Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds (14 page)

For the first time in hours, Terri smiled, “I had the exact same phrase rolling around in my brain. Amazing.”

Bishop kissed the top of her head, taking a moment to enjoy the aroma of her hair. It was his favorite scent. “Brilliant minds on the same track,” he said, holding her tight and inhaling again. “Which means you know what I’m thinking right about now.”

Smacking him on the chest and playfully pushing away, she started giggling. “Stop that. And yes, I know what you’re thinking right about now because that’s what you’re
always
thinking. No brilliance required.”

The couple stood for a moment, enjoying a special embrace.

Grim’s voice interrupted their hug, the contractor’s tone indicating he wasn’t pleased with the Army driver’s bill of lading. “I ain’t signing for no three cases of grenades, Specialist. There were only two on this truck. What the fuck has happened to this man’s Army since I got out? Somebody had better come up with a third case of party favors, or I’m going to start kicking some mother-green ass right here in front of God and the civilians.”

Bishop shook his head, giving Terri one last kiss. “Gotta go,” he whispered. “The kids are fighting. I love you. I’ll be home soon.” 

Chapter 5

The doctor watched Nick button his shirt, noting the slight grimace as the big man moved in a certain way. “You’re showing no signs of infection, Nick, but that doesn’t mean you’re 100%. Take it easy. Give your body a chance to recover.”

“I feel fine,” replied the big man. “Good to go, Doc.”

“No, you aren’t, and I wish you’d park the bravado at my door. The surgeons at Fort Bliss did an excellent job, but they aren’t miracle workers. Your body took a lot of punishment, and it is going to take months before you’re back to normal. The more you aggravate and strain yourself now, the longer it will take.”

Nick nodded, a bit sheepish after the scolding. “Yes, sir. What about my… my drive… my libido? It’s not like me to have no interest or desire.”

The physician had been dreading the question. It was always the alpha-types that worried more about their reproductive equipment than hearts, lungs, or limbs.  “Most likely, things will get back to normal soon. That’s what I keep trying to tell you; take it easy. Half days at most. No physical activity. No stress.”

“Would you mind telling Diana that we’re going to have to delay the wedding? Can you come up with some medical excuse or something? I keep pretending… putting off the conversation.”

The sawbones rubbed his chin, “She is a wonderful, understanding woman. Just tell her. She’ll be fine, I’m sure. Besides, there’s no medical reason not to go through with the ceremonies. If you two love each other, sex is only part of the equation.”

Nick shook his head, “I can’t ask her to marry half a man, Doc. She is a young, vibrant lady who deserves intimacy and everything special that goes along with it. I can’t be that selfish.”

“Nick, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Just talk it through with her. Hell, there’s a good chance having that conversation might speed along your recovery. Trust me on this.”

“I suppose you’re right. I just keep hoping my God-issued equipment will start functioning again.”

Returning to his charting, the physician scribbled notes and then made for the door. Nick was right behind.

As the two men left the examination room, one of Nick’s lieutenants rose from a hall chair. “Sir, I hate to interrupt, but we’ve got a bit of a situation down at the courthouse. I tried to handle it given your schedule today, but I’m afraid this is going to require your attention.”

“What?” grumbled the big man.

“It seems our new ambassador has taken it upon himself to bring in his own security. A small team showed up this morning, and they are already butting heads with Diana’s watchers.”

“Shit,” Nick growled. “Come on, let’s go de-wad everybody’s panties.”

With his subordinate struggling to keep up, Nick stamped out of the doctor’s office, his long stride eating up the distance. A few blocks later, they approached an impromptu meeting on the courthouse steps. Three of the Alliance’s senior security men were involved in a heated discussion with a pair of strangers and the new ambassador.

“Nick! There you are,” Chase called out as he spotted the ex-operator approach. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The head of Alliance Security Services offered his hand to the two newcomers, both of whom looked like serious professionals. After introductions had been exchanged all around, Nick turned to Chase and suggested, “I wish you had talked with me about this situation before bringing in people we are unprepared to accommodate.”

“My apologies, sir, but I really didn’t think it would be an issue,” Chase replied. “After the incident that occurred my first evening in Alpha, I decided to put in a request for a standard emissary protection package. While technically there isn’t an embassy here, I am on extended assignment and qualify for some level of protection.”

“If you feel threatened in any way, we would have been happy to provide coverage,” Nick replied, eyeing the younger man suspiciously.

Chase had on his best diplomatic face, dismissing Nick’s offer with a casual wave and a broad smile. “There’s no reason why the Alliance should be burdened with my security, sir. You good folks have enough on your plate already. No, the U.S. government can provide for my needs, and in reality it’s their responsibility.”

Nick mulled over the ambassador’s words for a moment, finally nodding. “So here’s the deal. Just like the White House or Capitol Hill, your people are allowed anywhere but inside Ring-1. If you, ambassador, enter that inner sanctum, I expect your team to stop at the line and coordinate with my staff. It’s just like visiting the president, the Secret Service holds domain wherever the chief executive is located at the moment or will be traveling.”

After exchanging glances with his two men, Chase nodded his acceptance. “Sounds fair and practical.”

Again, a quick round of handshakes passed among the gathered men. At Nick’s suggestion, the new arrivals from the United States were offered a tour and the chance to meet some of the Alliance team they’d be working with. “Show them around and introduce them to our people,” Nick had ordered. “It may avert an accident later.”

After watching the bodyguards walk away, Chase turned to Nick and said, “How did things go at the doctor’s office?”

For a second, Nick thought the ambassador was implying something. “Fine. Why do you ask?” he questioned with a little more venom than intended.

