The Tin Man

covert ops they were involved in, and Jon saw it as his duty to his company’s shareholders to get as much of that money as possible.

“Well, since I’ve scared off all the major airplane manufacturers and the FAA,” he said with a shrug, “I might as well help you out. Exactly how much money are we talking about here, Hal?”

Briggs and Wohl were still watching the replay on the screen. When they saw the aftermath of the explosions and then looked at the man who had sat atop 150 pounds of TNT and survived, they were astounded. “Name it, Doc,” Briggs said, his voice hoarse with excitement. “Show us a way BERP can help my guys in the field, and you can name your price.”

Jon Masters was smiling broadly now. “Patrick and Wendy have been working on a few interesting items,” he said. “Patrick calls it his Ultimate Soldier program. All based around this.” He withdrew the piece of BERP material from his pocket and held it out for Briggs and Wohl.

“This is it?” Chris Wohl asked. “This is BERP?”

“That’s it,” Masters acknowledged. He felt Wohl’s black battle-dress uniform and Wohl scowled in irritation. Masters withdrew his hand quickly, as if he had touched a hot stove. “About the same thickness as your fatigues there, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“It’s too shiny, too slick,” Wohl said. “It’ll make noise when you move. Doesn’t breathe like cotton either. It’ll be hot as hell in a desert environment and cold as hell in cold weather.”

Masters hit the keyboard on his computer, freezing the digital video playback. He pointed to the intact first- class section of the airliner. “Gunny, we can dull it, and we can build in an environmental unit to keep the wearer comfortable. But can your cotton BDU’s save your ass like this?”

Briggs and Wohl looked at each other, their minds racing. Then Briggs turned to Masters and said, “Doc, show us what else you got, and we’ll go Christmas shopping. When can we see everything?”

“Patrick runs the program, and he’s here in Sacramento,” Masters explained. “In fact, Wendy’s having her baby today.”

“No shit!” Briggs exclaimed. “I thought she wasn’t due to pop for another couple of weeks.”

“It’s happening right now, Hal-in fact, it should’ve already happened,” Masters said. “We’ve set up an office here in Sacramento, out at the secure development center at Sacramento-Mather Jetport, and Patrick can demo his stuff for you there. He’s got some cosmic stuff that I’m sure he had you guys specifically in mind for.”

Mercy San Juan Hospital,

Citrus Heights, California

several hours later

Paul McLanahan breezed into the hospital room carrying bouquets of flowers and balloons and almost ran smack into the departing doctor. He found Patrick sitting beside the bed, holding Wendy’s hand and brushing back her hair from her sweaty forehead. The room was furnished to look more like a regular bedroom than a sterile hospital room-the hospital bed like a bed at home, a comfortable couch and chairs, nice wall decorations, a pleasing dresser.

But the image was spoiled by a cart stacked high with monitoring equipment, plus an IV stand with two large bags of clear fluid on the other side of the bed, the lines leading to Wendy’s right arm. The sight made Paul’s heart sink. “Patrick?”

“Paul!” Patrick exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I thought this was your first night of duty?”

“I’m on my way to the South Station to report in, but I wasn’t going to show until I stopped in to see the new baby-except I see he hasn’t arrived yet.” Paul was wearing a civilian blue-and-brown Gore-Tex foul-weather jacket, but when he removed it, Patrick saw that he had his uniform on underneath. “I had a class this afternoon that I had to be at in uniform,” he added, “but I’m not officially on duty, so I had to cover up.” He wore matching police department patches on both sleeves, a simple brass nametag, and a dark blue turtle-neck shirt under his uniform blouse with the letters SPD embroidered on the neck. His shoes were polished to a high gloss. He wasn’t wearing a utility belt, but he did have a small semiautomatic pistol in a clip-on holster on his belt. All standard gear, except for a small American-flag pin over his nametag.

Man oh man, Patrick thought, the kid looks good in a uniform! Sacramento Police Department uniforms, especially for rookies, are as plain as can be, but on his little brother it looked as sharp as a tuxedo. Or was that just because his little brother was wearing it?

