His Name Was Zach (Book 2): Her Name Was Abby

by Martuneac, Peter

  “You make it sound like I’m going up for a job interview.”

  “Pretend that you are, that’s the only way you’ll be prepared for the nightmare that dinner will be,” Derrick joked.

  At least, Abby figured he was joking. How bad could an evening with his father be?

  Chapter Thirty

  “So how many children do you intend to have?” asked Cyrus Arthur, the President of the United States.

  Derrick just about choked on the red Pinoit he was drinking. He swallowed what was in his mouth and said, “Jesus Christ.”

  “Watch your language, boy,” Cyrus fired back. “It’s a legitimate concern when considering a mate.”

  “She’s just my girlfriend, Dad.”

  “Just a girlfriend? What are you saying, that you have no intention of ever getting serious and are wasting this young lady’s time?”

  Derrick massaged his temples with both hands as he outright refused to answer.

  Abby sat quietly during this exchange, holding her wine glass up but not drinking from it. She just needed something to do with her hand to keep herself from fidgeting with her necklace, which is what she wanted to do but now she feared that Cyrus might have some choice words about a nervous fidget.

  After allowing the insufferable silence to stretch several seconds, Cyrus returned his attention to Abby, raising his eyebrows to imply that he was still waiting for an answer to his original question. He stared at her, his hard green eyes, the same color as the emerald resting on Abby’s chest, piercing her skin like X-rays. Abby wondered if it was that matching hue that made the man prefer emeralds to any other precious stone. That would certainly fit with the narcissistic profile that Abby was compiling on him.

  “W- uh, well,” Abby stammered. “I guess I hadn’t really thought of that yet.”

  “You’re how old?”

  “Nineteen, sir,” Abby lied. She wouldn’t be nineteen for almost half a year more, but the girl whose identity she carried was a year older than her.

  “And you won’t be nineteen forever. The next couple years are going to be the best time for you to make strong, healthy babies.”

  Abby looked over to Derrick, who still had his face buried in his hands, then back to Cyrus.

  “Three or four would be fine with me,” Abby said, thinking this might be an appropriate amount to satisfy Cyrus.

  “Let’s make it four,” Cyrus replied, like they were discussing a business transaction. He finally tore his gaze away from Abby long enough to saw off a piece of his filet mignon and pop it into his mouth.

  Abby seized on this hiatus in conversation to take a long drink of wine, almost emptying her glass. Derrick finally found the courage to show his face again, which was almost as red as the wine they were drinking, and likewise drained his glass.

  “That’s a lovely dress, by the way,” Cyrus said without looking up as he cut into his steak again. “That royal blue color works really well for you.”

  “Oh. Thank you, sir,” Abby replied, subconsciously pulling at her dress. It was a gorgeous, floor-length number with a single, long slit up past her knee and a plunging neckline.

  Derrick had helped her pick it out, and while Abby had to admit the dress made her look breathtaking, it also made her quite uncomfortable. It’d been years since she’d worn a dress, and never something that showed this much leg and cleavage. She worried it was too revealing, but Derrick assured her that his father would want to see her wear something like that. Not for any perverted reason, but because he only respected people who showed confidence, and wearing such a dress would certainly give off an air of confidence. A kind of ‘flaunt it if you got it’ attitude, though Abby wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was and how much of ‘it’ she possessed.

  “And I apologize for my son’s ambivalent, cavalier attitude toward your status as ‘just a girlfriend’. He’s a young man awash in testosterone, probably doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.”

  “And he is, in fact, right here listening to all of this,” Derrick interjected.

  But Cyrus pretended not to hear. “His relationships have been like a revolving door, as I’m sure you can surmise. So if you’ve kept him around for this long, you must be a special young lady, indeed.”

  “Yes, dad, she is very special. So special that I don’t think she needs to be grilled here like that well-done hockey puck you call a filet mignon.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Abby interrupted, hoping to stave off another argument. She could handle the awkward questions. After all, this was all an act anyway. Then, turning to Cyrus, she said, “These are valid questions, Mr. President.”

