Holding Their Own: The Toymaker (21 page)

The president could feel the vibrations of trouble brewing. Like a seasoned captain could sense the health of the ship’s engines through the deck under his feet, he knew turmoil, strife, and backlash were about to rear their ugly heads. War was the inevitable result. 

He’d never had any political aspirations whatsoever, let alone any objectives of sitting in the Oval Office. Not once did he visualize a future of kissing babies, shaking hands, or of giving an acceptance speech in front of an enthusiastic crowd of supporters.

His boyhood dreams had been of soldiering, defending the flag, preserving the American way, and strolling across the battlefield like a victorious Audie Murphy or John Wayne.

Military service was everything he’d hoped, at least until promotions and the recognition of his politically astute mind had taken him away from the core of Uncle Sam’s Army. They sent him to Washington for reasons unknown. He reported as ordered, arriving as an exceptionally bright, freshly minted young colonel.

He could remember those days clearly, the excitement and sense of purpose associated with working in the nation’s capital. Better still, everyone knew the path to achieve the Mount Olympus of military careers lead through the Pentagon.

The bowels of the political machine that was the U.S. federal government required a steady diet of fresh meat. Light colonels were a dime a dozen at the Pentagon, essentially the main course for a very hungry beast. They were consumed in quantity, chewed up and swallowed by the all-powerful triad of elected officials, the military industrial complex, and the enormous amounts of money that flowed through the system.

The gifted military phenomenon was thrust into a grinder that had long ago forgotten the men and women who actually did the fighting. Contracts, purchase orders, grants, and procurement commitments were all that mattered to the vast majority of the people he interacted with. No one seemed to care about the 18-year-old private being asked to carry a weapon into battle. There was no consideration of the young sailor who would be charged with making the missile system function properly, his life and ship depending on the technology purchased to assist him.

The Colonel was fine with all of that. Men were greedy. Corporations existed for profit. Senators and Congressmen won votes by bringing jobs and federal dollars back home. No, the political aspect was to be expected, and while he found the breadth of the carnage somewhat surprising, it wasn’t his primary issue.

No, what began to eat at the young officer’s core was the fact that his superiors seemed more than happy to play along. These were the men he had admired, valiant leaders and brilliant military minds giving inspiration to the young officer. Until he began to work at the Pentagon.

He watched senior officers sell their souls for the promise of a corner office after retirement. He witnessed reports being faked and test results being altered in order to keep the pipeline of money flowing in the right direction.

All the while, no one seemed the least bit concerned about the citizens who had volunteered to serve and protect their country. No one had the common soldier’s best interest at heart, and it poisoned the Colonel’s soul.

Within three months, he had requested transfer. Within six, he considered resigning.

And now… now he was the man behind the curtain, pulling levers and pushing the buttons of that very same machine. He was now in charge of the beast that consumed men. It was his finger on the big trigger, and he despised it.

The hatred and bigotry against the Alliance was just such a charade. Like those officers before, the truth was being twisted, manipulated and ignored. There was a cadence in the air – a march toward war.

Like the overpriced, underperforming weapons systems of before, the president knew none of the insiders cared one bit about the men and women who would die if conflict came. No one addressed the suffering that would occur on both sides. That was far away from Washington. Any battle would occur in the Southwest, and wasn’t that mostly wasteland anyway?

Rising from his lunch, the president left the dining room and decided on a stroll to help him think. The cigar he retrieved from his desk on the way out would do its part in helping clear his mind.

He needed a solution to the growing problem in New Mexico, the dilemma both complex and a political hot potato.

Strolling through the perfectly manicured grounds of Camp David, the Commander in Chief realized this wasn’t the first time he’d been taxed with the burden of a pending civil war.

His thoughts returned to a time when the Independents threatened to tear the country apart. Massive numbers of troops and equipment had chosen to follow their leadership, and it had almost spelled the destruction of what little remained of the nation.

How had they avoided that?

Grunting, the president thought about his old employee… and now friend. He visualized Bishop toiling on that patch of desert scrub he called a ranch. The image of his former contractor wearing a western hat, sweat-soaked shirt and worn work gloves actually brought a smile to the chief executive’s face.

“What a waste,” he grumbled. “One of the best shooters I’ve ever seen, and he wants to spend his days chasing cows around a worthless pit of sand and rock.”

“Sir?” Agent Powell asked, another Secret Service man and he stepping closer to the POTUS as they continued to shadow him.

“I’m sorry, Powell. I was just thinking aloud about an old friend of ours. You remember Bishop, don’t you?”

A scowl crossed the agent’s face, his hand subconsciously moving to rub his jaw where the Texan had landed a particularly hard right hook. “Yes, sir, I remember him.”

“I know you don’t like my comrade down in Texas, Powell, but you have to admit, there’s never a dull moment when he’s around.”

“Are you asking my opinion, sir?”

The president thought he knew, but what the hell. “Yes, I am.”

“That man is out of control, sir. He is a danger to anyone around him, and I’m surprised someone hasn’t killed him before now.”

Chuckling, the Commander in Chief thought to have a little fun with his bodyguard. “It seems he’s a hard man to kill, wouldn’t you say?”

