DS On The Run
by Michael G. Crawford
A full six months of working in the Denver office had convinced Janice that her career in the Security Service, or for that matter the Diplomatic Service, was over. Not that Denver was such a bad place, but hey, it really mattered to her that she would be where the action was. "And face it", she thought to herself, "Denver is not exactly where we keep Ambassadors or other key diplomats that need my skills for protection and mangement". However, the Federal Building there was in need of some sort of protection, and she had to admit it was clear that her superiors back in D.C. wanted her invisible. Denver sure proved that one.
And thankfully, someone had been still looking out for her, with Goody assigned to the same backwoods of diplomatic life, even if Denver was a hot bed of FBI activity with over 20 different militia and home grown terrorist groups living in northern Colorado. Goody's speciality was being well fed here, and that meant she saw little of him, but that was probably a good thing...they hadn't really had any real time to pursue their relationship. That would not be the case soon, however.
They had synchronized their vacation time, and one thing Denver had to offer over many states, was some excellent vacation scenery any time of the year. The fact that the Spring rains were now winding down meant that they could look forward to some really green scenery if they went south, or light snowy conditions if they headed up to Snow Mass or other nice little ski resort areas. Not that they would do any long bouts of skiing, she suspected. Her hormones were not exactly lined up for much of that. Although, she reasoned, Goody did seem to have a really different attitude about women and sex, so perhaps she was thinking far too far ahead. They might be in ski lessons all the time they were on vacation...though she hoped not.
In any case, she needed to put that far out of her mind right now, at least for the next two weeks. She had this awful report to finish on the building's anti-terror tactics, especially since the FBI agent in charge of the employee security was a real asshole... a member of the anti-terror squad who had been injured and was filling in while the security specialist was off to some conference in D.C. It was, perhaps, the only real difficult part of this fill in job for her. It was also part of the reason she felt like her career was over. The guy was such a dinosaur...a real chauvinist. Oh she had met some doosies in her time, but this guy was like trained by J. Edgar or something. Thought a good woman agent knew how to type or pour coffee. Literally. When she had first met him, he had barely acknowleged her existence, and for several meetings never spoke to her directly.
Rather than complain, however, she let other agents make subtle corrections to the man's behavior. Goody included, who she had to keep from go after the prick. When the other's in the security teams began to ignore the guy's input, and focus on her ideas instead, he finally started to get the picture. This current report was the effort of three people, and he hadn't been part of the team. Normally that would have been a big problem, since it was his call on implementation. However, he had already begun to realize that the other's on the team would isolate him more if he made the wrong decisions based on his prejudice rather than logic or reason. So it had begun to work out...sort of.
She only hoped the creep wouldn't bear too much of a grudge when asked to contribute to her Employee Evaluation Report. Civil Service ERs were hard to fight when they were extremely negative, and one really bad one could screw your career for good. Although she was on great terms with the folks in D.C., she worried that they would get the impression she had lost any ability to be a team player if this guy didn't approve of her. To that end, she had started the ball rolling on a little underground search for opinions about Walter Greeve, just on the off hope that the folks in D.C. knew what an absolute prick he was. That would certainly save her bacon.
Looking now at the report, she felt a surge of pride. Even if the federal building wasn't exactly the level of protection work she was used to, it was rewarding to see her team's professionalism shown through. So what if the stakes in terms of life and death were no where near that of a major embassy overseas. The fact that people could very well owe their lifes to her team's recommendations meant she was contributing and that mattered a lot. To be farmed out with nothing important to do would kill her. And kill her readiness. But here she at least kept her mind in the midst of the right kind of action, even if the covert end wasn't there. Not that searching out the weasle they had brought back to the U.S. had been any fun, or even the kind of challenge she wanted to take on a daily basis, it had been high adventure. And God knows it was certainly dangerous. She thought again of Goody...he owned her bacon, that was for sure. She wondered for a moment if there was some sexual conotation in that thought, than mentally shrugged. Perhaps she was placing too much emphasis on analyzing her emotions versus her physical needs. Maybe it was time to just quit thinking about it and carry on.