  Cyrus gave a disarming smile that was surprisingly dashing, and said, “That’s very mature of you, Abby. And please, call me Cyrus.”

  “Okay then, Cyrus,” Abby replied, returning the smile.

  “Now then,” Cyrus said, ready to continue the conversation, “you can obviously spare me the details, but exactly how many sexual partners have you had before Derrick?”

  ***

  The rest of dinner went much the same way, and both Derrick and Abby were relieved when Cyrus announced that the dinner had gone on long enough. He gave Abby his initial blessing, contingent on continued performance as a good selection for a mate, and retired to his office.

  “You owe me like a thousand of these necklaces,” Abby said as Derrick drove her back to their barracks from his father’s home.

  “Hey, you’re the one who insisted on meeting him.”

  “I figured it’d be like a Band-Aid, ya know? Just tear it off and get it over with.”

  “Yeah, well this was more like tearing your whole damn arm off.”

  “I thought he was joking when he asked if I could obtain charts of my family’s medical history.”

  “The only joke was that goddamn filet mignon we were served. You’d think the President of the United States could get a better steak.”

  “I’d have eaten a raw slice of a buffalo’s ass if it meant he wouldn’t have asked me about sexual partners.”

  “God, I’m sorry. That’s just the way he is, the way he treats people. He needs to know if you’ll provide any kind of benefit to him before he decides to like you.”

  “So you think he likes me?”

  “He kissed your hand. Compared to how he’s treated the other girls I’ve brought home I’d say he’s already planning the wedding for us.”

  Derrick parked his car on the street, got out, and walked around to the other side to get Abby’s door for her. He helped her out, and she held his arm as they walked up into the barracks. Some agents who were milling around outside cracked jokes about Abby and Derrick’s fancy outfits, but they just laughed along.

  “Aside from the terrible conversations, I did have a good time with you, Derrick,” Abby said as they walked down the dim hallway towards their rooms.

  “Yeah, I did too,” Derrick replied, smiling.

  “And thanks again for the necklace, and the dress. I’ve never… ” Abby began to say. She wanted to say she’d never had such nice things, but she remembered her cover. She was a young woman from a rich family, of course she’d had such nice things.

  Abby sighed and continued, “I’ve never had a boyfriend get me these kinds of gifts.”

  “Ah, don’t mention it. Even as tokens of my affection for you, they’re poor substitutes. You deserve so much more.”

  They reached Abby’s room and Derrick, who had been holding on to her key card so that Abby wouldn’t have to worry about bringing anything to dinner, unlocked and opened the door for her, holding it open with an outstretched hand.

  “Thank you,” Abby said. She bent down awkwardly (the dress was very tight, even with the slit) to undo her shoe clasps, kicked them into her room, then stepped inside.

  “Don’t suppose you need any help out of that dress?” Derrick asked from the doorway.

  Abby cast a look over her shoulder and smiled. “You could unzip me,” she said, gathering he
r hair and holding it up off her neck.

  Derrick stepped forward and obliged her, holding the fabric of the blue dress in his left hand while his right unzipped Abby’s dress, from the neck almost down to her waist.

  Abby turned around and stepped forward into Derrick, put her hands up on his shoulders, and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her, his fingertips just brushing against the bare skin of her back. She could feel the goosebumps running up her arms and pulled away from Derrick, hoping it was dark enough that he would not see her body’s reaction to their kiss.

  “Good night, Derrick.”

  “Goodnight, Abby.”

  Derrick left, allowing Abby’s door to close behind him as he made his way back to his room.

  Abby meanwhile was still standing just inside her door, biting her lower lip. She took a deep breath and blew it out in frustration. She wished Hiamovi was here with her. She wished she could wear fancy, sexy dresses and eat expensive dinners with Hiamovi, and then kiss him goodnight. She’d had a good time with Derrick, and in a different world and different time maybe theirs could have been a genuine relationship, but here and now her heart yearned for Hiamovi. He understood her in a way Derrick never could. He’d seen her at her absolute worst, when she’d been almost dying of malnutrition, racked with pain and guilt, and unable to think of anyone but herself, and he still loved her. He helped bring out the best in her, and she loved him for it.

