Chapter 2 #2
Russ eased his way through the tent opening and stretched to his full height, knees and spine cracking and complaining.
The snow had stopped sometime in the evening, and it was a clear, crisp day; the kind where you could sit outside in your shirtsleeves if you were in the sun.
Which was exactly what the militia leader and Kevin were doing, at a table that had been moved out of the mess tent to take advantage of the weather.
Pathways had been cleared through the snow between all the tents; another professional touch.
Russ hoped to hell the news had come back exactly as the captain wanted, because Russ had a feeling the man would be equally professional in disposing of the enemy.
“Van Alstyne. Join us.” There were three steaming coffee mugs on the table, which was a good sign. Russ picked his up and took a sip. Sugared, just as he liked it. He glanced at Kevin.
“I remember how you take your coffee, Chief.”
“Dillon, get a plate of breakfast for Mr. Van Alstyne.” The captain leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “We’ve confirmed your story. And one of our members personally vouched for you. Said he’d had you over to his place and the two of you went target shooting.”
Rick Smith. Thank God for Clare’s inability to stop reaching out to the most wayward sheep. It might have just saved his life.
“You said you were looking for Flynn. What for?”
No chance at a private conversation, obviously.
Kevin’s face gave nothing away. Was he still sticking to the fake Chinese girlfriend story?
Russ decided the truth was going to be his best defense.
“Kevin’s parents contacted me and asked if I could find him.
They hadn’t heard anything from him in months. They were worried.”
“Oh, crap.” That got a reaction. “I never even thought about Mom and Dad.” Kevin’s shoulders sagged.
The captain picked up his coffee. “How did you find him?”
“I was an MP and a CID investigator for over twenty years. Then I was civilian law enforcement for another ten years or so.” Russ decided a little disgruntlement wouldn’t go amiss. “I’d still be one if I hadn’t been forced out of the job.”
“Hmm. What happened? I mean, from your perspective.”
Again, the edited truth seemed the best bet.
“I was chief of police in Millers Kill. The biggest employer for the past few years has been a resort that was built and owned by BIW. Which, as it turns out, was also ripping off millions from the Department of Defense. They caused the death of at least one veteran. I helped run the case, put the CEO behind bars. Forcing me to fall on my sword was payback.”
Kevin nodded. “The aldermen were going to close the police department. Every cop on the force was going to lose their jobs.” He gestured toward Russ. “The Algonquin Waters said they’d give up their tax breaks and pay the full property value to the town—if the chief resigned.”
The captain tapped the table, as if thinking. “The CEO was John Opperman.”
“Yeah.” Russ looked up as Dillon dropped a paper plate piled with scrambled evaporated eggs and sausage in front of him. “Fork?” Dillon glared at him and shambled back toward the kitchen.
“Sounds Jewish.”
Russ kept his face very neutral. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
The captain leaned back. “What would you tell Flynn’s parents, now you’ve seen him?”
“He looks hale and hearty. There’s nothing illegal about being part of a militia, although,” he waved, gesturing toward the perimeter, “the park department is going to hit you with a serious fine when they see the clearing you’ve done.”
Dillon returned and clanged a fork next to Russ, who held up his mug.
“Could you top me off, please?” Dillon’s face reddened.
He looked to the militia leader, who nodded.
The man stomped back off into the mess tent.
Russ dug his fork into the eggs. “I’d also tell them I don’t know how he’s supporting himself, since I don’t think you’re paying for the troops here. ”
“Some things are more important than a job, Chief.” Kevin braced his hands on the table. “What are you doing to support yourself? Now you’ve been kicked to the curb after thirty years of serving your country and your community?”
Russ took Kevin’s comment as a well-placed hint on what the captain would like to hear.
“I’m doing exactly nothing.” He speared a sausage.
“Honestly? That’s why I agreed to find you for your parents.
I had a clearly defined purpose for the whole of my adult life.
It’s turning out to be damn hard to figure out a new one.
” He blinked at the raw truth that just spilled out of his mouth.
He covered his discomfort with another forkful of eggs.
His unwilling waiter returned with Russ’s mug, full and steaming. Russ winced a little at the bitterness, but decided asking Forrester for sugar would be pushing it too far.
“What do you think of our operation here? Besides the illegal tree cutting.” The captain looked amused.
Russ put his coffee down. “Good perimeter. Sound logistical layout. I’m guessing you mix patrols and routes up, although you could use more training for some of the men.
” He picked up his fork again. “The food is decent, hot, and there’s a lot of it, so your supply lines are secured.
” He looked around the camp, where a couple men were sitting outside their tents cleaning their weapons and another pair were getting ready to set off into the woods.
“I haven’t seen anybody with signs of frostbite or exposure, so either you’ve recruited all experienced woodsmen or they’ve gotten good cold-weather training.
” He looked at the militia leader. “Were you with the Tenth Mountain Division? Trained at Fort Drum?”
The captain smiled openly. “Security keeps me from confirming or denying that.”
“I told you he was good,” Kevin said.
The captain held up his hand. “And what do you think of our mission?”
“I don’t know what your mission is. Rick Smith talked about white rights, which”—Russ shrugged—“I think I’ve got plenty of rights already.” He speared another sausage. “I believe in law and order. It’s what I’ve built my life around.”
“Law and order, but not necessarily rules, according to Flynn, here.”
Russ seesawed his hand. “Once you’re old enough and experienced enough, you know the difference between rules that exist for a good reason, and rules that are there because some bureaucrat had a hard-on.”
The militia leader stifled a laugh. “I think I like you, Van Alstyne.”
“Thanks.” Russ scraped the bottom of his plate, collecting the last of the eggs.
“I’d like you to stick around for a bit. Find out more about who we are and what we’re doing.”
Russ set his fork down. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. But I’d like to have you on your parole, not close-held as a prisoner.”
Russ swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay. On one condition.”
“A condition. Well, I can’t say you don’t have balls.”
“This should be an easy one, if you got in touch with Rick Smith to get my bona fides. His wife is friends with mine. Have her contact Clare and tell her I’m okay. Our code word is ‘quilt.’”
“That’s it? You’re okay? Nothing else?”
“My wife trusts me. She just needs to know she doesn’t have to send out the National Guard to rescue me. Which she would do.”
“I can vouch for that, Captain. She’s…” Kevin paused. “Formidable. In her own way.”
“All right.” The captain stood. Russ and Kevin followed suit. “We’ve already sent a man down to make contact today, so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. But we’ll get a message to your wife.” He smiled, amused again. “The last thing I want is to have a ‘formidable’ female sending in the cavalry.”