A Time for Patriots

“Should we get Dr. Masters to pull those sensors off the planes?” John de Carteret asked.

“Let’s not panic,” Patrick said. “The more stuff we do that looks like a cover-up, the worse it will go for us. The cover-up is always worse than the crime. I’d be more than happy to stand in front of a judge and jury and explain what we were doing.”

Patrick put in a call to Jon Masters: “Where are you guys?” he asked over the secure voice connection.

“Ahhh… I think it might be better if you didn’t know, Patrick,” Jon said.

“Gotcha,” Patrick said. “Probably so, since I’m sure I’ll be questioned by the FBI soon. I’m surprised they’re not here already. What’s going on?”

“We were told early yesterday evening to gather our stuff and depart,” Jon said. “Not the downlinks or surveillance equipment, but… you know, the other stuff.”

“Gotcha. Who told you to take off?”

“Ahhh…”

“Gotcha. Talk to you soon.”

Patrick, Gia, and Brad drove over to the housing area. Sure enough, their trailer was one of dozens caught in the blaze. They were prevented from going near it by base firefighters. “How did it start?” Patrick asked the deputy fire chief at the checkpoint.

“Too early to tell, General,” the chief said. “The police were summoned out here last night because of some arguments between two or three groups, but everything broke up shortly after the police showed up. A few hours later, we got the call. It looks like the origin was very close to your trailer, sir.”

“ My trailer?”

“Good thing you weren’t home — whatever was used as the primary, it was hot and powerful — more powerful than dynamite, maybe PETN or RDX,” the fire chief said. “We’ll start the investigation shortly, along with the Air Force Office of Special Investigations and the FBI. Sorry, sir. We’ll let you know what happens.”

They drove back to Patrick’s office in silence. Patrick brought Gia and Brad something to drink and fixed himself coffee. “Everybody all right?” he said once they were settled.

“I’m cool,” Brad said. “It’s funny — all I have was the overnight stuff we brought on the trip, but I’m not bummed. I can’t think of anything important I lost except maybe my laptop. I guess it’s because I didn’t have that much to begin with.”

“Gia?” She had been completely silent since landing at Battle Mountain, and now she was staring blankly at some spot on Patrick’s desk. “You haven’t said much, sweetie.” Patrick reached out and touched her arm. “Are you—”

“Don’t touch me!” she cried out, jumping out of her seat so quickly that her drink and Patrick’s coffee went flying. Gia wrapped her arms around her waist and began to sob. “I could have been killed last night if we were at that trailer!” She looked at Patrick and Brad in amazement. “You two are acting as if nothing’s happened! First you say that we have to go back right away because you might have to talk with the FBI, and then your trailer is blown up — and neither of you seems to think it’s anything out of the ordinary! What is wrong with you two?” And she stormed out, pushing the door open so hard that it rebounded off the wall.

“Gia! Wait!” Patrick shouted. He started for the door…

… and ran headlong into none other than Special Agent Philip Chastain, accompanied by another man he didn’t recognize. “Just the man I want to see,” Chastain said, showing his badge. “Going somewhere, General?”

“My girlfriend—”

“I think she wants to be alone right now,” Chastain said. “I’m going to need a few things from you.”

“I’m not answering any questions without my—”

“Oh, that broken record again,” Chastain said. Patrick noticed that the agent was wearing a different kind of shirt, one with a much higher collar — obviously to hide the bruises on his neck caused by being manhandled by the Tin Man. “I wasn’t going to ask any questions. I just need some things.” Patrick glanced over Chastain’s shoulder and saw David Bellville walking quickly away from the conference room. He gave Patrick a wink.

Chastain held up a document. “Warrant to seize computers, other electronic communications equipment, hard drives, and other documents stored here and in your aircraft hangar. Mind handing over the keys? I’d hate to punch the locks on your pretty little plane.” Patrick nodded to Brad, who produced the hangar and aircraft keys. “Thank you, son. I have a warrant to search your trailer too, but I guess that’ll have to wait until the fire inspector and OSI are done. Any other locked safes I need keys for?”

“No.”

“Fine. Now, you’re not under arrest, General — yet — but I’m telling you not to go anywhere unless you notify me first. It might not look so good for you at the grand jury if we find you’ve disappeared.” He held up another document. “I have a warrant to search Jonathan Masters’s aircraft and seize certain pieces of equipment, including the robot and the armor you terrorized myself and my agents with. The plane is not in its hangar. Where is it?”

“I want to speak with a lawyer before I answer any questions.”

“You’re not under arrest, General,” Chastain said. He looked at Patrick carefully, studying every movement on his face. “Where did Masters go?” No answer. “When did he leave?” Still no reply. “I’ll just check the control tower’s records. But it’s another example of how uncooperative you are. I’m sure the grand jury will want to hear that also. I still have my suspicions about you, General. You’re not the Sir Lancelot in shining armor the rest of the world thinks you are.”

He stepped closer to Patrick so they were almost nose to nose. “Do you know, Agent Brady will never be able to raise his left arm above his shoulder again, thanks to you and your buddy? He’ll be driving a desk from now on, maybe get himself a medical retirement if they can’t get the pain under control. And you know what else, you bastard? You know that pill you made me swallow? I’m told whenever it’s interrogated and transmits a signal, it could cause cancer. I’ve got a wife and two young kids, you son of a bitch. Maybe you should have killed me, McLanahan… because I’m about to make your life a living hell.” And he turned and stormed out of the office.

“What are we going to do now, Dad?” Brad asked. “Where are we going to go?”

Patrick spent several long minutes feeling a mixture of puzzlement and suspicion, then turned back to his son. “First, I want to look for Gia,” he said. “She was pretty upset, and I didn’t notice it. Next, we should get some lunch. After that, we should go to the store so we can pick up some supplies. If we find Gia, we’ll go to transient billeting for the night; if we don’t, I think we’ll just camp out here in the office on cots, okay?”

“Sure. I can get some cots and sleeping bags out of the CAP storage locker.”

“Good. And while we’re at the store, I want to get a really good laptop. I’ve got some studying to do.”

Ten

A community is like a ship; everyone ought to be prepared to take the helm.

— Henrik Ibsen

Patrick’s Office, Joint Air Base Battle Mountain

Late that evening

Patrick was reviewing the hundreds of gigabytes of sensor data that David Bellville had copied onto flash drives before their laptops were seized by the FBI. Brad was asleep in a sleeping bag on a cot just a few feet away. Patrick had been staring at sensor images for six hours and nothing was jumping out at him. He had the last twelve hours of images in front of him from two different sensor passes. The computer was flagging about a dozen points of interest, but when Patrick zoomed in on those particular spots, nothing was apparent. The computer could tell him when something had changed, but it couldn’t tell him if that particular something was relevant to anything. Besides, even if he wanted to take a look, he couldn’t — he had no planes.

Patrick activated his subcutaneous transceiver: “Jon?”

“Hey, dude,” Jon Masters replied a few moments later. “How’s it going?”