Читать книгу When Dead Shadows Live - Don Boshard - Страница 3

Happiness and moral duty are inseparably connected. George Washington The light desert wind talked softly to the cactus and sagebrush as dust clouded around his boots. He blended with nature along the path, hardly a shadow in the wind. He loved night in the desert; he was alive and aware of nature and his surroundings. The Joshua Trees stood sentinel protecting their realm from intruders. The barren hills around Beaver Dam, Arizona were his and he loved his time there. Beaver Dam home of nothing but it was where he grew up. They had lived there since his father retired from the Marines, and it was home. Calling it a thriving city was like comparing an ant and an elephant, size was not important unless you need food and then you would rather be an ant. Beaver Dam was a suburb of Littlefield Arizona, which was a thriving metropolis of 308 people. You could say it was an enchanting place, but that would mean that you were partially blind in one eye and couldn’t see out of the other, but this was his home and he loved it. The desert and the mountains surrounding the little town were his second home and when tracking the open spaces his senses were alive, able to recognize the slightest movement, as if he were part of the desert. The eyes of the coyote would send vibrations down his spine. A mountain lion once in a while would pass by him and send pulsing plungers of blood through his veins. He mostly felt a kinship to the wolf, they were his friends and mentors, he knew they were with him all the time, maybe not rubbing his leg to be scratched but close enough he could sense the air moving in and out of their lungs. Most of what he learned he learned from nature, every lesson was perfect, there is no better teacher than Mother Nature. Braydon did not hunt. He honored life and besides that he had the Bambi syndrome, he didn’t like to kill anything, not that he couldn’t get his dander up, but never to the boiling point, he knew what could happen.

During their stay in South Africa violent mode swing and had been diagnosed as Bipolar, although not sever, the doctors thought it best he take a mild medication to protect any one around in case Mount St. Helen or in this case Mount Braydon blew it’s lid; chances were slim but there was no sense in taking chances, besides that he would probably hurt himself instead of others.

Germany was his place of birth since his gypsy military family had traveled the world. By the time his father retired they had lived in six different countries. Although he wasn’t fluent in those languages, he at least could understand and speak in general terms.

His second love was river running which he had served as a tour guide during the summer months. The Colorado and Green rivers were like the desert to him, he loved the challenge of the trip down the rapids, fighting every minute to keep the raft straight and upright, the spray in your face, muscles straining so taught they felt like they could bust. The constant pulling and pushing of the ores against the current developed his upper body strength, pulling oars through the currents and keeping the bow fast down river was a body and mind tester.

He loved to exercise but the closest Gym was Gold’s Gym in St. George. That was a great place, but at $25.00 a month which was out of his price range. Most of the year he only had a part time job at the RV Park in Littlefield, which paid him the outstanding amount of $7.50 an hour and working four hours a day, he was wealthy. So his workout program was one tested and approved by Mother Nature herself, and had thousands of years development. He would challenge himself with pull-ups on a tree branch and he could do one hundred twenty five. If he thought they were getting too easy he got his backpack and put rocks in it, strapped it to his back and started again, increasing the weight as things got easier. Getting down and dirty with push-ups in the desert sand, his head downhill to stress the impact on the upper body, it was a natural, he loved mother earth and after a hundred and fifty reps, what did a little dirt matter, what did a little dirt hurt, besides that it is good for the digestion. When it got to be easy he cut his repetitions in half and raised his feet above his head rest them on a tree. He could do curls with heavy logs and rocks, a little harder to work with than dumbbells, but you make do with what you have available and there were all weight sizes, finding the right ones was hard. Curls and bench presses with rocks were a little more challenging since it was tough to find racks to hang the rock in or log on and they were hardly the same weight so he got two burlap bags from the Farm store in St. George and gathered a pile of rocks that seemed the same weight. Then all he had to do is put the same number of rocks in each sack and strapped them to a good size pole. You just took your chances as to whether you might become miss-shapes and lean more to one side than the other. Since he had plenty of time and he loved exercise he would go for one or two hour’s straight each day. In his mind he was going to have the best body in Arizona, or maybe the United States, which he knew was a wild stretch of the imagination, at 6 foot 4 inches and one hundred and seventy five pounds he was more of a bean stalk than a Jolly Green Giant. His brown hair and dark eyes were perfect for tracking the hills, allowing him to meld with the heavens and move silently along the sands and into the foothills. His eyes seemed to be like those of an owl, able to pull in as much light as was left after sunset. He had a ruddy complexion that only supported his good looks. He knew the sun was not good for him but he loved it. He loved the hours alone with his dreams and aspirations. He could imagine moving stealth fully riding the thermals with the hawks, cruising silently in the dusk and worshipping the sun rise.