She made some more corrections on the document, her fingers flying on the keyboard. She then paused a moment, considering on an urge to farm it out to some colleagues back in D.C., both for some "different eyes" input, as well as perhaps to build a little protection into her efforts. But in the end she rejected the idea in only a few seconds. Her co-team members expected the team to keep the report amongst themselves until after it was at least approved by Greeve, and her own political interests would only serve to dishonor her and piss off those team members. She didn't even consider not getting caught at any subterfuge, she had learned long ago that too much self interest always wound up visible, especially when it came to office politics and the people you really respected or wanted to respect you. Nope it was one of those nasty little thoughts that she quickly squelched and moved on.
She fired an email off to her colleagues in Denver to go look at the master doc and requested they get back to her by tomorrow a.m. with their comments on the changes she had compiled into it. She felt another surge of pride in her ability to extract the team's input and coalesce it into this new version, and hoped she could make this rather boring task into something worthwhile. She really looked forward to the implementation, though, and could just see some of their recommendations being accomplished. Perhaps she would find some contribution in that process to before she went absolutely nuts.
***************************************
Goody looked through the binoculars again, not quite trusting his naked eyes to keep track of the happenings below and across the narrow canyon from his position. His breath fogged the air in the high tops of the Colorado Rockies, and the Aryian Order of Faith members below seemed to feel the same wave of cold sweep through the steep inclines as well. Stamping their feet in the light snow dusting of perhaps the last Spring fall, they were also slapping their arms across their chests in a classic warm up ritual. This kind of activity was usually reserved for really cold, as in below zero weather, and Goody took that as a clue that the visitors were from somewhere else than the Colorado Rockies. The South was a reasonable guess, especially since the particular brand of idiot that joined the Aryian Order was most likely still or recently involved in the more secret legions of that infamous of all domestic terrorist-hate groups, the KKK.
The Aryian's were so much worse however. As a typical white supremacy group, they believed much the same as their breathern, except they were so much more radical when it came to people they believed were allowing non-whites to exist in their society. So much so that they were as nearly anti-white as they were anti everything else. Hate was a good measure of this particular group...hate for everyone but themselves. They had killed an entire Christian church fellowship one evening because they held a church meeting to help out a young Kurdish couple who had managed to flew Iran when the Shah was deposed,
only to wind up in Iraq's slaughter of the Northern Kurds in the early 1990s. Fleeing to Turkey, they had managed to convert their meager finances into a black market metals business, and then sold that for two seats on a flight to Chicago.
An Arab friend gave them a ride to the Colorados, where a small mideastern cretch practiced their Kurdish faith in some small towns in middle America. The Aryian's, not happy with the nice treatment of the dark Arabs, as they no doubt saw them, had decided all that succored the evil darkies should die. They not only burned the church, but used phosphorus flairs and grenades, yielding pain and suffering along with the deaths of all inside. And of course it also made it difficult to identify the remains, the fire so hot that no amount of water would extinguish the blaze until it ran its course eating all that was combustible.
And so the couple's story ended, after surviving some of the most insane and violent events in their people's lifes, only to be snuffed out by some bad boys from that paradise they believed to be America. The thought of that turn of events, the dishonor and smudge on the name of the country he loved so fervently was almost too much for Goody to bear. In fact, just the thoughts had raised his breath rate high enough that he was actually making himself a little dizzy at the altitude. He regulated his breathing then, forcing himself to a calmer state. Still it lasted a few minutes while he watched the comings and goings from the small buildings that made up the Aryian's compound below.
He glanced over to his right at Agent MacKenzie, a Denver veteran who had recruited and nourished their snitch in the Aryian organization. He had done a fine job on that. MacKenzie had simply looked for an impressionable young high school student getting ready to graduate, but who hadn't any real career or college in mind. One of the aimless group found in many schools today, those semi-disenchanted, with nowhere to go, and no idea what to do with themselves. They populated so many classrooms today, it wasn't hard to find them. MacKenzie had targeted a few by pretending he was a militia recruiter, but so secret he couldn't discuss any particular group. But he implanted the youths he contacted with the notion that his group worked with most of the others, so that if they were recruited, they should let him know and he would give them the go ahead instead of them coming to his own group. This way, he could ensure their contribution to a solid America was put to the best use. It was a pretty lame idea, and Goody had expressed as much, but MacKenzie laughed that off.