“He’s lucky, sir. That’s all there is to it. The man is a loose cannon, and that kind always end up in the same place – a 6x3 farm with a headstone for an address, with lots of their friends residing nearby.”

“Oh, I’ll admit Bishop is a cowboy. No doubt about that. But sometimes the world needs men who act on passion and honor alone. He’s bailed me out more than once.”

“Yes, sir,” Powell replied, thinking he’d said too much already.

The three men continued their stroll, the president puffing on his stogie, apparently admiring the landscape.

With an abrupt motion that surprised his escorts, the president turned and looked at Powell. “Yes, sometimes the world needs a cowboy. I need to talk with Miss Brown. Someone hook up a call… or transmission… or whatever you call it.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then the chief executive hesitated. “No, never mind. Belay that. There’s something more important right this second. Where are my grandchildren? It’s time to have a talk with them about their father.”

Bishop was helping his wife with the laundry, the hot tub’s spring-fed water providing a handy place to clean their wardrobes.

Terri had procured a new type of soap during her last visit to Alpha, the mushy, yellow substance having come from the core of a cactus common to the area. Who knew?

It didn’t smell bad, but its bubble yield was disappointing – a fact that made Terri’s face wrinkle. “The real test is
your
son’s dirty underpants. I look forward to the day when somebody starts making disposable diapers again. Washing out these cloth rags just plain sucks.”

Bishop grinned at his wife’s complaint, thinking of comparing her remarks to a recent encounter he’d experienced with the windmill pump, but decided against it. Then, he just couldn’t hold it any more.

“I thought you had friends in high places? You need to set the record straight with Diana and the council, help them realize the error in their priorities. To hell with antibiotics, insulin, law and order, and electricity for all… we need diapers!”

His response was a splash of water, the airborne wave catching him across the face.
I hope that was from the rinse tub
, he thought.
Still, it was better than a rock.

Peace again returned to the desert, Bishop deciding there was wisdom in silence while he twisted each item, wringing out the excess water, and then hanging the article on a nearby line.

Trying to scrub the stain from one of Hunter’s better efforts, Terri held the swath of cloth up to the sunlight to see if the new detergent was the equal to her son’s bodily functions. “Not bad,” she noted.

Smiling at his wife, readying to make a smartass remark, Bishop’s face flashed to serious. “Company,” he warned, dropping a damp shirt and moving for the nearby rifle.

Terri turned, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. She could see the trail of dust rising up from what could only be a car driving across the ranch. “Before you ask, no, I wasn’t expecting the Avon lady.”

The couple, now both armed, watched as the pickup approached their home. “I hope that’s not bad news from Nick’s venture into New Mexico,” Bishop said.

“I hope so, too,” Terri responded, glancing over at Hunter napping in his stroller, and moving to put herself between the visitors and her child.

The Texans watched as the truck rolled to a stop, both doors opening to reveal a young man and woman. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Bishop ventured, “Teenagers? Maybe they were out for a joyride and got lost?”

“With the price of gas?” Terri responded. “Better not be.”

And then Terri recognized David and Samantha, the Colonel’s grandchildren. Bishop was right behind her.

The reunion was joyous, hugs, handshakes and observations of, “My, look how you’ve both grown!”

Hunter received the same comments.

During it all, Bishop knew why the now-president’s grandchildren were in Alpha.

Remaining polite, and genuinely thrilled to see both teens doing so well, Bishop let the conversation go on about Meraton, David’s flying, his sister’s studies, and the general well-being of their grandpa.

Bishop and David reminisced about Bones, the stripped down Humvee the Texan had stolen from the Columbian drug dealers and used to procure medical devices to save the Colonel.

The celebration moved inside, Terri pouring cold water, and offering the visitors what little they had in the way of snacks.

Both kids, after a knowing look at each other, declined. “Actually, we’re here on business… sort of. Our father has been taken prisoner, and the whole situation is getting out of hand. We came to ask both of you to help Sam and me,” David admitted, looking Bishop straight in the eye.

“You don’t say,” Bishop replied, skepticism written all over his face. “And what kind of shit storm does the Colonel want to pull us into now?”

“Actually, grandpa forbade us to come here. We’re probably going to be in trouble when we go back. We kind of… err… borrowed an airplane,” Sam confessed.

The Texan started to scold the two youths, but once glance from Terri stopped him short.

“It must be pretty serious,” she said in a sympathetic voice. “What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s more than just our dad,” Sam pleaded. “A friend of yours… Kevin? Right before we left, grandpa was reading the reports and told us that a guy named Kevin had been taken prisoner as well.”

Bishop looked at Terri, asking the unspoken question of, “Have you heard of any of this?”

She responded, “Diana wouldn’t let me stay with her while Nick was gone. She said she was a big girl, and that I had a family to take care of. This is the first I have heard of this.”

The frustration of finding out their friends were in trouble via such a remote, unlikely source, didn’t sit well with Bishop. While he appreciated Nick and Diana respecting their privacy, it seemed they’d taken it too far.

Turning to his wife, Bishop said, “Why don’t you pack some things? I think we’re going to be gone for a while.”

Nodding, Terri flashed a smile of worry. “I was hoping you’d say that.”