about the dangers to himself and others—especially himself—if he gets near my equipment without letting me know first.”
“Slept in this morning, I see,” Kelsey said to Jason with a trace of humor in her green eyes—her rather gorgeous green eyes, Jason had to admit. He ignored her, mostly because she was too damned perky and together to be for real.
Jason turned to Jefferson instead. “I want everybody kept away from the Humvees until I’ve had a chance to brief everyone on their operation,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Yes, sir,” Jefferson responded.
“Next item, Sergeant Major: are all the showers screwed up like mine is?”
“If you mean is the hot water not on and do the pipes need flushing out: yes, sir. This facility was mostly shut down when we arrived—there wasn’t time to get everything up and running.”
“That’s unacceptable, Sergeant Major,” Jason said. “I realize the urgent nature of our mission, but piss-poor planning on the White House’s part shouldn’t become a hardship on our part—there’ll be plenty of time for that when we get on the road. I want you to find every available unoccupied transient or visitor’s quarters available at Cannon, divide our crew into shifts, and send them over there for rest, a shower, and a meal.”
“We can’t spare the time or the manpower,” Kelsey DeLaine interjected. “We need to be up and running in less than six days.”
“Agent DeLaine, I don’t care what Chamberlain said—I’m not going to have bone-tired soldiers working around my equipment,” Jason said. “Everyone here understands the urgency of our mission, and we’ll all work as hard as we can. But CID works because my directorate is careful, deliberate, and we don’t make bonehead mistakes. I’m going to keep it that way. Sergeant Major, see to the crew rest rotation schedule, and have someone out at the air base get our facilities fixed ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.” Jason was relieved to see Jefferson’s scowl had lessened a noticeable bit—obviously his way of showing his approval—as he turned to issue orders.
“Next item: What time does the chow hall open, Sergeant Major?”
“The chow hall here at Facility Twelve is closed, sir,” Jefferson replied. “Because of the THREATCON ALPHA security alert, all civilian contractors without at least a Confidential security clearance are prohibited from entering this area. Hours had to be severely cut for all support services. We’ve requested MREs and box lunches until we can get hot meals prepared again.”
“That won’t work either, Sergeant Major.” He thought for a moment; then: “Is there a Pizza Hut near Cannon?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Sergeant Major, in all your years of experience, do you know of any military installation in the continental United States that does not have a Pizza Hut right outside the front gate?”
Jefferson glared at Richter as if he was trying to decide if the man was pulling his leg or not. “There are usually an abundance of civilian fast-food restaurants within a very short distance of the entrance of every CONUS military base that I am aware of, sir,” he replied with a deep threatening voice, obviously warning the young major to get to the point quickly and not to fuck with him in front of all these outsiders.
“And are there any restrictions to the movement of properly credentialed military persons on and off the base?”
“Not at this time, sir.”
“Then I want you to find a vehicle and a couple of men and pick up as many pizzas as you think we’ll need for all the personnel here for lunch and dinner,” Jason said. He pulled out his wallet and handed him a credit card. “That should take care of it. Make mine pepperoni and sausage. And scout around to find out what other restaurants are nearby—even I will get sick of pizza.”
Jefferson blinked in surprise, but his voice never wavered: “Yes, sir,” he responded. He motioned for a soldier working nearby to make the arrangements.
“It’s understandable that you want to be fed and clean, Major,” Kelsey said impatiently, “and I think it’s cute how you’re trying to take charge here like this, but we really don’t have time…”
“Agent DeLaine, as I said, I don’t want tired, hungry, cranky people working around my weapon systems,” Jason said. “You may think it’s ‘cute’ that I’m trying to look out for the men and women who are stuck out here, but even us Officer Candidate School ‘ninety-day wonders’ learn to take care of our people first. I assume if my latrine and meals were screwed up, everybody else’s is too. Am I wrong? Did you have a hot shower and breakfast this morning, Agent DeLaine?”
“No, but we…”
“Sergeant Major, did anyone here have a hot shower and hot meal here this morning?”
“No, sir. None of the personnel that arrived last night had either. I cannot speak for the base personnel assigned to us by the Air Force.”
“There you go—an invitation to disaster,” Jason insisted. “Any other complaints, Agent DeLaine?” He didn’t give her an opportunity to answer. “Good. Next item: I want coffee, and I want a target,” Jason said.
“A target?”
“Coffee first, and then I want to find out who and what to hit first,” Jason repeated. Kelsey looked as if she was ready to protest again, so he turned back to Jefferson. “Sergeant Major, where’s the damned coffee?”
“Right this way, sir,” and he headed off toward a small office inside the hangar.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Kelsey protested. “We need to have a meeting first! We have a staff to organize. We need progress milestones, a timetable, set up a daily report…”
“Why don’t I leave that up to you?” Jason suggested over his shoulder to Kelsey. “I think all we need is some fresh intel and a plane that’ll get us to wherever the bad guys are. CID will do the rest.”
Jefferson led the way to the coffee—actually an old metal percolator half-full of boiling water on an even older hot plate, with Styrofoam cups and packets of instant coffee from MRE kits strewn about—but stopped before entering. “I think Special Agent DeLaine is right, sir,” he said. “We’ve got a mixed task force here—civilians, military, Army, Air Force—that has never trained or fought together before. We should take the time to organize and plan strategies before we head off into the field.”
“How many agents and soldiers were we given, Sergeant Major?” Jason asked.
“I have a support staff of three, a security staff of six, plus two Special Forces instructors here with me, sir,” Jefferson replied. “We have two staff officers, one from the Marine Corps and one from the Air Force. Agent DeLaine has one FBI intelligence officer with her.”
“Doesn’t seem to me that we have anybody to plan or train with.”
“The typical procedure, sir, is to build a game plan—a TO&E, or Table of Organization and Equipment— and then requisition the personnel, weapons, and equipment we’ll need to execute the plan,” Jefferson said evenly, like an impatient teacher explaining an important point to a rambunctious teenager. “We can’t move forward without a plan. I believe Mr. Chamberlain is prepared to give us anything we need to make this task force mission- ready. But we have to tell him what we need first, and the best way to do that is to sit down and make some decisions.”
“The ‘typical’ procedure,” Jason repeated. He could see that Sergeant Major Jefferson was unaccustomed to being questioned as to how things should be done. Jason turned and motioned toward the C-130 and his two Humvees in the hangar. “I believe we have everything we need right there, Sergeant Major,” he said. “Let’s load it up and get the bad guys.”
Sergeant Major Jefferson took in a lungful of air and looked for all the world like he wanted to start barking at Richter; Kelsey quickly interceded before he did. “Let’s try it our way, okay, Jason?” she asked. “This is our first full day here. Let’s come to an agreement on how we want to proceed, come up with a workable plan, then upchannel it to Chamberlain. If we’re together on the plan, it’ll stand a good chance of getting approved.” Jason looked as if he was going to keep arguing, so Kelsey let her voice rise a bit. “I think the sergeant major and I have a bit more experience in organizing, training, and employing a task force than you do, Major. Try it our way for now, all right?”
Jason saw Ari enter the hangar, now wearing a dark blue warm-up suit, still a little groggy, and decided he wasn’t going to get much help from her yet, so he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go meet with the staff and talk.” He endured Jefferson’s exasperated scowl as they exited the little office and headed for the conference room in the main hangar.