"Goody, you're pretty much right on that. But some of this boys really go for it. They have these visions of some importance to their lives, and when they graduate, it all falls apart. Nowhere to go except some pretty boring job working for some real idiot. Bright young men so hate working for a dead end boss in a dead end job. It eats at them something fierce. A few years of that and they are ready to do anything that they feel will contribute to their ego's drive to do something, even if they aren't prepared for anything. I simply find 'em again, in their gas station, restaraunt, or convience store job. I shoot the pitch at them again, and it sounds not only good right about then, it is a familar rag. Especially if they have had some thoughts about becoming one of the good ole' boys already. You gotta realize I have nearly 1,000 recruits already, waiting to fill me in on who's out their actively recruting. At least half of them are ready to make the jump and become my eyes and ears too. I even tell them that I am part of a grass roots monitoring group that ensures the militia are not turning bad on us...you know we need all the good militiamen we can get."
Goody recalled the animation of MacKenzie then, and the quietness of the man now. This particular recruit had participated in a small raid that killed a young black boy last week, and the young man had told MacKenzie he really enjoyed the whole thing. It had disgusted MacKenzie, and the man felt so responsible. Not that his injecting this idiot into the group had made any difference in the outcome of that particular event...he had only found out after the fact, and his guy certainly hadn't planned or instigated the event. But it still grated on the man's psyche, and Goody could certainly understand the tension and cold determination MacKenzie had shown of late. He was not only going to break the back of this group, but he was going to deliver some special punishment to his recruit.
The sound of a four-by-four kicking its way through the snow impinged on his thinking and he checked the sun angle before swinging his binoculars toward the sound. Confident he wasn't sending a glint that way, he watched as a muddy GMC Carry-All mounted the level area of the canyon which was perched near the peaks around him. With a lurch, the Gimmie cleared the final obstacle and leveled out, its driver backing off on the spinning wheels to slowly make its way through the floor of the canyon. It wasn't a good idea to come blasting into Aryian territory. Especially since Goody and MacKenzie suspected they had gotten their hands on some nasty little LAWS, Light infantry Anti-tank Weapon System. Four of the launchers had been grabbed from a reservist armory in San Jose, California, and the FBI believed they had traced them into the Rockies before losing the smuggler who had bought them in Salinas.
In just a few hours, Mac and Goody were destined to find out if the destination had been the Aryians. Goody checked his watch, and mentally did the arithmetic. In less than an hour, four HH-60 Blackhawks would dump the anti-terror team right down on the middle of the complex. Mac and Goody were to create the diversion at the rear of the compound that would focus attention away from the clear areas near the front and along the narrow canyon the four-by-four was slowly crusing along. With any luck, they make this happen with their own little toys. Behind them were Dragon man portable battlefield launchers and Mac had a very new, highly compact laser designator used by Special Forces. The Dragon was nearly an obsolete system, however, it was perfect for this circumstance. It essentially went where you pointed the laser, and impacted with an error small enough to enable them to place the rocket on the rocks at the canyon wall near the rear of the compound. If it didn't start a small rock or snow slide, it would still wreak some havoc and draw attention to the rear of the compound. I
Anyone running would find themselves facing the oncoming FBI anti-terror team, and several U.S. Army Special Forces types providing advice from the safety of a Command and Control Chopper back away from the action. The use of Army for advice was a gray area that made everyone a little nervous, since U.S. military was not supposed to be involved in domestic police action, however, more and more their expertise at terrorist assaults was needed domestically. So what the hell. Just another constitutional right trampled right? It certainly gave Goody a sick feeling in his stomach, and he didn't know if he would ever resolve the conflict. He was happy to hear that at the end of the year, the training program would end, and the SpecOps types would move back to their units leaving the FBI anti-terror guys alone to do the job. Rumor had it that at least one of them was thinking about resigning his commission and moving into the FBI. That would be nice.
