I do feel safe saying this much… if you hadn’t found that little girl — well, I ain’t religious, but I figure some things were just meant to be. Know what I mean?”

Crosswhite nodded, exhaling smoke through his nostrils as he considered how jacked up his life had been ever since receiving the Medal. “All I know for sure is that I’ve felt like a runaway train ever since I got rotated back from the Sandbox — with no way to put on the brakes.” He drew hard from the cigarette, wanting to alleviate his surging anxiety. “Now there’s a loose nuke to worry about, we’re locked up in this fucking cage, and Colonel Shannon is apparently coming to save our asses.” He flicked an ash into the walkway. “Fuck, you must be right. How is this not meant to be?”