The Surge - 03

by Joe Nobody

  “Why would I have food in there?” Sam’s voice retorted from the living room. “I’m never here.”

  “Good point. I’ll have to remember that excuse the next time Cheyenne gives me a rough time about my lack of supplies.”

  “I’ve seen your icebox, Zach. There’s a difference between empty and gross.”

  Secretly, Zach was happy his partner was her usual feisty self. Still, he couldn’t let it go. “Thanks for all your help and concern, Zach,” he mocked in a horrible, high-pitched imitation of a woman’s voice. “You’re really a great partner and good friend. What would I do without you?”

  Both of the rangers started snickering.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said after they’d enjoyed the chuckle. “Seriously, I do appreciate your helping out. Before you go running off to the market, I’d love to take a nice, hot shower and take the opportunity to appreciate my own shampoo and soap instead of that tarry substance they had at the hospital. Can you hang around for a bit and help a girl out?”

  The ranger’s years of law enforcement training and experience kicked in, immediately wary of a trap. “Umm … err … what exactly do you want me to do?”

  Snorting at his reaction, she countered, “Nothing dangerous. Just hang out and make sure I don’t fall and crack my head open in the tub. Can you manage that, Ranger Bass?”

  “You got it.”

  Sam made a show of closing her bedroom door as Zach flipped on the television. He kept the sound muted – just in case a thump sounded from a bathroom tumble.

  After hearing running water, he began flipping channels, hoping to catch some baseball highlights. It was a futile effort, as all of the news stations were focusing on the border closings and the financial damages to Texas, the U.S.A., and Mexico. The ranger turned it off, settling on the couch and picking up an old Texas Monthly magazine lying on the end table.

  Some minutes later, he heard the water turn off.

  Heading to the door, Zach called, “You okay in there?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. It takes me forever to do anything.”

  Grinning, Zach said, “I read one time that 95% of people masturbate in the shower and the other 5% sing. Do you know what song they sing?”

  “No.”

  “I guess that tells us which group you’re in!” he laughed.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha. I just love high school boy-humor,” she countered, her voice suddenly sounding tired. “But seriously, Zach, come in here. I’m bleeding.”

  The ranger didn’t waste a moment, twisting the knob and barging in. “Where?”

  Sam was sitting on the edge of her bed, her face a little pale, a towel wrapped around her hair, another around her torso. “On the exit side of the wound, I think. I saw the blood when I was drying off.”

  “Let me have a look,” he said.

  She was reluctant but nodded with a sigh. He helped her lie down and then roll over, moving the towel to cover as much of her bare backside as possible.

  The tissue surrounding the wound was pink and healthy looking while the actual bullet hole was a black and purple area of dried blood about the size of a quarter. Sam had been right; her bikini would ride just above the scar. Given the length and shape of Sam’s legs, Zach doubted most guys would ever notice, and fewer yet would care.

  “You’re fine,” he pronounced. “You just scraped the scab a little. Looks like surface bleeding, nothing coming from deep inside.”

  She started to rise, but he gently held her firm. “Stay put, I’ll redress it for you.”

  The ranger tore open a package of large bandages from the bedside table and placed one over the wound. Pressing it there, he directed, “Roll over just a bit.”

  Sam complied, her covering towel sliding higher than before, revealing the perfect upward curve of her buttocks.

  Ignoring the exposure, with a square of bandage covering both entrance and exit, he began wrapping her leg with a long strip of gauze to hold the dressings in place.

  The procedure required Sam to spread her legs to an unladylike width. “Easy there, cowboy,” she whispered. Zach’s movements were warming her heart, as well as some other sensitive areas.

  “There you go,” he answered, “just call old Doc Bass whenever there’s a problem.”

  She didn’t move to cover herself, instead rolling her legs over the edge of the bed to sit. With her eyes holding onto Zach’s, she stood and wrapped her arms around his neck, letting the towel fall to the floor.

  Zach’s gaze never left her, his hands automatically moving to her waist. Her skin was warm and soft. She smelled wonderful.

  Sam started to pull him to her, closing her eyes and tilting her head for a kiss.

  The blood was pounding in his ears as her body pressed against him. Their lips were less than an inch away, straining for the touch. The gap between them was closing slowly, both of their faces burning hot.

  Without warning, she tensed, paused, and then held back. “What am I doing?” she whispered, still unwilling to pull away from his embrace.

  Not knowing what else to say, Zach whispered, “I don’t know, but I sure as hell like it.”

  “We can’t,” she trembled. “Cheyenne. Our jobs. Working together…. We can’t. Nothing will ever be the same if we do.”