Chase knew instantly he’d struck a nerve, but had no clue why. He decided to pry a bit deeper. Again, with the best possible smile, he explained, “Just concerned about a new acquaintance’s health and well-being is all. Besides, Diana and you are both critical to the Alliance, and
that is
my job.”

“While that may be true, Mr. Ambassador, my personal relationship with Diana is none of your concern,” the big man spat. Then without another word, Nick pivoted and clomped away.

“My, my,” Chase whispered, watching Nick enter the courthouse. “Someone is very sensitive this morning. Maybe it’s that time of the month.”

The old Baxter place wasn’t anything to write home about… although the layout of the land was a welcoming change. A lane that wound through well-established vegetation led to a modest bungalow that had seen better times. Weeds sprouted knee high around the foundation, cobwebs and mud dobber nests’ thick on the front porch. Two windows were boarded up and a patch of shingles was missing.

The nearby barn didn’t add to the curb appeal, the once workable structure now reduced to a pile of smoldering ashes and blackened studs projecting at odd angles.

Bishop could see beyond the dilapidated structures, noting the formation of the sheer black rock that defined the valley and the rich green of the plant life thriving in the rich bottomland. Less than a half mile away, he knew a wide creek meandered along, life-giving water for those downstream.

According to the maps Nick provided, two small springs fed that creek. Between them, enough water was produced to keep the brook bubbling, flowing fresh and clear even in the driest of times.

The three pickups pulling up the driveway were all chock-full of supplies. Bishop, driving the lead unit, was carrying an ATV and a motorcycle in the bed.

The contents of the second truck were covered by a tarp, Butter behind the wheel.

Grim brought up the rear, his bed stuffed with cardboard boxes, old duffle bags, and a random assortment of ratty-looking suitcases.

The squatters had arrived.

Once the team had parked and exited the cabs, Grim began making his initial assessment while the other team members unloaded the vehicles. “This ain’t a bad place at all,” he called out. “Easy to defend. The house needs a little sweat equity, but Butter needs something to occupy his mind anyway,” he chuckled as he tried out the rocker on the porch of the Victorian farmhouse. A wide grin spread across his face. “And I get to sleep in a bed for a change,” the contractor beamed as he checked the stability of the railing. “You know,” he continued as he bounded down the steps and headed for the truck, “I can’t help but notice that you’re doing a better job when it comes to getting us work, boss. Much improved.”

Bishop had to agree with Grim on one point. Whoever had picked the original spot to build the homestead a century ago must have had an eye for tactical defense.

Over the years, Bishop had found himself always visualizing how to defend a home, business, or section of land. It was a habit garnered from working security in some of the world’s most hostile environments. He’d discovered the older structures around his home state were often situated in prime defensive locations, taking calculated advantage of the natural elements of their surroundings. This, he concluded long ago, must have been due to the prevalence of outlaws, Indians, or hostile neighbors.

In the case of the Baxter hacienda, it was the sheer walls of the surrounding hills that had been utilized as a three-sided bastion of protection. Adding to the strategic, fort-like surroundings, the highest ground suitable for building had been selected, allowing clear fields of observation… and fire… to the valley beyond.

This was both good and bad news in Bishop’s way of looking at things. The home could only be approached from the front, which made setting up defensive positions much simpler. Yet, having only one way in also meant there was only one way out.     

“I don’t think we’ll be getting much sleep,” Bishop replied, scanning the surrounding hills. “And remember, we’re here to keep them from killing each other, not to fill a graveyard. This is going to be difficult at best.”

“Are you saying we can’t shoot back, Mr. Bishop?” Butter asked, a rare frown painting his face.

“We can, but just don’t hit anybody unless it’s down to you or them. The rules of engagement on this op are going to be frustrating as hell. That’s why we got all that stuff from the Army.”

Hunter and Grim began unloading while Bishop moved to the home and officially became a felon. Putting a boot to the front door, the Texan was surprised to find the interior in relatively good condition. Dusty for sure, with timeworn chairs and lamps scattered around the living room.

There were still dirty dishes in the sink. The Texan didn’t have the guts to open the fridge. Rodents had clearly had their run of the place.

Grim was right
, he concluded.
Despite its lack of upkeep, the old house beat the hell out of sleeping on the ground.

Finding a solar-powered well pump out back, Bishop decided running water would be their first priority. “Think like a squatter,” he mumbled. “Play your role and act the part. You plan on staying here for a while.”

Grim and Butter were piling boxes in the living room, unloading the trucks and bickering back and forth about who was carrying the majority of the weight. Bishop joined in, claiming both of them were slackers and panty wastes.

The team was rolling the ATV off the back of the truck when Grim nodded toward the east. “Riders coming in, Boss.”

“Already? That was quick,” Bishop responded, moving for a nearby rifle. “You guys know the drill. Scare the hell out of them.”

Butter and Grim split, both moving to cover positions without any instruction. The Texan was pleased with their reactions.

Four riders rumbled toward the homestead, a middle-aged woman in the lead. “This is private property,” she barked without any greeting. “Get off this land right now.”

“And who might you be,” Bishop retorted, making a show of chambering a round in his rifle.

“My name is Katherine Baxter, and this is private property. Now get out, before we run you out.”

Bishop scanned the three men accompanying the rather bossy woman.
Standard issue ranch hands
, he surmised.
Tough men, willing to fight, but not pros. They’re bunched up and nervous
.

“Now that’s not what the men in town were saying,” Bishop said, surprising the riders by stepping closer. “From what I heard, the owner of this place died some time ago, and obviously no one is living here. I overheard folks talking, and they were saying there wasn’t any clear claim on this place.”