As Mac began to set up the laser designator, Goody looked up at the canyon again to try again to pick just the right spot. He thought that perhaps Mac would be better at that part, him being a mountain man, familar with the surroundings. But he remembered their discussion, it really didn't matter that much. The objective was to make lots of noise and not to really create that much of a big deal in terms of damage. If they happened to start a slide, all the better, but it certainly wasn't a required objective. Goody just wanted to do good...wanted to do his part. So he rejected the idea of trading spots with Mac, despite the subtle doubts. Picking his spot with the binoculars, he memorized both the general placement and the exact spot, then removing the binoculars, he made sure he could spot in to the area with the naked eye.
Now glancing at his watch, he waited for the agreed upon time to be up and armed. As the minutes rolled by, he spun on his knees in the snow and picked up the heavy dragon tube. Since they were targeting on a mountain instead of some enemy vehicle, there was no reason not to light up, and Mac energized the laser designator. This affair was mounted on a short targeting telescopes tripod, and Mac simply rotated or tipped the pedastal to aim the laser. As it was infrared, it made no visible light, and again since they were targeting a mountain side, they didn't have to worry about some high tech laser spotting technique from picking up the small beam or the bloom it made at the far end of its range. He coached make on moving the dot to his target spot, and then they both relaxed again waiting for the zero hour to approach.
The Anti-Terror guys would swoop up the canyon in just a few minutes, and the explosion and rumble of any rock movement was supposed to make sure the sound of the quieted helicopters would be impossible to distinguish until they were well into the landings.
Now as the time approached, they moved to the birm again and set up. Goody confirmed the spot was on his chosen target of rock outcropping, and said Ok to Mac, who then began a quiet countdown. At ten seconds, Goody depressed the trigger slightly and got a bright white dot in his night vision site, and the missile made a low warble that quickly cycled up to a pulsating growl which meant the Dragon was locked onto its designator bloom. At 3 seconds, the time they had computed the missile would need to blast across the canyon at 230 mph, he depressed the trigger.
"Whoosssshhh" and a cloud of smoke instantly gave away their position. Fortunately, Mac's setup was slightly behind the birm, thus he could designate for the entire flight without being exposed. Goody slid back out of line of sight of the compound, and quickly began the process of loading a new launch tube on the tracker/launcher. He wanted to be ready if he had a dud, or Mac later spotted some bad news activity down in the compound...like someone running out with a stolen LAW while the helos were coming in.
He was about half way through the new tube mounting, when Mac slid back up to the edge and began a low voice report over his headset to the incoming crew.
"Okay, we have an impact of our rocket, and a nice size snow slide, with rocks and lots of noise, I think you're covered. Lots of activity, most of the sentries have been drawn to the back, guns at the ready. They haven't figured a diversion yet. You are go for penetration, delta-fox-sierra". With the code words, the FBI Anti-Terror crew would know they weren't walking into a trap. And almost simultaneously, the choppers swung up the canyon and began their pitch up prior to landing.
Mac brought the binocs up again to scan the front of the compound and shouted, "target up!" to Goody.
Goody turned from just fastening the tube onto the tracker/launcher, and took a general aim in the direction of the camp and pressed the trigger. The Dragon cycled and then burst out of its tube, the missile streaking down into the camp towards who knew what.
Mac was busy with the designator, so Goody could only hope the laser was hot on its target, he had never seen it.
"Boom!" echoed the blast now much closer to their position. Goody grabbed the binocs and scanned looking, and didn't have to look hard. A big black hole with some small amount of flame licking at it, as well as a huge ball of smoke rising above it marked the vanished target.
"What was it?"
"Guy with a LAW". You hit him right in the chest...all I saw was a flash and he's gone man."