Over the first 15 years he had lived here, friends had taunted him about his name and nick named him “donkey” and hee hawed at him as if he were a Jackass. He would only take it for so long then made fast work of anyone that thought it funny and didn’t run faster than him. When he caught them they were air borne crashing to the earth with him right on top. “How would you like to be one with the sand idiot?” The kids learned fast but it was still a thorn in his underwear. The same taunting inspired his greatest desire, to show his skills to become a Seal or a Ranger. He would even take the Marines. He had lived in the wild for weeks on end and had run with the deer and strained himself to his physical as well as mental breaking point and then kept going.

“What are you going to do in the metropolis of Littlefield Arizona?” He asked himself. He knew the answer, “nothing”. He knew his skills would be an asset to any of these military branches. His skills would give him talents no one else had or would have and his service to his country would be invaluable. He knew he would be the bulldog for the Seals or anyone else, a perfect catch; he would be a battle tank roaming the desert looking for the bad guys. “Everyone in Iraq would need to be warned about him.” He laughed to himself. “Tell them Braydon boy’s coming.”

The next step in his quest to serve would be to go to Las Vegas and visit the proper recruiting offices. The journey is one and a half hours in his Volkswagen Thing. The anemic looking armadillo of a car, which he had nicknamed George, he had no idea why. It had a top speed of eighty miles per hour and that was downhill. The gas mileage was great, forty miles to the gallon and the air-conditioning was 2/60, two windows down at 60 mph. The thing was definitely not a chick car but why worry about that in Littlefield.

Braydon was very meticulous with everything he owned and he took care of it himself. All five of his shirts and seven pair of pants were clean and ironed. He even ironed his underwear. The Thing looked fresh off the showroom and ran like a top.

He told his mother and father what he wanted to do, mother was very shy, uncertain about it and ask him to think it over while his father just told him to go for it and puckered out his chest, “You’re a man now do what you feel is right. It is great to serve your country.”

He packed and loaded his few belongings, knowing he would be moving to a Seals or Rangers base and they would have all the clothing and gear he would need. Saying his goodbyes to his tearful mother, kissing her gently, and hugging his proud father and waving goodbye to his friends he jumped into George, shifting into first gear burst toward I-15 at the speed of light, well maybe a slow turtle and then headed south. A red Thing did look a little out of place putting down the freeway; usually a thing was a drab color and never red, he got some interesting and unusual stares from passersby’s. In a Thing, everyone is a passerby.

“it’s ok baby, you may not be fast but your beautiful, at least to me.” He whispered to George.

Imagination can be an improbable dream but yet it could carry us over limitless hurdles, the drive was a kaleidoscope of future wishes and what lies ahead fantasies. Although he had made the trip several times, this time was different, his expectations chilled his feelings. Vegas is a city of dreams or dreams collapsed. It didn’t matter because he was on a quest. He was going to serve his country and preserve peace in the world. He didn’t have to be a hero, just serve to the best of his abilities.

The Thing purred along, if you can call it that, and when Braydon was 20 miles out he passed under a train bridge and knew if you count to 20 after going under it and crest the hill, Vegas magically appears. “Works every time” he said to himself! The city of lights looked more like a town covered with soot; some of the monolithic gambling crowns were hardly visible at this time of day.

It was a short hop off I-15 to the recruiter office’s on east Sahara, and his expectations grew with the last few miles. The Rangers were his first stop although his first choice was the Seals. He was able to find a parking place out front, which is just about unheard of in Vegas. “Good JU JU,” he said to the thing as he closed the door and strolled like a man with a purpose crossing the street, pulling the door open to the Army Recruiting Office and marching right in, head high chin out. He was a Ranger by every definition of a Ranger. The Recruiting Sargent happily greeted him, looking every bit the part with spit shined shoes and dress uniform that was immaculate, a big smile, dark cropped hair, about Braydon’s height only more muscular with a vice handshake.

“Welcome”, the Sergeant greeted him, “What can I help you with?”

