“As soon as I wash off the dust.” I wanted to leave, but I kept waiting for some huge boot to drop on my neck.
He noticed my lingering, actually looking up at me over the top of his smart glasses. “Is there something else you need, Captain?”
“No, no…” I faked a laugh, pulling my hat from my waistband. “On my way out.”
No one stopped me as I headed back through the building and out into the evening heat. Or as I plodded through the parking lot to my car. With a tap of my key fob my car chirped and started up, the air conditioner preset at full. I held the door open for a moment to let hot air out, but also one last verification someone wasn’t going to drag me off to a dark room for a ten-hour interrogation.
No one lurked in the dusky shadows. I started to get into my car, but dropped my keys. Bending down, I saw marks on the asphalt, scuffs that ran up under my car. It had been days since I parked. Dust storms had deposited several layers of sand on and around my car, so there was no doubt something had recently been next to my car, pushed up under it.
Shit, shit, shit! I cursed in my head as I picked up my keys. I’d pulled embassy duty in the Middle-East for my first military posting. Cars were a favorite target of attack. A million procedures ran through my head in that few seconds. It wasn’t attached to my ignition. It might be pressure sensitive, waiting for me to sit down, or attached to the drive shaft, waiting for the vehicle to move. Or I was being watched and it was radio controlled.
Did that mean they were possibly listening too? Maybe it was just a tracking device. If I was being monitored, standing here was certainly going to raise questions. Say something. Look like you forgot something. I took a few steps away from my car, letting the door auto-close. “Why do I always forget?” I pretended to wander back towards HQ, pulling out my phone.
I got Delgado’s inbox. “Hey, babe. I forgot to charge up again. Can you come and get me? I’ll meet you at the club.”
CHAPTER
4
The base tram was near the corner so I ran the last few meters. It was packed and noisy. I pocketed my phone and looked around. A buzz-topped E-1 stood behind me. “Private, my phone’s dead, can I borrow yours?”
He stared at me for a moment, his mouth opened slightly. He looked fresh out of boot camp. “Yes… Yes, ma’am!” He dug in his pocket and produced a phone.
“Thanks.” I dialed Lutz. “Been out on the range all week and forgot.” I turned my back on him and relied on the noise to drown me out. Lutz answered. “Dude. The club. Now!”
“What…”
“NOW!” I hung up, no explanation and quickly dialed another number.
“Hello, Officer Delgado here.” I knew he’d pick up this number, no matter what. It was his emergency number for disasters.
“Casey.” My heart skipped a beat to hear his voice.
“Where you calling me from and why do you need me to pick you up? I charged your car before you went on duty.”
“I know. Something happened. Can’t explain right now. Come get me.”
“I’ll be there in… thirty minutes.”
I disconnected and turned back to the private. “Thank you, again.”
“No problem, ma’am.” He bowed his head, saluting not required here.
I focused on the ride. If they were watching, or listening, I’d need to remain somewhere noisy. The tram and the bar both qualified. It took nearly a half-hour to reach the club, where most the riders got off. I was able to stay wedged between the kid and some old Master Sergeant, until we slipped out of the broiling heat and into the cool dark club.
The guys were gentlemen and let me up to the bar first, where I grabbed a can of beer. Not seeing Lutz or Casey, I headed on through the building to the gym on the back side, with a locker room. I had looked forward to getting home and hitting the pool for a nighttime swim. Instead I had to settle for a quick shower.
I shivered through a cold shower, getting the grim off and giving me a surge of energy. I kept a vacuum-sealed bag in my duffle, a set of civvies for emergencies. Levis, a clean sports bra and a tank top. I let my hair out of the tight knot I kept hidden by my cap. A good spray of dry shampoo and a brushing fluffed it out and made it smell decent again.
With a glance in the mirror and I was not the captain in desert brown BDUs, but a petite, dark-skinned local hanging at the club. Plenty of the young Cocopah girls worked on base and while I wasn’t one of the River People, white people didn’t know the difference.
Not the same rule among the Native Americans. On paper I was Navajo, but there was an unspoken family secret about our true heritage. My parents didn’t speak of it except in veiled comments, promising I’d learn the truth ‘when the time was right’.
At nearly 29 years old, I wasn’t holding my breath for that truth. I’d graduated high school with scholarships and got accepted into the U.S. Military Academy for the Marine Corps. I came out with honors, lieutenant bars and a degree in linguistics. No surprise there. I spoke Navajo on the Res, Spanish on the back streets of Tucson, and English for the white schools. I picked up French and Arabic at the academy, easily adding two more regional dialects during my first tour of the Middle East.
Picked up two more middle-east languages on my second tour. Along with a bullet wound, temporary hearing loss in one ear and a tattoo I didn’t hide, or flash around
