Chapter 21 #2
“No. He was never on any of my teams. Come to think of it, no one on my current team had ever worked with him before.” Clint stayed quiet for a minute before he continued, “Lukas Murillo is a modern-day hero in the Special Forces. His A team went into a desert valley in Afghanistan to take out a high-value target. The team was ambushed. Two men survived. Murillo carried out his badly injured officer, who told his story of tremendous heroism before he died. The Army loves giving out medals, and they gave him the Distinguished Service Cross for heroism in battle. That’s just one step below Medal of Honor.
Once he had healed from his own injuries, the Army gave him a medical discharge.
Hank, our recruiter, offered him an opportunity he couldn’t refuse.
He’s been with us for five years now. He was next in line rank-wise, so I promoted him to take over for Javier.
All the reports about him were that Murillo is a good soldier. ”
“Good soldiers don’t always make good leaders,” Ashlin threw in. She could think of a few she’d worked for before being chosen for JAFSOS.
“You’re right.” Clint kissed her temple. “That’s why both he and Boomer are on probation.”
“Sir, we’re a block away,” the driver said over the intercom since the privacy screen was up.
The ride had seemingly taken a long time.
Ashlin took a deep breath and sat up to look out the windows.
A tall wall of old yellowish-white bricks filled one side of the street, and several restaurants with decorative awnings over windows and doors stood along the other side.
The car pulled up in front of massive double brass-and-glass doors.
A valet dressed in a red jacket adorned with gold braid and black pants with a gold stripe down the outside, reached for their door with a gloved hand.
He held the other out to Ashlin as she stepped out of their ride.
She didn’t have to look around to know she was in a major city.
She knew instinctively. Cities had their own feel.
To some people, it was oppressive, while to others the hustle and bustle, distinct smell, and loud noise were exciting.
Each city had its own atmosphere. The desert air made Cairo smell and feel different from the moisture-rich Singapore surrounded by water.
She concluded they must be in downtown San Antonio.
Clint put his warm hand on the small of her back and signaled for her to enter through the door held open by another uniformed attendant.
As she stepped onto the softest carpet she’d ever felt, she was glad she’d worn low heels.
Glancing around, her first impression was an early-nineteen-hundreds theater adorned with gold-leaf filigree and heavy burgundy drapes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Riggs, it’s our pleasure to host you this evening.” They were greeted by a ma?tre d’ in a tux, with tails to his knees. “Please follow me to your private table.”
The restaurant was extremely dark, but each table had a single light over the top that lit up tables for four and six, with a few tables for two along the edges nestled in large seashell-shaped dividers.
Ashlin could see that every table had complete privacy, which was very nice.
They were shown to one of the most remote tables in the room.
As they sat down, they were immediately brought crystal glasses of iced water, but none of the staff spoke to them.
No one asked for a drink order which she thought was unusual.
Suddenly, the lights went out. It looked as though a slideshow was projected onto the white tablecloth. Before she could say anything to Clint, a 3D, three-inch character stood up in the middle of her plate. She was so surprised she giggled.
“Hi there. Welcome to La Petite Chef.” The animated character waved, then began to walk around her plate, moving realistically. “Each of your five courses have been expertly paired with our best alcoholic drinks by your chef, me.” He pointed to himself with both hands.
Well, that answered why they weren’t offered a drink. Looked like they would be drinking all night.
Animals that she had thought were part of a slide started to move and continued for the next two hours as the tiny chef gave them a little history of the area while introducing locally sourced foods and the accompanying drink for each course.
With the little guy talking constantly between dishes, she and Clint sat enthralled in the show rather than conversing.
By the time they walked out into the night, Ashlin was stuffed.
“That was amazing.” She looked up and down the street for their limousine or some kind of a ride home.
Clint had his hand in the small of her back and pulled her in to face him. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
“What a wonderful evening. Thank you. This has been the most fantastic birthday I’ve ever had.”
That sexy grin appeared once again. “Tiger, there’s a lot of birthday celebrating left tonight.
” With a press of his hand, he guided her to the corner where they crossed the street.
She was more than a little thankful that they were going to walk off some of that delicious meal.
They strolled until they came to the entrance of The Alamo.
“I know you’re a little bit of a history buff, and you know I am, too. Have you ever been to The Alamo?” Clint asked.
“No,” she admitted. “Have you?”
“Yes, but every time I come here, I learn something new. Let’s go.” He pointed to the entranceway.
Ashlin didn’t move. “Clint, it’s closed. We can come back tomorrow.”
“Or we can go right now.”
A gentleman in historic costume walked up to the gate and unlocked it.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riggs. I’m the ghost of James Bowie, your Alamo history interpreter this evening.
You can call me Jim. I understand you both have knives named after me.
I loved that knife and carried it with me through several battles.
I even had it with me here, but no one found it in the aftermath of this great battle because a Mexican soldier stole it. ”
For the next hour, Jim walked them through the mission complex, describing the events leading up to and ending with the Battle of The Alamo.
They walked through the inside of the church, casually looking at the hundreds of displays and artifacts as their guide regaled them with stories, some humorous, others tragic.
They ended up next to the gate where they had entered.
After thanking Jim, which turned out to be his real name, for such a delightful tour, Clint tipped their guide, and they continued walking.
When they came to Crockett Street, named after one of the many men who fought at The Alamo, they turned and sauntered another few blocks until they came to the river.
“This way,” Clint indicated the steps. “Let’s go down to the Riverwalk.”