Goody felt a slight chill, just as in the other times he had killed on the job. But in this case, he had probably saved one of the choppers. A LAW could do nasty things to a soldier too, so he didn't feel all that bad. Still, he was human enough to care just a bit.
"Let me see the binocs" asked Mac, and he was scanning the hillside. "Snow's still moving a little, I wonder if they heard the second dragon go off. They musta, huh?"
And as he said it, Goody could see with his naked eyes a swarm of men moving from behind one of the front buildings blocking his view...right into the ambush now set by the Anti-Terror guys. The sound of automatic weapons now filtered up to their site, and both men wished they were now a little closer to the action.
The radio pickup in their ears now was alive with terse comments, "Object 1 clear",
"First Response Down", "Approaching 2", "Alpha
team in position" and so on. In a few minutes, the Anti-Terror
team began reporting real progress, "Two perps down, two
in hand", "Two more persps down", and so on. Then
Goody felt another kind of chill as he heard, "Beta has a
man down, watch out to the right". However, five minutes
after the initial shots fired, the reports turned positive again,
"Alpha Clear", "Beta Clear", "We're Secure,
send in the cleanup."
And in moments a third chopper walked its way into the little area between the canyons and dispersed a crew of eight helpers. A squad of the the Anti-Terror guys pulled up and out of the canyon and made way for a fourth chopper to land, this one a morgue ship.
And as Goody and Mac folded up their kits, a chopper landed down the gully from them, waiting to take them back to civilization. Perhaps they could ask the pilot to wait and ferry them down so they could look the site over after there was landing room. Goody thought so, but one never knew how the tight-assed Anti-Terror guys would respond to such a request. All in all it had been real clean and he hoped the one casualty was a vest knock down, not a mortal injury.
************************************************************
"Carlisle here" she said into the phone.
"Your boy just helped take down an Arian Nation splinter group up in the hills this morning. As a result, we are moving to terr-con 2" replied the voice on the other end, the dreaded Greeve-man. "I want everyone in the conference room in five minutes.
"Yes Sir" she replied in her best imitation of a respectful voice, and then dialed her assignment on the ERT phone tree. "We're at terr-con 2, Terry, get you butt up here to our conference room...uhhh 23."
Receiving an affirmative, she waited for the usual repeat call, as the higher echelon received its redundant call per the instructions of the phone tree. "Carlilse at terr-con2"
and then hung up, her caller knowing she already had the message. She turned to her safe and pulled out the older plan which a guy like Greeve might decide to follow and her hardcopy of the new plan. The new security condition might mean the reluctant hero might decide to ok the new plan, since it did take into account a concerted assault, rather than just a semi-random attack.
Arriving at the conference room, Greeve was already in place, probably having waited to make his calls from there to ensure his proper place at the table. It just showed how Janice's little ploy had worked to undermine the man's confidence a little. It was good to take him down a peg, but now she wondered if they had gone a little too far. He was, after all, in charge. They didn't need to be full of self doubt, just a little more respectful of his workers.
As the other team members came in, she noticed they too had brought both response plans. That was good, and she hoped Greeve would get the message...his people were going to argue for the new plan. Then she noticed Greeve noticing, and with a displeased look on his face, he moved the new plan out from under a pile of papers placed in front of him. Good god, he did have someone feeding him from the team...or perhaps one of the secretaries had been coerced into turning a copy over to him. Well that might be for the better, since they wouldn't have to wait for him to read it line for line.
"Okay people, here's the brief. A six month Anti-Terror operation has resulted in an assault on the Aryian Order of Faith compound at the North Butte. We have one injured ATU agent, and eight dead Aryians. The other fifteen Aryians are in custody, and being flown back here to be locked up. On my orders, we have moved to terr-con 2, because I feel that other Aryian Order groups, and perhaps even Aryian Nation themselves will be thinking about us as a target. I want to implement a full scale alert and prepare for the worst. This plan..." and his face showed what he thought of it, "...is wholly inadequate, but we will run with it for now. There will be changes made however in several areas I would like to discuss with you..."