Of course, Patrick’s eyes were drawn to the badge, a large silver seven-pointed star with “Sacramento Police” and a badge number, 109, in black, probably not much different from the original Gold Rush-era badges of the Sacramento Police Department. Patrick knew the history of badge number 109-it had been their dad’s patrolman badge, and their grandfather’s badge, and their greatgrandfather’s badge, made from silver instead of chrome, as they were now. The first McLanahan cop, Shane, had not worn a badge number, but he was known to be the ninth patrolman recruited in the newly incorporated city. So when they issued badge numbers years later, future McLanahans first inherited number 9, then 109 when the department grew and badge numbers had three digits. It was a source of intense pride for Paul to wear it. Legacy was very important for police officers. In a profession where death can be a moment away, it was reassuring and right for cops to feel a sense of history and continuity, as if the badge made its wearer invincible.

“C’mon in, bro,” Wendy said. Her voice was strained from fatigue and pain, but she wore a welcoming smile and held out her hand. Paul found a place for the flowers and balloons, gave her a kiss, and pulled a chair over to her bedside. “You look great, Paul,” she said. “Ready for duty? Your first night on patrol-how exciting!”

“I thought you guys got dressed in the locker room,” said Patrick.

“We do, but I sat in on an MDT class-that’s Mobile Data Terminal, the communications terminal in the cars- downtown, and I had to be in uniform for that,” Paul explained. “The academy doesn’t teach the MDT because the various departments use different systems, but I wanted to be up to speed before I hit the streets.

“But forget about me, you guys, what about you? When I got the message this morning that you guys were headed to Mercy, I thought the baby was going to be born in the back of the car. Sheesh, Patrick, maybe you’d better wait outside-he’s obviously afraid to come out and face you.” His smile dimmed as he noticed that his brother and sister-in-law weren’t sharing his joke. “Any complications?”

“Wendy’s in labor and she’s one hundred percent effaced, but not dilated over three centimeters,” Patrick said, reciting the obstetrical lingo he had been hearing for hours now. “She’s been in labor since three A.M. and her water broke at five, but it had blood in it so we came right in. The doc found blood and meconium-baby shit-in the amniotic fluid, so he was worried about infection. They hooked the baby up to a monitor with a probe attached to his scalp, and of course they got Wendy wired for sound and put an IV in at the same time. So no walking around, no relaxing showers-our delivery plan pretty much went out the window fifteen minutes after we arrived here.”

Patrick offered Wendy some crushed ice to keep her hydrated-she initially refused, but relented after a mock stern demand from her husband. He pointed to one of the monitors. “Here’s the baby’s vitals, and here’s Wendy’s uterine monitor…”-he watched as the graphing needle started a rapid climb-“… and here’s another contraction. Deep cleansing breath, sweetie.” Wendy took a deep breath and expelled it all the way out, her eyebrows knotting in concentration as she tried to separate her mind from her pain, as they had taught in Lamaze class. “Good. About thirty seconds to the peak. Don’t hold your breath, hon. Let it out through your teeth if you need to, but don’t hold it… good. Five seconds… that’s the peak, hon, you’re doing good… on the way down, about thirty seconds and it’ll be over… real good, babe, you did good. Give me another deep cleansing breath. Relax your hands, sweetie, and relax those toes too, you’re staying tense when you should be relaxing. You need another calf massage?” He reached over to knead her left calf.

Paul looked at the strip of paper unreeling beneath the monitor-Wendy had obviously been undergoing this same ordeal for a real long time now. His sister-in-law looked as if she had been beaten up and left in a sauna. The sheets were wet with sweat, and her face was ashen from the exertion. “How much longer, Patrick?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I hope things start happening soon. It’s kicking Wendy’s butt pretty good. They don’t want to give her any pain stuff until she’s dilated to five centimeters.”

“I’m sure that will be a big relief-I know it will be for me,” Paul said, wondering if he could ever be as strong and as together as they were. “I think I’m having sympathetic abdominal pains.” He