  “Plus, I’ll take Hector over Cyrus any day of the week,” she muttered to herself.

  Over the next few weeks, Abby found out just how much privilege could be afforded to the president’s son and his girlfriend. Now that their relationship was out in the open with his father, Derrick felt no compunction utilizing assets that maybe he shouldn’t have to impress Abby. He borrowed his father’s personal helicopter and flew Abby around the city. He got a plane to take them skydiving for fun, and not for training like they did sometimes. He drove her up to the northern end of the Rockies, where there lay a single ski resort for only the wealthiest of citizens.

  They even went out together and got matching tattoos. Not a cutesy, couple’s tattoo, but the symbol for Lima Company: a black bull’s head on a three-pointed shield. Abby’s was on her right arm, up near her shoulder, and Derrick’s was on his left. Abby really didn’t want her first tattoo to be for a military unit that she was due to betray, but she felt compelled. Derrick was insistent on the idea, and she feared that refusing would set their relationship, and by default, the mission, back a ways. Hiamovi didn’t like the tattoo the first time he noticed it, but Abby lied and said her whole squad got them and she would have stuck out if she didn’t, keeping Derrick completely out of the equation, which he accepted. The truth would have just made him mad.

  On all these dates, Abby came to learn much about Derrick. While at first glance the pretty face and muscular frame led one to believe he was just a meathead or a spoiled brat, Abby found that he was a hard worker, and he loathed most of his peers, the other sons and daughters of high-ranking government officials, because they had no work ethic. Joining the DAS was more than an act of rebellion against his father, and even more than quenching a thirst for adventure. It was also about taking a career that would force him to work hard every day in service to his country.

  That was another part of Derrick that Abby discovered: he was fiercely loyal to the United States. He was a patriotic young man, well-versed in American history, and proud of the great things America had done and accomplished. And in these dark days, when America seemed lost, he hoped to become a leading figure in taking back the country from the zombies and the terrorists. Abby admired that kind of devotion, but it also made her nervous. If he ever suspected she wasn’t who she claimed to be…

  But that wouldn’t happen, she told herself. If no one had questioned her identity by now, then it was never going to happen. Besides, Derrick believed she hated the terrorists as much as anybody after what she told him they did to her. The first time Derrick saw all the scars on Abby’s chest and back, she told him that she’d been caught up in a terrorist attack and nearly killed; he accepted the lie with no reservations whatsoever.

  Still, she tried not to think about the possibility of Derrick unmasking her. In fact, she tried not to think about Derrick at all when she was by herself or with her squad. At times, if she wasn’t careful, she slipped too far into her cover as Derrick’s girlfriend, and she’d forget all about her mission, even forget about Hiamovi. But how could she be blamed for losing herself in her role once or twice when it involved spending so much time with a man who was so caring, thoughtful, and kind?

  At least they were not in the same squad, Abby thought. They rarely saw each other during the day, and sometimes they were both too exhausted from training to want to go do anything together, and it gave Abby time to reclaim herself, to remember that Derrick wasn’t her boyfriend. He was just another person she had to fool. No, more than that. He was an enemy.

  That’s what Abby was telling herself as she was heading back to the armory with her squad to clean their weapons after a full day of training.

  “Huh?” Abby said, realizing that one of the guys next to her had asked her a question.

  “I asked if you wanna go out tonight. Couple of us wanna grab a beer,” the young man repeated.

  “Oh. Actually—” Abby began to say, but she was cut off by their squad leader’s radio squawking to life.

  “1-1 and 1-2, you guys still up?” a voice crackled over the radio, asking if these two squads were still armed.

  “This is 1-2, affirmative,” her squad leader replied, followed a moment later by the other squad leader.

