“That says a lot coming from you,” Logan said. “I mean, you’re the one who figured out how to start producing diesel again.”
“I did, but my work skills and life experience helped me along,” he said with a smile. “For Zach, he could have read a book and done it.” He shifted in his seat and looked around before continuing. “What I’m about to say isn’t for everyone to know, because I’d most likely bruise some egos, but most of those people who are supposedly running the place don’t have a good understanding of what they’re doing. Stark did, but he’s a defeated man now. Duckworth is a good one you two can depend on, and there are a couple of others.”
“The rest are shit,” Johnny G said. “Just like here. We have some good worker bees, but they don’t have any concept of how to run this place and never will.”
“Unfortunately, a few malcontents convinced a bunch of people that they were being used and mistreated, and that Rochelle VanAllen would cure everything,” Roscoe said.
“I don’t know if you listened to any of her campaign speeches, but she promised the moon and the stars,” Johnny G said. “Now she’s dead and we have her husband, a semi-intelligent worker bee, as our leader.”
Logan had been resting his chin in his hand. He glanced over at his brother, who shrugged.
“We’ve never been all that interested in politics, but we understand what you’re saying,” he said and rubbed his nose. “You aren’t the first people to warn us and we take it seriously. We won’t be used, and we won’t be played. Even so, we have been hired to solve the murder of the President of the United States, and we take our duties seriously.”
Logan stood and stretched. Liam stood as well.
“If you two don’t mind, we’re going to mingle and socialize,” Liam said. “Maybe something will turn up. Once we get this sorted out, we’ll talk some more. Hell, after this is over, we might have to take you up on the offer to live here.”
“Consider it an open invitation,” Roscoe said with a smile.
The brothers thanked them and then meandered over to another table full of people and began talking to them. Roscoe and Johnny G watched. They could not hear what Liam had said, but the entire table erupted in laughter. Roscoe sipped some homemade hard cider before speaking in a low tone.
“Do you think they’ll come on board?”
“Hard to say,” Johnny G said. “They’re cops, and even more, I’ll go as far to say they’re honorable cops.”
“In their eyes, the law is the law and justice should always prevail,” Roscoe said.
“Yep. The question is, will they ever interpret Rochelle’s death as an act of justice? My answer would be, probably not.”
“They play dumb, but they aren’t,” Roscoe said.
Johnny G chuckled. “Did you hear they performed autopsies on the corpses? Who would have thought to do something like that?”
“Yeah, and who would’ve had the knowledge to know how to do it and what to look for? Not many. Maybe Zach and the docs, but not many others. Yeah, they’re smart ones. They think in tandem. Kind of like you and me.”
“Which means, in all likelihood, they will figure it out. They probably have already, but they don’t have enough evidence yet to openly make an accusation.”
Roscoe murmured his agreement. “What do you propose we do?”
Johnny G said nothing for a moment and took a sip of his cider. “I think, for the time being, we do nothing. Let it play itself out. Unless it interferes with our plans.”
Roscoe rubbed his chin, and even though he said nothing, he nodded in agreement.
Chapter 10 – Justin
Captain Justin Smithson was mad enough to chew up nails and spit them out. He had spent the entire day at Mount Weather, and it wasn’t because he wanted to. What he wanted was to go back to Fort Detrick, but that did not seem to matter to the president.
After the funeral, he spent a little time with his Marines. He did not get many opportunities to hang out with them anymore. He had a glass of homemade wine and chatted with them for an hour before walking out of the party barn and heading to his vehicle. All he wanted to do was go back home to Fort Detrick where his wife and kid awaited him.
But his holiness, Gil VanAllen, had ordered him to stand by at Mount Weather until further notice. He needed a clear head, so he sat in the cafeteria drinking tea until he was summoned a few hours later. VanAllen and the acting vice president, William Rhinehart were waiting for him. Gil’s bodyguards, D-Day and Ruby sat off to one side. All of them appeared as though meeting with him was an enormous pain in the ass.
In the past, when he met with President Stark, the man always dressed in a manner befitting a president. VanAllen was wearing a long sweater that somebody’s grandmother might have once worn and was smoking a pipe that emitted some rancid smelling odor.
“Sit down, Captain,” William said by way of greeting.
There was no mention of the performance of his Marines at the funeral. No atta boys, nothing. There was also no apology or explanation of why he’d been kept waiting so long. Instead, they began peppering him with a litany of questions about his interactions with Zach and his life back in Tennessee. After several minutes, the questions started becoming repetitive.
When Justin had reached the end of his patience, he cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen, you are at the point where you are wasting my time. If there is nothing else, I’d like to get back to Fort Detrick.”
He started to stand, but the president motioned for him to sit back down.
“Have a look at this and tell us what your thoughts are, Captain,”
