John Miller - Inside Out

“Lots of times,” George said quickly, not wanting to piss him off again.

“Alone? Just the two of you?”

“Yeah. The tower out there… it's our secret clubhouse. Was before, I mean. We never bothered nothing.”

“We don't ever hurt anything,” Matt added soulfully.

George thought Matt sounded pathetic.

“Where did you get these?” The old man picked up the binoculars.

“They were in the tower. They were already broken.”

“Theft of government property,” the old man said with a sigh. He looked as fragile as ash.

He stood behind them and placed one wrinkled fist on each boy's shoulder. George eyed the pocketknife in the old man's right hand, the blade inches from his cheek. “Aren't you scared to come here alone to this dangerous place?” the old man asked softly.

“It's not dangerous,” George said, grasping for straws. “If you're careful on the broken stairs, it isn't.”

“Signs say ‘armed response.' Did you know you could be shot for sneaking in here?”

“We thought it was a bluff,” Matt protested, eyeing the solemn-faced men watching them. “Nobody ever came before.”

George looked at the guns on the table. The stacks of loaded magazines. The large pistols. The table was filled with fascinating equipment.

“Nobody till you,” Matt added. “Are you Army men?”

“We're Special Forces,” the old man answered. His eyes flickered to take in his men, standing nearby, watching silently. “I am a general. My men and I are not going to be here long. But it's vital that nobody bothers us while we're working. This is a top-secret mission. I'm not entirely sure I should let you go. You might tell people, and then it could get back to the other side and we could lose a very important and extremely expensive war game.”

“We wouldn't ever tell, no matter what,” Matt vowed. “We're real good at secrets. We never, ever told anybody about this place. It's our secret and if we told, other kids would take it away.”

“If you don't tell my dad, I won't tell anybody about you guys fixing up your stuff here. He'll kill me, honest,” George heard himself say.

The old man was silent for a long time. Then he said tenderly, “Eat your apple. I'm not going to put you in jail this time… or even call your parents. But, George and Matthew-if you ever mention our presence, you and your parents will be in serious trouble. Just so you understand this is not a joke. Do I have your word of honor you will never speak of this? Both of you?”

Both boys nodded enthusiastically. “Well,” Matt said, “we thought it was a UFO you had in here.”

“Wouldn't that be something,” the old man murmured. “If you two can keep the secret and not tell anybody, you can come here anytime you like after we're gone and play all you want.”

“I bet riding in a helicopter is real fun,” Matt said. “When I grow up I'm going to be a helicopter pilot in the Army and fight with missiles and machine guns like yours.”

“I'm sure you will. You keep my secret and I'll make certain you get in the Army.”

“You sure got a lot of guns and stuff,” George said, relaxing, his excitement growing. “Are they real?”

“When you were spying on us, did you learn anything?” the general suddenly asked George.

“I heard you talking about devils and marshals. And how you are going to do something nobody's ever done before.”

“What did you hear?”

“Break into whipsticks.”

The general's face froze; his smile became a grimace.

“I have an idea,” the general said. “Boys, this is Ralph. He's a helicopter pilot. He will take you both for a nice helicopter ride.”

“Yes!” Matt exclaimed, not believing their good fortune.

“I have to be home by five-thirty,” George told him, hoping that wouldn't make the general cancel their ride.

“Oh, you'll be down well before five,” the old man assured him. “Don't want you two out after dark. Nobody knows better than I do how dangerous a place the world is.” The old man looked at Ralph. “Take special care of these boys.”

Rook Island, North Carolina

Martinez followed Sean out onto the porch, where Winter sat in a wicker chair with Midnight on his lap. Sean took a seat in a rocking chair near Winter. Midnight hopped down, sprang up into her lap, and looked up into her eyes. She stroked the animal, seemingly comforted by its soft fur, its purring, as she seemed to noticeably relax.

“Traitor,” Winter said to Midnight.

“I want to thank you for telling me the truth,” Sean told Winter, without looking at him. “I'm sorry if I got you in hot water.” It was the truth. She felt terrible despite the fact that her reaction to what he had told her wasn't her fault.

“It's not a problem,” Winter replied.

“Somebody should have told you the truth,” Martinez said. Sean liked Angela Martinez. The woman had shown her nothing but kindness.

“That would have been nice,” Sean said quietly.

When the front door swung open, Midnight leaped from her lap and raced off around the corner. Sean looked up to see Dylan step out onto the porch with Cross following behind him.

Dylan walked over and stood directly in front of her chair. Instead of turning her eyes away from him, she met his stare with a new kind of determination in her eyes.

“We are going to talk,” he told her.

Sean felt a sudden rush of anger. “I've said everything I am going to say to you, and I am not interested in anything else you have to say. Ever.”

She was aware that Winter, Cross, and Martinez were exchanging concerned glances, but she didn't care. After what she had just discovered, she would never care what anyone thought of her again.

Dylan smiled, but his smile, once so comforting, made her feel sick.

“You have time for a cat but not your husband? Where's your capacity for forgiveness?”

“The cat has integrity,” she snapped, wanting to get up, get away from him, but he blocked her by leaning in and gripping the armrests.

“Move!” Sean ordered.

“Not until you agree to talk to me.”

“There's nothing to discuss.” Nothing he had said to her or could say mattered in the least. Sean had never suffered from indecisiveness. Once she made a decision, that was it.

Winter stood. “Back off, Devlin. Cross, escort Mr. Devlin to his room.”

Thank you, Winter, Sean thought, wishing she could confide in him how grateful she truly was.

“You don't have the authority to interfere between a man and his wife. You can't tell me to do anything, Mr. Ironman,” Dylan replied without taking his hands off Sean's chair or shifting his eyes from hers.

“Cross,” Winter said, “escort Mr. Devlin inside-now!”

“Fuck you, Massey,” Dylan told him.

Winter keyed the microphone. “Inspector, you might want to come out front. We have a situation.”

“You haven't seen a situation yet, Deputy,” Dylan said in a calm voice. “Sambo isn't going to change anything.”

Sean was relieved when Greg suddenly appeared, carrying a gun-shaped device Sean was unfamiliar with.

“Ms. Devlin, would you like to get up from the chair?”

Sean shook her head. “I would prefer he leave me alone.” Sean wasn't inclined to allow Dylan to control her at all, ever again. She would never again play the role of submissive, dutiful wife, blinded by passion.

“Mr. Devlin, step back,” Greg ordered.

“No,” Dylan said evenly. “Stay out of our business. My wife and I are going to have a talk — boy.”

“You see the stun gun I have in my hand?” Greg motioned menacingly. “If you don't back off, I am going to put you on the floorboards and restrain you for the duration. Choice is yours, Devlin. Back up or ride the lightning.” The Taser fired barbs that delivered 50,000 volts of electricity through wires connected to the weapon.