And the man continued to drone on. Well at least he was willing to discuss it. Three months ago he would just be barking out orders like they were grunts in a firefight. Some improvement at least. Janice wondered what role the mighty hero would define for her in all this, even though the plan called for her to lead the building personnel security details, her speciality. She had also placed herself in the plan as being in charge of physical safety of key individuals like Greeve (damn him), the SAIC (Special Agent in Charge), the ASAIC (Assistant SAIC), the Regional IRS Director, the ARIRS, and the Regional Social Security Director and her assistant. The idea was to ensure round the clock security for these highly visible individuals who worked in the building.
Also the plan called for closing of the daycare center for the period while they were at terr-con 2. That meant any federal workers who could not find other arrangements would get special leave to stay home with their kids. This was a program instituted by some Federal Offices after the Oklahoma City bombing...the sight of small little bodies being dug out of the debris was just too much to bear.
Surprisingly, Greeve went along with all the personnel assignments, giving Janice her intended jobs, as well as made requests to upgrade some of the actual physical building arrangements. That was nice. It looked like the guy was all business in a crisis and that warmed her a little toward him. Perhaps he just hated being an administrator so much it spilled over into his behavior. He was still a pig, but at least he was a well functioning pig when they needed one.
She hurriedly led the race out of the conference room to take charge of building security as well as made a call to the first person on the key person list to start the key person phone tree. From their practices, she knew that by the time she hit the bottom floor of the twelve story Federal Building, that the key people would know that they and their families were now on 24 hour protection. She also made a quick call to the physical security office to ensure they were aware to send off some folks to the schools of the two key members with young kids. They would be guarded until the key person showed up to claim them.
As she rode the elevator down, she made a mental note to install a phone repeater in each of the two elevator shafts...her cell phone was having fits. At the ground floor, she saw that physical security had already moved to stage two, with hands on inspections of all folks, and two Marines observing from quiet and unobtrusive areas, and a single formally dressed marine with parade ground automatic rifle in all its shiny splendor at cross arms near the metal detector weilding security people. It all looked quite impressive and despite a few grumbles, the visitors to the building were accepting. She supposed most people felt a little safer after getting past the heightened security.
She walked out the front doors to scan the stairs and street leading up to the lobby. Her assistant, Tom Lee, was already there talking to an individual she hadn't met yet.
"Janice, this is Bobby Weisnman. He will be in charge of moving in the concrete barriers and two armored car vans leased from Brinks. We are going to position them according to the plan, there..." and he pointed to the corner area North of the building, "...and there", now pointing to the South corner. "That will effectively block off the side streets."
Which she knew helped to keep an intruder away from the closest points of contact to the building from the street. Still, a jeep or utility vehicle like a Blazer could wind its ways on the sloping grass lawns in close. She wondered if a Stinger crew could be placed on either side of the building. She and the team had neglected that approach before, but now that she was faced with a real probability of attack, her skill set was kicking in. Maybe the National Guard could be scrambled and have two or maybe four teams sent over. The rules of engagement were pretty simple. No one was supposed to be driving their vehicle across the grass, so if they saw someone do that, blow them away, worry about it later. Even a green reservist (if there was such a thing anymore) could deal with that one.
Then looking at the street in front, she knew the concrete abutments weren't going to be enough. There was a wide sidewalk in front of the building across the way. They would need another set to lock that down. Also, another thing they had missed, was security for the office building across the way. Someone could enter from the opposite side, move through the ground floor of that building and right out onto their facing street. Maybe they could do something to semi-permanently block off that door. A big refacing project with those metal crossing poles and chains on the doors. More than that perhaps, a small forklift with a dead battery (really fully disfunctional so someone couldn't slip in new battery and move it). She let her mind ponder on that one awhile as she asked the new person about more concrete for in front of the building in question. Then as Tom and the stranger began to argue about how much and how high, she turned away and called Greeve's number fully expecting a busy signal.
"Greeve's. Make it quick."
"Yes Sir. Carlisle. How about two pair of stinger crews from the National Guard on the roof to guard the grassy hills on the sides of the building?"
