Chapter 18
Being conned by a mini con man...
Britta didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. Leastways, that had been her opinion till today...and tonight, with Sammy.
They were propped up against pillows in his small bed, looking through picture books.
The way he leaned against her, smelling of boyling skin and minty soap from his bath, the way he seemed to be drawn to her, and she to him.
..well, her heart nigh swelled with strong emotions she had ne’er felt before.
Her reading was still not very good, despite the tutoring lessons, so, she and Sammy were making up stories to fit the pictures, some of them absurd, some poignantly telling of both their pasts.
His favorite of the children’s books was The Pokey Little Puppy; apparently, Sammy yearned to have a pet dog someday.
She would have to mention that fact to Zachary when he returned.
Her favorite was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, although she was a mite suspicious about the goings-on betwixt the pretty lady and the seven little men.
Men were men no matter their size, in her experience.
“That is enough, do you not think? Time for sleep.”
“Just one more.”
“That is what you said three books back.”
“I could show you my father’s magazine.” There was a sly look in his blue eyes...eyes which matched Zachary’s.
“Why would I want to...?”
Sammy had already jumped off the bed and was digging under a pile of shoes on the floor of his closet. “He hid it under his mattress, but I found it there. Then, he hid it under the towels in the bathroom.”
He tossed the magazine to her. A magazine was sort of a book, with no hard cover. This one with the title Penthouse seemed to be filled with lots of words, and lots of color pictures.
Penthouse? I wonder what kind of house that is?
She flipped the magazine open, gawked, then immediately flipped it shut. Oh, my gods and goddesses! “Sammy! This is not appropriate fare for a child.”
“How am I ever gonna learn stuff?”
“I do not think you need to know, close-up, how a woman’s nether parts look.”
“Why not?”
“Because...because it will be a long, long time afore you would find that information of any use.”
He cocked his head to the side. “What kind of use?”
“That is enough.” She stood and told him, “Slide down so I can cover you.”
“I dint say my prayers yet.”
She let out a long sigh. More delays.
Sammy slid down to the floor, on his knees, put both hands together, then said, “Dear God, thank you for another day without my grandfather findin’ me.
Thank you for Britta stayin’ with me. Thank you for not lettin’ anyone know about what I put in the blender today.
God bless my great-grandfather, my great-grandmother Floyd, my grandfather Floyd, Grandfather’s bimbo girlfriend, Bridget, my grandmother Floyd, Uncle Danny, and.
..and....” he gulped, “Keep my daddy safe and bring him home. Amen.”
Bridget choked up.
Until he added, “And please let Britta become my mother.”
“Sammy,” she tried to say, but he had already crawled into bed, pulled up the blanket, and pretended to be asleep.
She was shaking her head with dismay when he cracked open one eye and said, “You kin give me a goodnight kiss.”
Smiling, she leaned down and kissed his forehead.
The imp was grinning with his eyes closed.
Then, all Muspell broke loose...
Britta was sitting in the bed in the guest chamber, flicking through Zachary’s magazine, which was...interesting, incredible, outrageous, perverted...she could not think of the right word.
The breasts on some of the women were huge, and yet they managed to stay uplifted.
On some of the pages, she angled her head right and left, studying the naked women portrayed, legs widespread, their inner workings detailed.
Is that how women...how I...look down there?
She was repulsed and fascinated at the same time.
She came to a page titled “Penthouse Forum,” and sounded out some of the words in what appeared to be a letter.
“My...girl...friend...loves...anal...sex,” Britta said slowly, frowning with confusion. When understanding came, she slammed the magazine shut. “Perversions! Is that all men think of?”
Just then, Britta heard some odd popping noises outside, like the sound made when pulling the stopper from a container of over-fermented wine.
..except louder. She threw the magazine to the floor and got up off the bed, but before she could go to the window and investigate, she heard a banging noise at the front door.
Alarmed, she ran out into the hall, just as the door was smashed in.
Several men, all in black, including black hoods, called balaclavas, with only the eyes showing, rushed in.
