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Mike wore the same suit that he had worn at the funeral of his wife and child. Putting it on had reminded him of that horrible day. The funeral for Dale wasn’t quite the same circus. There were over fifty members of the Intelligence 100 present to give their respects to one of the founders of the group. For some reason, Mike was asked to give the eulogy.
Stepping to the front of the room, Mike looked at the faces in the room. There was an undercurrent of anger at the loss of one of their own. He understood the anger. This was a death that could have been avoided if the policy makers of Washington had been doing their jobs. They hadn’t so the terrorists had come to America.
He stepped up to the podium and, after a five second pause, said, “It’s a tradition that when a member of the CIA is killed in the line of duty that a star is carved into the CIA Memorial Wall and his name added to the Memorial Book. That wall and the book are now shrouded in the radioactive dust that took Dale’s life.
“Dale Dawson was the kind of man who fought so that our traditions could remain. I intend to keep that tradition alive. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but the Memorial Book containing the names of fallen agents and the CIA Memorial Wall on which their stars are carved shall be removed from the Old Headquarters Building of the CIA and established in an honored place. His name shall be recorded and a star carved honoring his service. In fact, all the names of agents who fell in that attack will be added to the book and a star carved in their honor.
“Dale Dawson was a Marine. He was ever faithful. Semper Fi.”
From around the room, a shout of OoRah was raised. Mike returned to his seat thinking that it had to be the shortest eulogy of modern times.
“It’s hard to believe that the local fire chief stumbled across such a dangerous assortment of terrorists the day after getting briefed on the subject by a small section of Homeland Security. The local police really handled the situation well although it’s rather surprising that they were all carrying cop killer ammunition,” Jack Lancer said. He smiled at Mike.
Tim Collins said, “Yes. They managed to bring down almost fifty terrorists without any help from Homeland Security. The President is really pleased that local law enforcement is able to handle such a large threat.”
Mike shook his head and said, “Six cops were killed and another thirty eight were wounded.”
“Some of that was friendly fire,” John Daniels said.
It was also because a number of the policemen weren’t wearing body armor when they charged into the situation. It was only with great difficulty that the SWAT teams had managed to regain control of the situation after the regular police had arrived.
Larry Dinkins said, “You handled that situation very well. I think that we can all rest easier knowing that the two missing rail guns have been found. Of course, if the President even suspected that we were involved he’d be firing people left and right.”
“I know,” Mike said.
The President was so far behind in the polls that it looked like there wasn’t even a need for an election. He was at the point where he was looking for a scapegoat on which to blame all of the recent failures of his policy.
“Your group succeeded in their mission in terms of finding the two missing rail guns. You still need to track down the factory where they were manufactured,” John Daniels said.
“Did the guy that Sanjay and I dumped in the escape tunnel talk?”
Grinning, Jack asked, “Do you mean the guy you shot in the balls?”
“Yes,” Mike answered.
“He sang like a castrati,” John said with a grin while everyone else groaned.
The wounded man had been carried off by another member of the Intelligence 100. It had taken a little convincing before the man realized that it was in his best interests to talk.
“What did we learn?” Mike asked. It was his hope that the man was more than just a low level follower.
“He told us that the rail guns were built in Nevada with parts brought in from Washington state and Illinois. He didn’t know where the parts were actually made, but he did know that they were assembled in a warehouse north of Las Vegas,” John said.
Mike was driving home from work one night when a police car pulled behind him and turned on his lights for him to pull over. Looking down at his speedometer, Mike saw that he had been driving ten miles an hour over the speed limit. Considering the speed of the other cars on the street, it was a ridiculous stop. He pulled over to the side of the road and pulled out his identification.
When the cop knocked on his window, Mike rolled down the window and looked up at the cop. The cop took one look at Mike and said, “It’s you.”
“What?” Mike asked.
“You’re the one who shot that terrorist,” the cop said.
At the reminder, Mike recognized the cop and smiled. Chuckling, he said, “No. The news reports that I saw said that you shot him.”
The cop shook his head and said, “Mister, I saw you there. You stepped in front of that van and fired off four shots before jumping out of the way. I even told you that it was good shooting.”
“The official story is that I wasn’t there,” Mike said.