Braydon explain that he wanted to be a Ranger and asked what he had to do. The Sergeant didn’t laugh but a curve appeared on the edge of his lips.

“How tall are you and how much do you weigh?”

“Six foot four and a 175 lbs.” he retorted.

Braydon didn’t give much thought to the question and explained: “Sergeant I have spent my life in the wilds, building my strength and training. I can think like the wolf and react like the hawk, my knowledge was taught by Mother Nature, and there is no better teacher. I know I could be a big asset to the Rangers.”

“Do you know what a Ranger is?” The Sergeant was definitely skeptical and had a pasted scowl on his face.

“Of course I do, they are a fast acting response team that goes anywhere they are needed.”

“So you do know that Rangers go anywhere and do whatever they are called upon to do? They are trained for killing and endurance and rescue other. They have to be more than one hundred percent top in physical as well as mental strength. To protect and to serve, just like the police. Of those who try to qualify for the Rangers, less than ten percent make it. How do you stack up to these qualities?”

“Great sir, I am very strong and can control my thinking and emotions and add the quality that I can swim like a fish I should be a natural for the Rangers.”

“The Rangers are primarily land based. The Seals go in the water.” He said with a huff.

The Sargent didn’t know where to go now, he just looked at Braydon and then said, “You’ll have to have a basic physical before the enlistment papers can even be completed and that will take an hour or so.”

“Good by me.” It was a smug remark; he knew a physical would be a breeze for him.

The doctor or whatever he was had an office two doors down the hall. The Sergeant took Braydon to the office, knock on the door and introduce Braydon to the doctor. “I’ll leave you in Doctor Winder’s capable hands, and then I’ll talk to you later.” He turned and walked away.

Braydon sat down and the Doctor plunked in the chair across from him, “Want to be a Ranger do you?” the doctor asked, he looked anything but fit specimen himself. Five foot seven inches, gray hair and weighting in at two hundred twenty pounds.

“Very much so, I have thought about it all my life!” Braydon puffed out his chest and stared into the doctors blank eyes.

“Do you know what it takes to be a Ranger?”

“No Sir, I really don’t, but my father was a Marine and he taught me lots of things about what he went through. The enlistment officer out front there gave me a brief overview and that’s the extent of what I know.”

The doctor moved his chair closer to Braydon and went over the process, “if you pass the physical, the intelligence test and evaluation, you’ll be in hell for six months and then another six months in hotter hell with specific training, survival training in all terrain, landing on beaches under cover. Only small percentages make it and your physic does not lend itself to being Ranger, truthfully I don’t think you have a snowballs chance in hell of making it. May I suggest you join the Army where good men like yourself are always in demand?”

Butch wanted to tell him his training in the desert was harder than any of the crap the Doctor was feeding him, but he could see there was no use in arguing, he would just go the other direction he had thought of.

The Doctor was a realest and Braydon was a “dam the torpedoes full speed ahead” guy. “Thank you Doctor but I know what I want to do and that is what I am going to do,” and walked out the door. He hadn’t come here to do just anything, nothing against the Army but he was destined to be more. He knew he was cut of a different mold and needed to find the entrance to the tunnel to get him through to the right side of the fence.

“I’ll try the Seals next. I should fit right into their plans without a problem, and besides that you didn’t have to be two hundred pounds and run the one hundred in ten seconds flat. To be a Seal all you need to do was all that a Ranger did and swim Lake Mead underwater; “A cinch.” He chuckled to himself. Along with my other outdoor skills, I use to swim in the Gunlock Lake with my family who went boating at least once a week nick named me “Shark.” He was jabbering to himself as he walked the few yards to the next recruiting station which was the Navy. He gave the spit and shine Sargent there the same sales pitch he had used before.

Much to his amazement his spirit was sliced with the calmness of an executioner, he got the same answer. Only this time, “have you considered the Army?”

“I just came from there. I want to be a Seal. The Rangers thought I was too small.”

“You know they are right. A Seal, as with a Ranger training, is arduous beyond believe. Very few men or women make it. Why don’t you get signed up for the Navy if you don’t want to join the Army? You can serve you country well there.”

Braydon turned on his heels and walked out. “Nothing doing, I’m going to do what my country needs me to do, even if I don’t know what that is any more.” He still muttered to himself.

“Only one more place to go. Air Force. But then I have no idea how I would serve there. None of the training I have fits this branch of the service.” He said to the thing.

