Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

Victoria felt better. Much better. Her honor had been restored. She smiled. “Load him into the van. Maybe the people in Houston can sweat some more information out of him. Oh, and call 911… Tell them that a house went boom.”

THE MIDWEST JOINT REGIONAL CORRECTION FACILITY

FORT LEAVENWORTH, KANSAS

Mac’s feet were on her bunk, her hands were on the cement floor, and she was doing push-ups. She counted them out. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.” A full set. The first of what would be six sets by the end of the day. To stay in shape? No. To get in better shape. Why? To make progress. To control something if only by a little. Because the JRCF’s jailers dictated everything else, including what Mac ate, when she showered, and with whom she could mix, which was to say no one. Mac had been told that social privileges would come later, after the induction process was over.

She stood. Her cell consisted of eighty square feet, thirty-five of which were classified as “usable.” The rest was occupied by the bunk, a desk/seat combo, and storage space. There was a window, too, with a magnificent view of a parking lot. Mac sighed. Three weeks down and 205 left to go.

Mac knew she shouldn’t dwell on the length of her sentence. So to avoid that, she spent a lot of mental time elsewhere. And reading books was a good way to accomplish that. Not just as a means to escape, but as a way to exert control over what would and would not be allowed to enter her head.

Sit-ups came next. Six hundred a day, and Mac was busy working her way through the first set when the guards came for her. There were two MPs, and both had their game faces on. “Get up,” the tall one ordered. “You’re going for a stroll.”

Mac got up off the floor. “Where to?”

“The multi,” the short MP answered. “Multi” being shorthand for the prison’s multipurpose building.

“What for?”

“Who the hell knows?” the taller of the two replied. “Maybe they need a hero to mop the floor.”

That produced a guffaw from the short soldier. “That’s a good one, Hawkins, you’re funny.”

Mac had heard such comments before and was careful to maintain a straight face. Pushback, no matter how minor, could trigger a hundred subtle forms of revenge. “You know the drill,” Shorty added. “Let’s get on with it.”

Mac backed up to the bars, stuck her hands through the waist-high hole, and waited for the cuffs to go on. Once she heard the telltale click, Mac took two steps forward. A clanking sound was heard as the door slid open. “Okay,” the tall MP said. “Turn around and step out.”

With an MP on either side of her, Mac was escorted outside for the short walk to the multi. It housed food service, medical/dental, and the prison’s administrative offices. Mac figured she had been summoned for inoculations or something. But that theory went out the window as the MPs led her into the administrative area of the building. Her attorney was still fighting to get her sentence reduced. Or so he claimed. Had something gone wrong? Were they going to tell her that? Mac felt the first stirrings of fear.

They hadn’t gone far when Mac was handed off to a couple of men in civilian clothes. Criminal investigators? That was her best guess. They led Mac to a door marked COMMANDER. Holy shit! She was going in front of the man … or the woman, as the case might be. And that was a bad thing.

One of the agents opened the door for her, and the other one told Mac to enter. No words were spoken as they hustled her through an empty waiting room and past a middle-aged receptionist. The door to the office was open, and the room was empty. “Have a seat,” one of the agents said. “You might have to wait for a while.”

The comment proved to be prophetic. Fifteen interminable minutes passed as Mac sat and waited for what ? There was no way to know. But eventually she heard the sound of voices, followed by a commotion out in the hall, and movement behind her. “Remove her cuffs,” a female voice ordered. “And wait outside.”

Mac felt the handcuffs come off and turned to see that a lieutenant colonel was standing a few feet away. The woman nodded. “I’m Commander Omada… It was nice to meet you.” And with that, she was gone.

Mac was still trying to make sense of the comment when President Samuel Sloan entered the office. He grinned. “Hi, Mac… It’s good to see you.”

Mac was both dumbfounded and embarrassed by the prison outfit. She came to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to deliver the news myself,” Sloan told her. “I pardoned you.”

Mac couldn’t believe her ears. “You what ?”

“I pardoned you effective 0800 this morning, and I promoted you to major.”

“No,” Mac said. “You can’t! You shouldn’t. Don’t you understand? People will believe that the gossip is true! The scandal will bring you down.”

Sloan smiled. “You look pretty when you’re worried. Of course, you look pretty the rest of the time, too.”

“It’s not a joke,” Mac said emphatically. “The country needs you.”

“And they need you ,” Sloan countered. “Putting one of our most promising officers in the slammer for refusing an order from a man with severe PTSD was just plain stupid. And that’s what I’ll tell the press. A version of it, anyway. More than that, I’m going to announce the creation of a new cavalry battalion called Mac’s Marauders! It will consist of military prisoners chosen by you. There will be a tremendous ruckus at first… But after the dust settles, people will love it! You’ll have to deliver, though, or it could bring me down.”

Mac’s head was spinning. “But what about the rumors?”

Sloan’s expression hardened. “I will challenge the press to produce a single photo, or a credible individual, who witnessed any sort of romantic activity between us—and tell them to shut the hell up until they do. Unfortunately, that means I won’t be able to take you to dinner, ply you with alcohol, and seduce you as quickly as I had hoped to.”

Mac smiled in spite of herself. “That’s how it was going to play out?”

“Of course,” Sloan replied. “I’m irresistible.”

Mac laughed. “We’ll see about that… After you leave office.”

Sloan’s eyes were locked with hers. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Sloan forced a smile. “Good. That’s settled then. A supply sergeant has a full set of uniforms waiting for you. Put one on and get ready… You and General Brady will join me at the press conference.”

Sloan left after that, and Mac was led to a nearby office, where a supply sergeant was waiting for her. She was fortysomething and sporting a buzz cut. “Good morning, ma’am. Please remove what you’re wearing—and put your camos on. Let’s see how you look.”

Mac did as she was told. She’d lost a couple of pounds while in prison, but the camos fit well. So well that she knew they’d been tailored. Someone wanted her to look sharp. Sloan? Or one of his handlers? None of whom were likely to support the president’s initiative.

Mac could imagine the kind of objections they’d have. Why buy trouble? Don’t you have enough of it already? And the obvious answer was yes, he sure as hell did.

A full-length mirror had been brought in… And when Mac stood in front of it, a major looked back at her. Could she be dreaming? Was Sloan really risking his presidency to free her from prison? Yes. And that was both good and bad. Good because she would be back on active duty and bad because now she owed him. But how awful can that be? her inner voice wanted to know. It isn’t as though you dislike him.