  “Both your squads double-time it to Arthur Square, we’ve got helos coming to pick you up. You’ll be briefed when you’re in the air, over,” the voice on the radio said.

  Abby didn’t like the sound of that, but she ran with the rest of her squad towards the open square just a couple blocks away. Colored smoke was already billowing up from the center of the square, to help the pilots locate their landing zone. Abby got there just as the other squad was arriving, and that’s when Abby remembered it was Derrick’s squad. He met her eyes and gave her a smile, and she smiled back. But there was no time for flirting. The helicopters, two big Blackhawks, swooped in low over the tops of the nearby buildings and approached them.

  The two squads of DAS agents made for a combined force of 30 well-armed, highly-trained agents: 29 men, plus Abby. She caught some guff for being a girl sometimes, but she’d earned the respect of her comrades long ago, and no one outside of the squad was allowed to pick on her. Or, as they put it, fuck with her and you fucked with all of 1-2.

  The agents dashed towards the helicopters as they touched down and loaded up, squishing together in the back of the helicopters while some of the agents sat along the edge, their legs dangling in the breeze. After a quick headcount, the pilots were given a thumb’s up and they lifted off from the ground, climbing up into the darkening sky as the sun began to set beyond the horizon. The door gunners in each aircraft now shouted instructions to the agents.

  They were about to conduct a raid. DAS spies had learned the identity of a high-ranking terrorist, and they were going to capture him for interrogation. However, he was considered armed and highly dangerous, so lethal force was authorized if he gave them no choice. Pictures of the terrorist, taken from security cameras on the streets, were distributed. Abby’s lungs were burning by the time she got a look at the pictures, holding her breath as she feared she’d find herself looking at the face of either Hector or Hiamovi. But it was not them, and she quietly blew out a sigh of relief. The man in the picture looked middle-aged, and he was white.

  The door gunners continued to talk. Abby’s squad was going to land on the roof and infiltrate the building that way. They would be the assault force, heading down two floors to the fifth floor, to apartment 501, which is where the man lived. It was at the end of the hallway and near one of the stairwells. The
other helicopter, the one carrying Derrick’s squad would hover above the street below, and they would fast-rope out, surrounding the building and setting up a cordon. No one gets in and no one gets out.

  Moments later they were given a head’s up from the pilots as they approached the target building. Abby and the others put on masks as they always did on raids. Some had full face balaclavas, others wore face shields with skull designs, and a couple, Abby included, wore only a neck gaiter pulled up to their nose. She checked her short-barrel M4 to ensure there was a round in the chamber. Her forward hand brushed against a pressure switch that was stuck to her forward grip, a switch that activated the small flashlight and laser device mounted on the side of her rifle.

  “Abby, you’re on point!” her squad leader said, and she nodded her head in affirmation. Then the helicopter touched down on the rooftop.

  Abby jumped out, her black boots crunching against the scattered stones that made up the roof. Her M4 was up in her shoulder as she glided across the rooftop towards the door that would lead into the building, her squad forming a single line behind her, a formation known as Ranger file.

  Abby clicked on the flashlight and laser of her rifle as she stopped next to the door and tried the doorknob. The door appeared unlocked. She waited for the signal from the man behind her that would tell her to open the door. They had to wait for every agent to line up behind Abby so that no one would be in front of the door when it was opened, a zone called the ‘fatal funnel’, where you would almost certainly be killed if someone on the other side of the door opened fire.

  The man behind Abby, holding his rifle up and pointed towards the door, kneed her in the back of her thigh. She yanked the door open and stepped in with her rifle up and flashlight on, illuminating a dim stairwell, which turned to the right before going down another flight of stairs. Abby switched her rifle over to her left side, which was more conducive to popping around a right-hand corner.

  She descended the stairs in this manner, popping around corners with her rifle in her left hand, until they reached the fifth floor. Here Abby paused at the door again, waiting for another signal. This time, there was no escaping the fatal funnel for some of the agents, but they had as many guns as possible trained on the door.