She stepped back before they could see her, then ran to Danny’s room where she closed and locked the door.
Moving quickly, she shoved a chest of drawers away from the wall and in front of the door. It would only delay the attackers.
Going over to the bed, she picked Sammy up and whispered in his ear. “Sammy, wake up. Quick. Hurry, dearling, we’ve got to get out of here.”
His eyes shot open, then he whimpered as he realized the situation they were in.
“Here,” she handed him a hockey stick and picked up a metal bat for her own pitiful weapon. Adapt, adapt, adapt...that is what they were taught in WEALS.
Men could be heard conversing in a foreign language outside, down the hallway. Sammy’s room was the last one in the corridor. They would be here soon.
“It’s my grandfather’s men,” Sammy told her, eyes wide with fright.
“I’m going to open the window and try to climb out on the roof with you,” she told him. “Once I open the window, we should both start screaming for help, loud, very loud.”
He nodded his understanding.
Someone was trying the doorknob, and the tone of voice she heard on discovering the lock indicated some swearing going on.
Just as she began to raise the window, two hands came up.
A man, also in a balaclava, must have crawled up the drain pipe to this second story.
They both stared at each other for a startled minute.
He put his hands on the window sill, about to come in.
She slammed the window down on his fingers.
He cursed loud and long as he pulled his hands out, then fell off the roof ledge.
That small amount of time wasted gave the attackers time to enter through the hall door.
But, before they did, she and Sammy rushed over to stand behind the door.
The first man through got the baseball bat across his face, causing him to scream.
Even through the hood, blood spurted everywhere.
She must have broken his nose. Meanwhile, another miscreant came in, and Sammy, bless his little soul, brandishing the hockey stick, whacked him across the knees.
That man went down with a scream of pain, too.
Unfortunately, four more men followed, jumping over their comrades.
Britta and Sammy stood, backs against the wall now, “weapons” raised overhead.
But then, a man with an evil glint in his eyes, aimed a two-pronged instrument at Sammy.
With a gasp, following by a rolling of the eyes, he dropped the hockey stick and slid to the floor.
In that brief second, whilst she turned to Sammy with dismay, a similar instrument was aimed at her shoulder.
The most intense pain shot through her body, like the pain one got when striking one’s elbow, but a hundred times worse.
After that, she felt boneless and disoriented as thousands of needles seemed to be pricking her body.
The last thing she thought as she lost consciousness was: Zachary is going to be devastated.
Even when you win, you sometimes lose...
The game was about to begin.
A small aircraft flew over the field, and a serviceman parachuted out to hand the referee the game ball. It was Sly, who had taken over this traditional role which usually fell to one of the university’s ROTC students. They weren’t taking any chances with anything.
With a blast from his whistle, the drum major began an exaggerated strut across the field, starting at the student end of the stadium and ending with a series of front flips mid-stream. The Penn State Blue Band followed after him, instruments blaring out the school’s Alma Mater.
Soon, the field was filled with coaches, players and news media. A hundred and ten thousand spectators had shown up for this homecoming event, made extra special because it was the Fighting Irish they would be playing. Thank God it was an afternoon, and not a night game.
By half-time, nothing had happened, and they were all nervous. There was always a chance this would be a dry hole...not the first time a mission had been unsuccessful, but it was too early to make that call.
In the midst of the usual hubbub in the press box, a Philadelphia Inquirer reporter had been bugging Zach for the past fifteen minutes. “You’re not a reporter, I can tell.”
“Oh, yeah? Why? Because I don’t have acne and a flatulence problem?”
The reporter’s face flushed, but still he plodded on. “You’re government, aren’t you? FBI? CIA? No, that’s wrong. With that body, you’ve gotta be military. Holy shit! You’re a Navy SEAL. Don’t deny it. My second cousin was a SEAL, and I recognize the signs.”
He had to give the guy credit for some good reasoning skills. He was probably a top-rate reporter, which they didn’t need here at this time. “You’re delusional,” was all Zach said, and walked away to pour himself a cup of coffee.