"I'll think on it. When do you need a decision?"
"I can call a warning order over via the Governer while your thinking, then you can talk to him yourself when you're ready."
"Okay, but I'll call him in a minute, I have to do that anyway. I'll let you know if he agrees tentively at least."
"Thanks. I am spending some money on more concrete out front two, and want to seal off the door across the way."
She waited as she imagined Greeve pondering in his mind's eye what the street in front looked like.
"That sounds okay too. Screw the budget, whatever you think we need other than tanks. I'll get back to you." A click was her goodbye and she almost grinned at the predictability of it all. Soon he WOULD be barking out his drill seargent like orders. Well anyway he was letting her run with it and run she would.
"Tom" and she gestured her assistant back over. "I want to seal that door. Can you go over and ask nicely, and if they refuse, let me know and I'll get Judge Adams to do a Federal Imminent Domain under the security regs and force em. But I'd like it to be nice and friendly if we can. I was thinking of some new construction...painter's platforms and maybe a forklift stuck in the doorway totally disabled."
Tom gave her that look she recognized. Almost in awe of her. Like many of the young people in the Federal building, they were in awe of anyone who had seen real action, and while she was sure noone but Greeve knew about her escapades, security forbad it, she was also sure the rumors were also just as tintilating. Now that she was in action, she was doubly as sure that it was high adventure for these folks with little experience in life's little excitements under federal employ. Well tough shit, time to grow up.
"Today, Tom, like in right way" she snapped but then
smiled to take a little of the sting out of it.
"Yes Sir!" was the reply and the poor young guy almost saluted. Good.
As she hurried off, her cell phone beeped and she answered the first of many calls in the personal safety side of her crisis station.
******************************************88
Goody felt elated as the chopper set down at the pad on top of the Federal Building. But the site of two Marines moving out of cover in full camo and wicked looking M-16s took the air out of sails instantly. Had something happened? Or were they all just responding to possible repercussions of what he and the Anti-Terror boys had just done. It was alarming on one hand, but comforting on the other. Nice to know we have some real soldier types out hear to protect the federal property.
As he exited the chopper he waved to the Marines and gave them a thumbs up. The prisoner ships had already come and gone, so he knew the prisoners were being processed in the basement, and soon would be waiting for interogation, a piece of the puzzle he was glad to be able to participate in. He was already planning on getting Janice behind one of the one way mirrors...her uptake would be invaluable he knew...she read trash like this so well, even if their weren't rag heads. He corrected himself, almost immediately, it was becoming a bad habit, one that he had learned in the far East, and one certainly troublesome for a senior agent.
He took the stairs instead of the elevator down to the 8th floor where his office was, and considered giving Janice a call on her cellular, noticing she wasn't at her desk. But he realized if the guys on top were out catting around up there, then the whole building was probably in an uproar. That meant she was probably in the thick of it. He called her office phone instead and left a terse message, "I'm in house, call me when you get time, no rush, I'm okay.".
Then he sat down himself to de-stress a little, wishing for the millionth time he had not given up smoking. He grabbed a golf tee from the little box on his desk that read, "Better than a cancer stick any day!". He chewed on it for awhile, and decided to hit the Internet to see if anyone had reported their handy work yet. Unless the Aryians had someone watching their compound from afar, there should be no news until the FBI announced their raid. He wondered if there were cameras on any of the choppers, and promised himself to ask. A video of the assault would be great publicity grabber, although on second thought, it might also yield some collateral group backlash, so maybe it was a bum idea after all. He didn't worry about it much though, as he realized he was going to succumb to a single malt whisky to help calm his nerves, something he only did <i>after<i> action. He quickly typed an AAR (After Action Report) draft, using the handy form on the FBI Intranet while he waited for the first militia web site to respond to his request for the home page.
In about fifteen minutes he confirmed no news had spread. He began to work on his version of a press release, knowing the SAIC would have his own PR people working on that. However, it never hurt to be ready if he was asked. As the senior of the FBI special ops team, he might be asked to fill in any capacity when the SAIC felt like it.
