Ken Goddard - Double blind

"And presumably without getting themselves or their partners killed in the process," Halahan suggested wryly.

"That was the general idea." Freddy Moore smiled. "According to the script, backup agents are available, but radio communications are out. The girlfriend is unpredictable and may be armed and dangerous — Marashenko, by any definition. Donato and LiBrandi were born to the roles of sleazy congressman and lobbyist/bagman. Wu steps onstage as the ever-faithful congressional aide who doubles as a bodyguard, and LiBrandi brings along his own street-smart baby-sitter — a role played to perfection by our genuine Harlem street kid Antone Green — to keep an eye on the money. I figured all that just might make our boys sweat a little for a change."

"You think Bravo Team came up with a legitimate solution to the problem?"

Moore shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it. Starting out by poisoning the opposing team leader's lunch isn't exactly what I'd call a textbook solution."

"They actually poisoned Riley?" Halahan interrupted, blinking in surprise.

"Depends on your definition." Freddy Moore failed miserably in his attempt not to grin. "The base nurse suspects a massive dose of a fast-acting purgative, most likely self-administered by the victim through an unfortunate double helping of refried beans and hot sauce. The cafeteria staff claims complete ignorance, and I understand the medical staff declined to investigate the matter any further."

"In other words, you're suggesting it was Riley's own fault?"

"For going about his business in a predictable manner and leaving himself open to a very effective countermove?" Moore shrugged. "I suppose you could look at it that way."

"And as far as the congressional contact issue goes," the Special Ops chief raised the potentially explosive issue calmly, "I guess there's not much point in being overly concerned with diplomatic nuances when your congressman/suspect manages to get himself handcuffed to his lobbyist/bagman buddy, and then ends up getting dragged headfirst into a functioning septic tank when said buddy dives for a loose gun." Halahan shook his head at the memory. "Probably a good moral in there somewhere."

"No doubt."

"Am I being reasonable in assuming that Bravo Team also bribed at least one of the groundskeepers to lay a new pathway to the cabin last night?" Halahan continued, in his methodical manner, to nail down the details of the debacle.

"Yep. Got them to run it right over the nearby septic tank, the top of which the grounds crew and a couple of as-yet-unidentified assistants thoughtfully replaced with a bunch of mostly sawed-through crossbeams and some real thin bender-board, and then covered with gravel." Moore chuckled. "That seems to have been Woeshack's contribution to the overall plan. He claims his ancestors used to hunt mammoths on the Arctic slopes using the same technique."

"Agent Woeshack lacks a firm grip on reality," Halahan reminded his deputy dryly. "He's also believes he's a halfway decent pilot."

"True, but I understand he also came up with the dish-detergent-on-the-roof ploy to supplement Takahara's snake-in-the-box surprise, which you have to admit was a nice touch."

"Effective, if nothing else," Halahan conceded. "Continue."

"Well, with Riley out of the picture, that freed up Stoner in terms of size and muscle. But my guess is that after watching the individual exercises, Paxton figured that Lightstone would have trouble with Wu and those flying kicks of his, no matter how things worked out," Moore postulated. "I imagine he and Takahara did a little research and discovered something in Wu's and Green's backgrounds suggesting that they might be effectively distracted by the sudden and unexpected appearance of a twelve-foot reticulated python."

"Who the hell wouldn't be?"

"Exactly. Which only left one major problem."

"How to deal with Marashenko?"

Freddy Moore nodded.

"Bravo Team knew she could be a significant problem, no matter how they rigged the game," he easily surmised. "They saw her shoot in the simulator courses, and I gather they were suitably impressed. They had to assume she'd either be armed, or have access to a weapon. That meant that if they let her get to her gun — or anyone's gun for that matter — she could take out the entire team."

"Thus the distraction." Halahan sighed.

"Yep." Freddy Moore tried to suppress another grin.

"Think she'll file an EEO complaint against Lightstone?"

"For what," Moore asked reasonably. "The hug and kiss, or the choke-hold?"

"I'm not sure one was any more legal than the other."

The deputy chief considered this possibility for a long moment before answering.

"I don't think so," he finally concluded. "Marashenko's a tough gal and a damn good rookie agent. My guess is that she's more embarrassed than anything because she let Lightstone catch her off guard. In retrospect, she should've kissed him right back, smiled, stepped back, drawn her Smith, and threatened to double-tap him — heart and head — if he so much as twitched. Instead, she lost her temper… and her gun."

"Not to mention the object of the exercise when LiBrandi dived for the damn thing and dragged Donato into the septic tank with him." Halahan shook his head, still not quite believing what he had seen.

"One of life's finer moments." Freddy Moore smiled cheerfully. "The stuff of which legends are born."

"Legends?"

Moore shrugged. "Pretty much guaranteed in this case. Word is that Takahara set up two concealed video cameras to record the entire exercise. I don't think Charlie Team's going to live this one down for quite a while."

Halahan sighed deeply. "No, I suppose not."

The chief of Special Ops treated his subordinate supervisor to another long silence.

"So what do we do about them?" he finally asked.

"Bravo or Charlie?"

"Charlie."

"They're good young agents, but they got their confidence pretty badly shaken today," Moore replied frankly. "I wouldn't recommend sending them out on their own on anything really serious just yet."

"What about that Oregon deal?"

"What Oregon deal?" Freddy Moore's expression darkened in confusion. "You mean Boggs?"

Halahan shook his head. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of that character who's supposedly selling Bigfoot souvenirs. The one who claims to be a direct descendent of Cochise, and therefore immune from federal prosecution."

"I vaguely remember reading the report." Moore's features slowly cleared. "Didn't he turn out to be just some crazy-old-fart white guy, Jim Star or Starrs or something like that, whose great-great-grandmother may have had a part-Indian boyfriend who might have been an Apache, but nobody knew for sure… or cared, for that matter?"

"That's our boy." Halahan smiled. "Calls himself the Sage now."

"As in prophet?"

"Or dried-up weed, take your pick."

"Well" — Moore pondered Halahan's remarks thoughtfully — "since we both agree that even the federal government would be a little reluctant to prosecute a certifiably crazy person for selling souvenirs made out of a creature that doesn't exist, am I to assume that the Sage has gone out and done something even more stupid than usual?"

"How would you rate selling genuine Apache battle charms to California tourists?"

"Serves them right for thinking they escaped into God's country," the Special Ops deputy chief commented. "Personally, I happen to be a firm believer in the concept of 'buyer beware'… But, by the way, what the hell's an Apache battle charm?"

"Beats me." Halahan smiled. "And I doubt our friend the Sage knows either. But according to the lab, at least one of his offerings included a bald eagle feather."

"Christ, he probably found it on the ground somewhere." Moore snorted disgustedly. "You're telling me you want to put a whole goddamned Special Ops team on a guy like this when we've got a whole shit-pot-full of serious killers and dealers waiting in line to be worked?"