It started right up and purred then quit before he left the parking place. The Thing had never done that before. He checked the gas, it was good, the oil was ok and there was no possibility of overheating because it was an air cooled engine.

He gave an angry turn of the key and nothing. So he sat there in the one hundred and five degree temperature roasting inside and out. Today was Murphy’s Law in action, if something’s could go wrong it will go wrong. Then gripping the steering wheel until his hands went red, he said to George, “Your right, I need to think this trough more, I might be missing something.”

There was billboard advertising for Boulder Dam hanging right in front of him. “That might just be my cup of tea right now, but I hate tea. Well, maybe I could jump off the new bridge and hit nothing for over eight hundred feet, but then if I landed on my head it would destroy the landscaping.” It was a passing thought; he knew he would never be that desperate.

He turned the key again and the Thing jumped to life. “George, it’s just a good thing you started. I am not having a good day and thus would hate you forever. At least you seem to agree with me.” The car gave him no response as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed east to Boulder Highway then south toward Hoover Dam. Boulder Highway was not busy at this time of day so the traveling was easy. He could have taken the Freeway but he didn’t want to think about driving, just let George take him. The went by the Railroad Pass Casino and he thought to himself, “If I was ever going to take up drinking this would be a good time to do it, I’ve had a monstrous day.” He got off the Highway and made a left turn into the casino parking lot. He left George cooling and went to the casino but it was so smoky, it would take a knife to cut through it, and besides that, he hated smoke, he just turned and walked out, back into the Thing and kept moving, making a left turn on Boulder Highway and on to Boulder City.

He arrived in the City in about twenty five minutes, pushing the speed limit, if George could do such a thing. Now Boulder is a quaint little town on the edge of Lake Mead and is a world apart from Las Vegas, no gambling just a wholesome down to earth family community.

Braydon took his time and looked around. The ice cream cone from the Dairy Queen helped cool him down. George’s air conditioning was so good that between that his frustrations and the one hundred and fifteen degrees temperature outside the ambient temperature inside was over two hundred degrees.

“It’s amazing what a large cone of Vanilla Ice Cream can do to reduce stress and eliminate pain; it was also great for dossing steam coming from the ears. “Ice Cream, as far as I’m concerned, and it’s a medical fact, is the best thing I can do to reduce body temperature, so I’ll just have to force myself to indulge”, or so he reasoned with himself. Sometime sugar, like caffeine, would hype him up. What the heck, he needed a little hyping and he had to eat it fast so it didn’t melt. It was a quick U-Turn and back to the Dairy Queen. One more king size cone and he was on his way, again.

The town slipped by and Lake Mead appeared on his left. The blue spread out before him for miles. The suns reflection shimmered on the surface and the glass texture of the water seemed endless. Several spires of red rock popped through the surface like trees through clouds.

At first he was going to cross the new bridge that spanned the Colorado River some 800 feet of suspended fright above the river. He was not afraid of heights, at least most of the time, but he would just as soon take it slow and easy. Over the dam would be just fine with him and George at 25 mph speed, it would take longer but he would see more. By taking the turning road along the edge of the gaping canyon on his right he was able to see the bridge high above him and the dam below. It was spectacular.

“I’ve always wanted to see the dam” he whispered to George.

In a few minutes he was there, the dam looming before him. He could have driven over the dam and seen a lot of what he wanted to see as he passed by or he could park in the lot and see everything first hand, so he stopped at the overlook and walked the short distance to the dam. He left George to think about things by itself. He knew George was concerned about the future just a he was. Going home was innocuous to him.

Hoover Dam was an amazing feat of man verses elements. Over three million cubic feet of concrete was used. He could not phantom how it was done from the depth of the canyon to the rim, hundreds of feet above. On his left, the blue was bluer than before and the cliffs were implanted with white strokes of heavenly paint. God truly had a beautiful paint brush. On his left side was the abyss that fell hundreds of feet and spewed out clouds of water holding rainbows in place by the grasp of their misty hands.

Even taking this time out, his mind wouldn’t relent, there was no dissuading him, he was out to help America and do whatever it would take. So far his hopes had been slammed into a rat hole and covered with an iron cap. He just needed some time to collect himself and what better place than this glory of God and man.

