Trevor gave him an entirely different reason. 'No, I can’t go losing her.'
'What?'
Nina, from her listening post, grew confused.
'I realized something today as I watched her fight,' Trevor explained. 'I realized that we can’t lose her. We need her to win this whole thing. Without her, we’re toast. I’m toast.'
'That surprises me, after the shit she pulled today.'
'Oh, she just wanted to show me up. That hand signal thing was just a kids’ game. I’m a big boy. Taking that risk with the hostage…that was a problem. She’s got to start understanding what this is all about. She’s got to do that fast because I can’t afford to lose her now that I know what she is.'
' What she is? And what is that?'
'Well, if I'm the knight in shining armor in all this,' Trevor said, 'then she's my sword.'
– A window and a wide counter separated the kitchen from the rest of the church basement hall. The equipment in that kitchen recalled 1960s styling but had been solidly built and well maintained over the years.
The dirty white paint of the kitchen walls differed dramatically from the dark paneling lining the rest of the basement. Dull brown linoleum, with patches of bubbles and rips, covered the floor throughout and a series of fluorescent lights radiated flat illumination over rows of long tables and metal folding chairs.
Despite the aged styling and boring ambiance, the basement offered a cheery, homey feel due to crayon sketches drawn by pre-Armageddon Sunday school kids. Tacked around the room were drawings depicting the church and its small steeple, crude portraits of Jesus and Mary, angels, disciples, and many that were no more than jumbles of colored lines from tiny hands.
The early breakfast crowd sat around the hall and included Lori Brewer. She had stationed herself alone at the end of the table furthest away from the stairs that ascended to the outside world. She held a paperback mystery.
Sal toiled at the stove aided by the two teenage sisters who had served with Stonewall as medics but who spent the two weeks since the kitchen opened working with ‘Chef’ Corso.
Lori heard the sizzle and crack of frying eggs, the beat of a whisk whipping pancake batter, the clang of dishes hauled from cupboards, and the pleasing glunk-glunk-glunk of juice poured from pitcher to glass.
She smelled salty, farm-fresh bacon, the sugary scent of syrup dripping over butter patties atop fluffy pancakes, and the whiff of her own mug of fresh-brewed coffee.
The sounds and smells surrounded her like a warm blanket chasing away goose bumps and cued memories of the diner where Jon had taken her on their very first date way back when life felt new.
Lori smiled to herself, just a little, then firmly grasped the well-worn pages of the paperback. She did read the words on those pages but the novel served as a front hiding her reconnaissance mission. If her husband found out what she was up to he would berate her for giving in to her counselor’s curiosity.
She peeked at her watch: 7:28 am.
A couple of Stonewall’s folks gathered at a table sipping coffee while Evan Godfrey, the newest addition, stumbled to the counter in search of breakfast. Lori made a mental note to get to know Evan. He had been at the estate for over a week now and she still had not talked to him.
However, Evan would have to wait. Lori had hurried to the basement that morning not for him, but for Nina Forest. Well, partly for Nina Forest.
Lori had come to know that Nina arrived at the church every morning for breakfast at 7:15 a.m., give or take exactly thirty seconds.
True to form, Nina had indeed arrived fifteen minutes ago and remained in the hall sitting by her lonesome. She studied the most up-to-date ‘Hostiles Database’ binder in between fork-fulls of eggs, strips of bacon, and the occasional sip of condensed orange juice.
Lori rested the book on the tabletop and held her coffee cup in both hands.
She waited.
While Trevor Stone and Dick Stone had few things in common, they did share one trait: neither were early risers. During the first week after the church basement opened, Lori had not seen him in the place before 8:30. However, in recent days he seemed to have found a new side to himself, a side that desired an early breakfast.
Preferably by 7:30, Lori figured.
She finished a sip of java and swapped the mug for her prop: the book.
A commotion erupted around the entrance as Danny Washburn, Jon Brewer and Trevor walked in together, laughing loudly.
Lori glanced at Nina.
Forest afforded the newcomers a brief glimpse.
Then another.
Nina shook her head as if annoyed at the distraction, and then returned her attention to the 'Hostiles Database'.
The men stopped at the counter, grabbed mugs and plates, and Trevor led them to a table as far away as possible from Nina Forest’s position. Trevor hurried to a seat against the wall.
Lori’s eyebrow rose. She did not think it a coincidence that his seat afforded a good view of Nina.
Stone, usually a man of few words, was surprisingly vocal at breakfast in recent days, or so Lori observed. Now he spoke to Jon and Danny about sports, hunting, and projects in need of attention. All the talk interspersed with quips and laughter.
As for Nina, her eyes remained planted in the binder. Lori guessed a marching band could not force Nina’s eyes from those pages. She wondered, however, if Nina actually read the words printed there or if the binder had become her own prop, much like Lori’s mystery.
It took the three men ten minutes to devour their breakfasts. Jon broke away from the trio as they dispersed to visit with his wife. Lori alternated her eyes between Trevor, as he walked toward the exit stairs, and Nina as she kept her vision glued to the binder.
Jon asked, 'Whatchya doing?'
Lori did not look at her husband. She watched Nina close as Trevor climbed the stairs. First one step, then two…a few more and he would be gone.
Nina Forest cast her eyes toward the stairs, catching a quick glimpse of Trevor as he left the basement. When he disappeared outside, Nina returned her attention to the binder.
'I said, what are you doing? Earth to Lori?'
'Oh, sorry honey,' Lori gave him a peck on the cheek.
'So what are you doing? Reading a good mystery?'
Lori smiled, 'A good mystery?'
Jon did not know why she smiled. In a way, he felt glad he did not know.
'It’s a good one,' she confessed. 'But I can already see where it’s going.'
Mrs. Brewer sipped her coffee.
Oh yeah, can see this coming a mile away.
The one-time counselor was not the only one who noticed. That other person sat hidden away at a tiny table in the corner picking at the remains of a canned peach.
Sheila Evans lost her appetite.
12. Raid 'The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable.'
— Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Jon Brewer walked into the Command Center and reported, 'We’re bringing the convoy vehicles around now.'
Trevor glanced up from the papers spread on the big desk and acknowledged, 'Good.'
'How tough is this going to be?'
Trevor answered, 'I don’t think it’s going to be hard. We hit the Cross Valley Expressway, bypass the city, get on the Interstate, and we’re at the airport. About forty minutes unless there’s stuff in our way.'
Jon did an about-face and, as he left, said, 'Everything will be ready in a few minutes.'
