David Baldacci - Hour Game

"And that's when the shoot-out happened?"

"He must have spotted us and opened fire, and we returned it. We had a sniper with us, and the kidnapper took one in the head."

"You said you recovered most of the money?"

Bailey laughed. "After he spotted us and opened fire, this idiot burned about five hundred thou of the five million total in the potbellied stove that was in the shack. I guess he was thinking we weren't going to get him and the money."

"Lucky you didn't hit Eddie," said Michelle.

He looked at her sternly. "It's easy to play Monday-morning quarterback."

"I'm not trying to second-guess what you did. I've been in situations like that too. It's never easy. The important thing is, Eddie lived."

"That's the way I've always seen it." Bailey pointed up ahead. "And there he is in the flesh."

They'd turned off the main highway and into a parking area filled with trucks, horse trailers, campers and RVs. Along one side numerous tents were set up. Michelle waved at Eddie, who was busy getting his gear together. They got out of the car and joined him.

"So what are you this time?" asked Bailey.

Eddie grinned. "I'm a man of many talents, so I've got multiple roles. First, I'm a major in the 52nd Virginia in an all-Virginia brigade under General John Pegram's Division. After that I saddle up as part of the 36th Virginia Cavalry Battalion, Johnson's Brigade under General Lomax's Division. I belong to lots of different units actually; they're always looking for bodies. Hell, I've mustered up in Confederate armies in Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama and even Texas. Done artillery, cavalry, infantry, even went up in an observation balloon once. Now, don't tell my mother, but I've suited up in Union blue on occasion too. "

"Sounds pretty involved," said Michelle.

"Oh, it's quite a show. There are primers for how to put one of these events together, complete with sample budgets, marketing plans, logistics, finding sponsors, that sort of thing."

Michelle pointed to the line of tents. "What are those?"

"They call them sutlers," replied Eddie. "During the actual Civil War merchants would follow the armies and sell them things. Sutlers nowadays sell period-style items and goods to reenactors and the public. As for the reenactors there are definitely different levels. They have the ones called thread-counters who make sure their uniforms are authentic down to fabric having the same thread count as during the real war, hence the nickname." Eddie deadpanned, "They're also referred to as the stitch Nazis." Bailey and Michelle laughed. "Then you have the other side of the spectrum, the Farbys; those are the ones who dare to have polyester in their uniforms or use plastic dinnerware during a reenactment, when those things weren't even invented at the time of the real war. I call them Julie instead of Johnny Rebs."

"So which are you, Nazi or Julie?" asked Michelle.

He grinned. "I'm a tweener. Most of my stuff is authentic, but I occasionally bend to the comforts of life at times as well." He lowered his voice, "Don't tell anyone, but my uniform has some rayon in it and, God forbid, Lycra. And if you press me on the point, I won't deny that there might be some plastic thingies on my person."

"Your secret is safe with me."

"I'm actually going to buy some stuff from the sutlers today. Everybody's gearing up for the reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg in Pennsylvania in July. Then we got the Spotsylvania, Virginia, campaign coming up; the Road to Atlanta and the Battle of Franklin are in the fall. But this battle today is a pretty big deal. The Union outnumbered the rebels by about a third on both the infantry and cavalry side and had over twice the number of artillery pieces, but the Yanks suffered double the number of killed and wounded."

As Michelle helped him with his gun, canteen and bedroll, she looked around at all the activity. "This is like a big movie production."

"Yeah, but without the big payday."

"Little boys who never grow up," replied Bailey, shaking his head and grinning. "The toys just get bigger and more elaborate."

"Is Dorothea here?" Michelle asked.

Eddie shrugged. "My good wife would rather have all her hair pulled out one strand at a time than come and see me play soldier." A bugle sounded. "Okay, the camps are open. They'll start with a little lecture about the battle and such, some infantry field drilling, music and then a cavalry demonstration."

"You said you're riding. Where's your mount?"

Eddie pointed to a thirteen-hands-high nimble-looking Tennessee walker tethered to a trailer parked next to Eddie's truck. "There's my ride, Jonas. Sally's taken good care of him, but that horse is ready for some real action."

They headed to the army camps. Michelle watched with great admiration as Eddie drilled on foot, then took Jonas through some very intricate paces during the cavalry demonstration. The spectators were required to leave the camps before the artillery barrage began. At the first salvo Michelle covered her ears.

Then the first day of the battle was announced.

Eddie pointed them to a spot where they could "watch me die gloriously." He also pointed out the hospitality tents. "Hot dogs and cold Buds. That's a perk no Civil War soldier ever saw," he said.

"I hear they're filming this," said Bailey.

"That's right. They shoot lots of them. For posterity," he added sarcastically.

"I'm assuming all the guns and cannon are loaded with blanks," said Michelle.

"Mine is. I sure as hell hope everyone else followed that same rule." Eddie smiled. "Don't worry, we're all pros here. There won't be any musket balls flying around." He stood and balanced all his equipment. "Sometimes I don't know how those guys walked, much less fought, with all this stuff. I'll see you later. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," said Michelle as he hustled off.

THE MESSAGE WAS SITTING ON Kyle's Jeep when he came down from his apartment. He opened the envelope and read the contents, a broad smile covering his face. It was from his prescription pill client, the crazy exhibitionist with a love for silenced weapons. She wanted to meet, at a local motel, very late that night. She had even included the room number. She apologized for what she'd done and wanted to make amends. She promised him five thousand dollars and, more intriguingly, consummation of what he'd expected to receive the last time. She wanted him, the letter said. She wanted him badly. He would never forget the experience. And she'd included another inducement: ten one-hundred-dollar bills. It was probably the very same cash she'd made him leave behind.

He put the money in his pocket, climbed into his Jeep and set off. His blackmail scheme hadn't paid off; he'd obviously been wrong about what he'd seen. But now this new opportunity had presented itself, and with the grand already in his pocket, how could he really lose? Okay, she probably wasn't playing with a full deck, but he didn't figure her for any more gun wielding. Why would she give him this much money if she didn't mean what she said? He would be very careful, but Kyle took this as perhaps the luckiest day of his life. And he told himself he'd be rough with her, as a little payback for scaring him so badly. He bet she liked it rough. Well, he'd give the bitch more than she bargained for. Big Kyle was on the warpath.

Michelle and Bailey watched through binoculars as the battle, or rather the series of skirmishes, took place all over the area: charges and countercharges and hand-to-hand fighting that looked incredibly realistic. Every time the cannon boomed Michelle jumped and Bailey laughed.

"Rookie," he said jokingly.

Columns of men in gray and butternut brown would pour out to be met by walls of their counterparts in blue. Even with all the smoke, shots, cannon fire, screams, confusion and rush of feet and smack of saber against saber everywhere, Michelle could easily see how the real thing would be far worse. At least no blood was pooling on the ground, no limbs were scattered around; there were no real sobs that heralded the dying gasps of the mortally wounded. The worst injury they'd observed was a sprained ankle.