“What the heck, I’ve never been here before so I’ll take a tour.” He had only heard stories about this mega project and heard there were over 100 men buried in the concrete because they fell in while the concrete was being poured and no one knew they were gone, or maybe they didn’t care, whatever, they were left to guard the secrets of the dam. “Of course that was just malarkey. They wouldn’t bury people alive, would they?” He began to tingle up and down his spin as he started the walk across the dam. “You dead had not better be talking to me,” he said to himself and then chuckled.

The short stroll from the parking lot to the dam reduced the constriction in his mind, but the body tingling didn’t abate.

“There’s got to be something for me. I know I am needed, my gut tells me so and my gut has never let me down before. Food does sometimes override senses. This tingling is because I know I am needed, but where. I usually tingle if there is danger near, just like the wolf feels environmental changes when he is being hunted or is hunting.”

He moved towards the two towers that seemed to guard the dam’s eight hundred foot drop off to the churning white water below, sentinels in the sky advising visitors to beware, no one has ever survived a drop over the top. In reality they were the entrances to the elevator shafts that took people to the very heart the dragon.

“Besides that I’ve seen the ‘Fugitive’ and Harrison Ford jumped over and got away from the U.S. Marshals. Someone had to really do that stunt, didn’t they, and I’m certain they survived. But then again they could have hired Superman for the stunt.” Braydon could only smile at his own stupid thoughts.

“What the heck,” he said to himself, “I’m here I might as well see what this thing is”. His guts gnawed at him.

He purchased his ticket and waited the ten minutes for the elevator to come. It wasn’t a big crowd, only him and six other people.

When the door closed behind him, he felt the world closing in around him as if he were claustrophobic. He wasn’t claustrophobic, not the least, but something continued chewing at his nerves and his spin an electrical line generating between his brain and tail bone and sometimes down his legs. His senses had never been so alert.

“Just kick it in the butt Braydon and pretend that it is static in the air of the elevator, after all, you’re enclosed and you’re in one of the most powerful generators in America.”

Now if he were out in the wilds he would have paid more attention, in the wilds his body was a sensitive antennae, but here, he was surrounded by people and he could see them and could see that nothing unusual was happening.

“These people are just fine, what’s wrong with me?” He kept asking himself.

Reaching the bottom the doors slide open silently, they had arrived at the dragon’s belly. They all disembarked and waited for the tour guide who was there out of the shadows. It startled Braydon, but again his nerves we were riding piggy back on the static that was effecting his emotions.

“Gather around me and we’ll start the tour.”

The temperature was cool. Braydon should have been relieved but he wasn’t, the gut gnawing still persisted. The only thing he could figure out was it was the heavy air and the hum of the turbines were the machinery that supplied enormous amounts of power to the western U S and the chilly dog he had for breakfast in Glendale, Nevada. His eating habits were funereally at best, he could eat anything at any time, so a chilly dog for breakfast wasn’t abnormal for him. Say what you may, his gut feelings were tried and true, even if layered with a chili dog, if there was danger he would know it. But as he looked around he could see no reason for his precursor to danger.

The group of eleven followed the guide. The five women and five men, plus him, were the standard tourist type, two Chinese, a couple from Germany and some local tourists. They all had their cameras, of all sizes and shapes. The most popular being Nikon! The security check had been thorough so there was no need to worry about terrorist doing their deadly deeds. Still, the gnawing feeling grated at his guts.

The tour guide was interesting as he explained that 90,000 gallons of water per minute came through the dam and drove the turbines and how great it was since it was a non- pollutant type of reusable energy resource.

Braydon hadn’t paid much attention to any of his traveling partners. They were normal as normal can be. A German husband and wife walked hand in hand behind him, she with her purse, which he knew had been searched well, and the man with his wooden walking cane with the head of a duck, giving the man an appearance of having a bad leg and needing the cane to walk. He knew his suspicions were unfounded here, what could the wife do, beat him to death with her purse and the man had the cane because he was an invalid? His gut still hurt, besides that they appeared to be in their late sixties. He was certain he could out run them. “I’m hungry, that’s all it is.” He said to himself.

The couple from China only had small cameras and they talked to no one but kept to themselves. They might be a logical source of a problem but they were in front of him, he would know instantly if they were a terrorist or whatever they might be and he would take care of it fast.