As far as the cop knew, there was only one person at the incident whose identity was a secret. A light went off in the cop’s head and he stared at Mike.
In a soft voice, he said, “You’re the guy in the photograph, aren’t you?”
“The official story is that I wasn’t there,” Mike answered with a frown. He detested that photograph.
The cop said, “Put away your ID. I don’t want to know who you are.”
“Thanks,” Mike said putting away his wallet.
The cop looked away for a second and then looked back at Mike. In a voice tight with emotion, he said, “I feel guilty about having been given credit for killing that terrorist. I tried to deny it, but nobody listened. The guys who identified me won’t look me in the eye. They know that it was your kill, not mine.”
Hating to be reminded of that day, Mike said, “They needed a hero and you were chosen to play that role. Don’t feel guilty about that. You played the role well and I thank you for that. The President feels that Homeland Security is the cause of all the terrorism. We aren’t supposed to interfere in local matters. I wasn’t supposed to be there. We are supposed to sit back in our offices and give warnings rather than be involved.”
“That sucks,” the policeman said.
Mike laughed at a phrase that had become all too common amongst those who were charged with protecting the American people against those who wanted to harm them. He asked, “Who are you voting for?”
“Anthony Archer,” the cop answered with a grin. He added the campaign slogan, “He’s taking aim at terrorism.”
“Maybe when there’s a new President, you and I can sit down for a drink,” Mike said.
“I’d appreciate that,” the cop said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. As he handed it to Mike, he said, “If you ever need anything, give me a call.”
Mike took the card and put it into his pocket. He said, “Thanks. Don’t feel guilty about being labeled a hero for my actions. You saved my ass and I appreciate it.”
Feeling a lot better, the cop said, “Thanks. Anyway, the reason I pulled you over was to let you know that you had a bad tail light.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Mike said. He wondered if he had knocked off a wire when he had handing out the ammunition the previous week. He said, “Let me check the trunk.”
“Sure,” the cop said. He walked to the back of the car while Mike popped the trunk open from inside the car.
Mike hadn’t reached the back of the car when he noticed the cop backing away. He looked in the back and realized that he was still hauling a case of cop killer bullets. He also noticed one of the wires hanging down. He plugged it in and the rear light came on.
Looking up at the cop, he said, “That fixed it.”
“You were the one who provided all of the ammunition at the gunfight last week,” the cop said wondering who this guy really was.
“The official story is that I wasn’t there,” Mike said with a straight face.
The cop gave a nervous laugh and said, “I’m out of here. You take care of yourself.”
Mike returned to the driver’s seat of his car as the cop pulled away. He reached into his pocket and glanced at the card the policeman had given him. He burst out laughing at the irony of the situation.
Watching the cop car disappear down the road, he said, “You have a good day, Officer Mike Bowman.”
In the months since she had started as his housekeeper, Kim Sung had given him three massages. Mike couldn’t believe how good the massage felt. She really knew how to work out all of the muscular tension in his body. The climax at the end was rather amazing as well despite the business-like manner in which she approached it. He decided that her attitude about the whole thing was a cultural matter.
At the end of the massage today, Kim Sung deviated from her normal command for him to shower and get ready for dinner. She stayed in place for a minute and then asked, “Do you want a younger woman to be your housekeeper?”
Surprised by the question, Mike answered, “No. Why do you ask?”
“I am old woman and not good to look at. We want you to be very happy,” Kim Sung said.
She was concerned that Mike had not asked for additional favors or even requested more frequent massages. The man she had served in the past had been much more demanding of her.
“You are perfectly fine,” Mike answered without having to wonder who it was that wanted him happy.
He had gotten used to her quiet manner and how she moved through the house without drawing attention to herself. She made breakfasts and dinners; cleaned the house; and washed his clothes. Even when there were problems, she approached them with a calm manner that he found comforting.
“A younger woman could warm your bed,” Kim Sung said looking down at the floor.
“I do not want a woman in my bed,” Mike said sharply.
Kim Sung nodded her head. In a very soft voice, she said, “I understand.”
“Thank you,” Mike said.
Kim Sung studied Mike wondering what else she could do to make his life more pleasant. She would talk to Teva that weekend when Mike went over for dinner.
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