Sure enough, a call came in from the SAICs secretary, requesting he compose the PR and send it off to D.C. for the AD --Assistant Director for Anti-Terror and AD for Central Region to approve. It was nice ol lead butt was smart enough to let him run with that little detail, so his estimation of Greeve rose just a little. "Wonder how Janice is getting along with him lately?" he asked himself, and realized with chagrin that he had spoken out loud, cuz Mac had walked in and said, "If you talked to that fine lady a wee bit more often, you might have a better vacation you doony fool of a man". Mac always slipped into his Scottish accent when kidding around or drinking, despite his almost Oxford English accent most other times.
"Ach, you're a cruddy old Scot, now arncha me lad. Why don't you put some underwear on and get rid of that damned dress you poofter" replied Goody in his best Welsh imitation. This got a grin out of the old boy as he sauntered into his doored office imitating a man adjusting his beret. Mac, as an old timer in Denver, and here til he retired, rated a nice walled in office, unlike Goody's temporary quarters in High Tech carpet walled cubeland. It was in that office that he fully expected to get a slight introduction to the Malt Whiskey he needed to calm his nerves, so he stood up and followed his new friend in and closed the door. Mac was already fishing out the wee little bottle, and Goody closed the blinds on the glass panel next to the door to ensure some privacy as they broke federal regulations of all sorts for embibing on the job and on federal property during working hours and in a non-recreational area to boot.
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A few hours later, Janice checked her voice mail and heard Goody's message. He answered his phone on the second ring, "Goody".
"Well killer, how went your day?" she asked and was greeted with dead silence. Her joke, having obviously fallen flat for the very obvious, she felt more the fool than perhaps she should. "Oh god, I'm sorry. You were more than just an observer. Fuck I am so stupid.
Let me buy you a drink!"
"Don't have to, Mac already did. If you sneak up here, he'll buy you one too. I bet your day hasn't been all that fun either."
"You got it. It'll take me about five minutes." and she hung before he changed his mind. An invite into man's world was never turned down by the likes of her, especially when in the company of her protector...the only one she had ever allowed in the role.
She was vain enough to check herself in the Girl's room making sure the brief bursts of Denver winds outside hadn't messed her up or the snow flakes hadn't messed her almost non-existent makeup. Then a quick trip up the elevator, a dash to her office to check for any urgent emails, and she was ready for the Mac-man.
"I'm here, the party can start" she said as she entered the closed door. Mac was in his chair, feet up on his desk, breaking another reg no doubt, and Goody was over against the wall, his chair rocked backwards at an alarming angle, his feet balancing the whole affair against the veteran's desk, which for some reason seemed to be glued to the floor.
"Well, I'm gald to see ya, lassie" replied the Scotsman. "Yorin but a sight for sore eyes after today's doins' believe you me".
She cursied and replied, "Why thank you kind soir. And what would a poor lass be havin' to do enjoy a glass of that darlin' brown liquid thare?"
"Why you've already done it, a makin' may day a wee bit better. Pull up a chair." was the invite and she was much inclined to take the advise. As Mac magically withdrew another glass from the confines of his desk, she pulled his last remaining chair up closer so she could show Goody her remarkable legs, her skirt hiking up a bit to show even more.
Just as she was getting comfortable, and reaching across to take the glass, the door opened and that asshole Greeve walked in. He stopped looked at the situation and froze, a question stopped cold on his lips. "Well" he started. And then pulled a glass from behind his back and reached out, "I'll take a little of that liquid courage myself, if you don't mind". They all looked at him stunned. He looked back. Then he deliberately and slowly closed the door turned back and said, "Come on, it has been a helluva day already and I haven't heard shit about what you guys have been up to. I want...no, check that. I desperately need to hear it all, every little detail. And why can't you guys figure out a way for the SAIC to go out on these little forays. I miss the action so much my teeth hurt!"
They all stared at him for a few seconds that seemed like minutes, before breaking into laughter and falling over themselves to make sure the bloody asshole got his share of the wee bottle before it was empty.