The two American couples, who appeared to be friends, were jabbering and not paying any attention to the guide, which Braydon assumed he could care less, he had had these kinds before. The Nikon’s were the only weapons they toted. He didn’t think they were loaded and they have been checked. There was really nothing to put him on full alert, but his senses were loaded and ready to go, they kept biting at him. Everything was calm and quiet, why shouldn’t he be?

The tour group was about half way down the path when Braydon shot a glance over his shoulder; the German couple had disappeared. It seemed impossible to just disappear unless you didn’t want to be seen and there were a lot of places to hide. You just have to evaporate before a worker spots you and that wouldn’t be hard, there were few workers and lots of space and tons of equipment to hide behind.

His gut yelled at him again, “something’s wrong”, but then again he knew security had checked everyone thoroughly so there was no chance for anyone to do anything. But the gnawing continued, “Something’s wrong” he yelled at himself, and his nerves began to explode again. He felt this way when he was alone in the desert and danger was near. The fear, or whatever it was, had never been this strong before even when a mountain lion was near and the nerves were never wrong.

He thought about telling the guide about it but didn’t want to look foolish and besides the group had moved forward fifty feet. His nature was act first and ask questions later. Backtracking he checked all the nooks and crannies on the fronts of the turbines where someone could hide. Then he found a door across from one of the turbines he had not noticed before. There was nothing visible anywhere else that would afford them a quick disappearance. Reaching out slowly and gripping the knob lightly he tried to turn it. It was locked but someone had put a piece of tape over the striker and the door pulled open.

“That makes no sense since this was a secure area and everything was supposed to be locked.” He looked in and there were two stacks of clothing. One he recognized as the male German and the other the Female German. “Where the heck could they disappear to” he queried himself; now he was worried. He closed the door slowly and quietly and moved stealth fully along the turbines until he came back to the wood walk way and steps to the upper level. The control panel for the whole operation was here and visible as was the entire layout of the turbines. There was no one here so he looked along the back side of the turbines and there were two workmen doing something to one of the turbines. It seemed perfectly sensible after all they have a daily routine to follow and he didn’t want to interfere or cause problems. Then something caught his eye, something unusual about the workmen; one had long blond hair like the German lady who had been in his group and disappeared, and the other carried a duck headed cane.

The climate turned dark and he floundered in terrified thoughts of terrorism. His action plan jelled fast as he slid down the stairs silently, moving from turbine to turbine, shielding himself from their view until he was in front of turbine four were the two were hiding. Sidling cautiously alongside the turbine with the stealth of a Coyote he felt that he could smell his prey.

Visibility was blocked by the huge turbine and visibility was hampered by the width and length of the turbine flanged base, but he had a bead on them anyway. There was no escape for the victims as he closed in fast. Braydon was on them before they could yell Geronimo. The woman had her purse slipped into a small crevice around the electrical control panel on the back of the turbine and Mr. Duck cane was headless, it had been separated from the rest of the cane…

Before the perpetrators could react, Braydon rounded the corner and chopped the man down with one swift blow to the throat. The lady was caught off guard and couldn’t react before Braydon yanked the purse off of the turbine and flung it over toward the other turbine. In an instant guards were there, guns dead panned at all three.

“Everyone down and hands on your heads.” Moving fearsomely fast, the guards bound them with nylon binders and left them lying on the concrete floor. Another guard looked at the purse and was going to pick it up but backed off fast, “Captain, there is something not right with this purse. It looks like it is lined with clay.”

“Everyone back,” the Captain yelled, “It’s probably a bomb. Get the bomb experts down here.”

Suddenly from nowhere men in blast suits show up. The Captain points at the purse and duck head.

“It looks like C-4 lining the purse, that’s why you couldn’t detect it, and the duck head is the detonator. When the detonator is connected to the C-4 it become active and I don’t know how far along they were, we’ll need some explosive experts from the Army.”

“I thought that was your job?” the Captain said.

“No Sir, we are locals with a limited amount of training. This calls for the real thing.” They weren’t going to touch the purse until they were certain of the contents and if the duck was ready to quack, then they would leave it up to the robot when it was brought in. The robot and the blast proof box could handle this one.

In the meantime the floor was getting cold and Braydon wanted up. They were going to have to move them anyway so he might as well get up now.

“Back down,” one of the guards yelled.

“Listen, I know that purse won’t explode, I just threw it across the room and nothing happened. Let me go and I’ll show you.”

The guards looked at each other and then the Captain who looked at the bomb exporters who shrugged. “Cut him loose but stand back.”

“Now don’t be stupid, we have ten guns aimed at you.” Captain reinforced the intent of his men.”

“If I wasn’t stupid, do you think I would go over and pick up a purse with explosives and a detonator in it. Besides that I never carry a purse.” He thought that was kind of cute but apparently he was the only one. When the bonds were cut he walked over, grabbed the metal box then casually walked over to the purse with the metal container. Everyone else took cover.

Suddenly it occurred to him, “just because it didn’t explode the first time, doesn’t mean it won’t this time.” He realized how stupid he had been. Now his confidence waned somewhat but he was stuck. “So destiny and I are locked together again. What the heck.”

He opened the metal box picked up the purse, ever so. He was a little shaky now but he was almost there. He gingerly took the purse by the strap and lowered it into the metal box, closing the lid softly and gently, then he fell hard on the floor. He hadn’t realized he was sweating like a man in a sauna.

They had their emergency procedures and he had just broken all protocol, but the rest they followed to first degree. After what seemed like hours the the Army had arrived and disarmed the explosive device and separated the detonator and C-4 from each other, preventing any chance of an accidental explosion. Now they were ready to pronounce sentence on the three of them even though no formal arrest had been made.

The Captain looked at them, “The Miranda is not applicable here since this is now a matter for the Department of Justice and Homeland Security. It appeared to be terrorism. Both departments were alerted and representatives are on their way.”

The man lay on the ground moaning his wind pipe partially crushed. It would have been hard for him to stand let alone move. The guards didn’t care they rudely yanked him to his feet along with the women, and of course Braydon was already up. They hesitated to bind his hands again, but caution is the better part of valor, so they put his hands behind his back and strapped him tight.

“I would think you guys would show a little appreciation, after all I did most of you work.” No one smile. “A bunch of serious butt,” he whispered to himself.

Now time was not as immediate and the guards covered the area like a spider guarding her nest. What should have felt like minute lapsed in hours, or was it days before the Homeland Security Officer arrived?

From then on it was a litany of questions directed at no one in particular just curses and accusations. They were shoved out of the main holding area and separated into separate rooms, each with a different interrogator. Braydon had no idea what was going on so he sat semi-calmly and waited. Soon a Neanderthal strutted through the door, slamming it behind him. The intimidation factor didn’t work. Braydon’s pulse didn’t never missed a beat but his spine revved up several hundred flinches a minute.

King Kong plopped on the chair and leaned over the metal table with the look, “I won’t put up with any crap.”

Braydon didn’t flinch he had looked mountain lions in the eyes before. That’s not true he had never seen a mountain lion as big as Godzilla.

“Well, it looks like you could be in real trouble young man. Anything you want to say for yourself?”

“No sir. I just reacted to the situation. I wasn’t going to let those two idiots destroy anything in my country! America is my country and damned if I won’t protect her!”

King Kong could only smile. He reached a Goliaths hand across the table and shook hands with Braydon. “Son, I want you to know how proud we are of you. I don’t know that anyone else would have taken the initiative you did. That bomb could have taken out at least one and maybe two turbines. It could have disrupted the power grid for thousands of miles and killed several people. However, I don’t know if you’re courageous or stupid?”

“A little bit of both I think Sir, or was that the lack of thinking. It doesn’t matter, I am who I am and I can’t be someone else. I react and my senses take over.”

The large man sat down again and said, “The other two took full credit for their actions and said they wanted to change this country back to a free and caring country, not one the politicians used for their own gain and didn’t worry about the people and wanted to give the Islamic Army of God (IAG) full credit, strange, then they said the Islamic Army of God, but didn’t look the list bit Arabic, one of those convergent kits must have turned them white. I haven’t figured out who is who but some of the pieces don’t fit. Also, they said you interrupted their first victory but there were many more to come. If you wouldn’t mind, would you wait here for a few minutes? There something I want to go over with you, oh, where did you learn to use your hands like that?”

“Well Sir, Davey Crocket and I are related and I learned to fight wrassling bears.” He got a skeptical look from the big man. “Just kidding sir, my father is an ex-marine and he taught me a few things and yes Sir, I’ll be pleased to wait, I wasn’t going anywhere anyway since I don’t have the foggiest idea of how to get out of here.”

A smile slipped across the big man’s lips as he closed the door behind him leaving Braydon to his thoughts and fears, trying to figure out what was happening.