  Zach nodded but didn’t want to let her get away. A hunger had been ignited, sending the flame of lust flowing through his veins. He craved her. He would take her for his pleasure until both of them were exhausted puddles of satiated flesh.

  Again, they locked eyes, Sam still tight, pressing against his chest.

  Visions flashed through Zach’s head, mind movies of lifting her in his arms, laying her on the bed and ravishing every inch of her gorgeous frame. The heat inside him was a savage beast, howling for release.

  “Zach?” she said weakly. “We can’t. I want to … but.…”

  It was a miracle that he got it under control, finally nodding and relaxing his grip. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Damn it all to hell, but you’re right.”

  Then they were apart, Sam reaching for the towel while Zach pretended to straighten his shirt. He exited her bedroom in a rush, making for the kitchen and a desperately needed glass of water.

  He stayed sequestered there for several minutes, trying to clear his head and wondering what in the hell had just happened.

  The sound of Sam’s uneven steps accompanied by the thump of her crutch made him look up.

  “I don’t think I should be taking a hot shower while on serious pain medications,” she said. “Those pills they gave me at the hospital are strong enough to get a girl in trouble.”

  Nodding, Zach was happy to agree. “Oh, hell yeah,” he said, realizing the excuse gave them both a way to save face. “Probably not a good idea.”

  Before either of them could think of something else to say, Zach’s cell phone jingled from the living room. It was that special ringtone assigned to Major Putnam.

  “What is your status, Ranger?” the gruff commander asked.

  “I just gave Ranger Temple a ride home from the hospital, sir,” Zach responded. And I almost gave her a lot more than that, as well, sir, continued his thoughts.

  “Good. Her condition?”

  She has an ass you could bounce a quarter off of, unbelievably long legs, and is hotter than a streetcorner Rolex, sir. “She seems to be doing well, sir.”

  Putnam didn’t miss a beat. “Excellent news, Ranger. Let her know Company E looks forward to her full recovery and eventual return to duty. Now, I need you to make for Fort Hood immediately. They have some new information relating to the disappearance of those bioweapons.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They’ll be expecting you at the gate. I want a full report after you’ve visited with the military.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zach disconnected the call, perplexity written all over his face.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked, tucking a blouse into her jeans.

  After Za
ch had relayed the major’s orders, she seemed to perk right up. “I’m going with you,” she announced.

  “No, you’re not. You’re staying right here and healing that leg. If you don’t get off those pain meds, we’re both going to get in a lot of trouble.”

  She pouted, but Zach wasn’t sure the reaction was genuine. “Please, Zach. Take me with you. I’m going to go off the deep end if I have to stay cooped up one minute more.”

  The ranger considered her offer. He hated to admit he missed having his pesky partner along. More than once, he’d wondered how the last few days would have turned out if Sam had been at his side.

  “Okay … you can ride along,” he responded begrudgingly. “But take it easy. You’re not ready to return to full duty yet, and I don’t want anyone pointing the finger at me if you fool around and have a relapse. Understand?”

  “Thanks, Zach.”

  Chapter 9

  The MP at the gate asked the two lawmen for identification. “I was told only to expect Ranger Bass,” he stated, not sure what to do.

  “This is my partner, Sergeant. If you need clearance, you’re welcome to call Major Putnam, the commander of Company E.”

  The military cop made the phone call, eventually returning with a shrug. “Please follow that pickup. The driver will escort you to the proper facility.”

  The two rangers did exactly as instructed, both of them noting the thick cloud of stress that seemed to have settled over the base. “Ever since the massacre, the military has had its dander up,” Zach commented. “I hope that when we catch Vincent, the president agrees to let him face a court martial instead of a civilian judge.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Sam replied. “It’s a nice fantasy, but there’s no way.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we can build our own Guantanamo out on Padre Island.”

  The two officers were led to one of the huge base’s newest buildings, the large structure another sign of the republic’s rapid expansion from just a state to being a country that had to manage all of its own affairs.

  After parking in a spot clearly denoted as “Authorized Visitors Only,” Zach and Sam departed the truck and were shown inside a pair of double doors.

  Again, both rangers had to show their identification, which was verified by a phone call to Austin. Zach thought the entire security procedure was a bit overdone. That sentiment was soon enhanced.

  An officer appeared with a briefcase. After a quick handshake and introduction, he produced two non-disclosure agreements and asked the rangers to sign.

  “We are sworn peace officers,” Zach pushed back. “We have federal authority granted by the legislature of Texas. I don’t understand why you’re asking us to do this?”

  Sam whistled while reading the agreement. “Treason? Sedition? I’m with Ranger Bass – why are we being asked to sign this?”

  The officer was patient, “Because you’re about to be exposed to information that could severely compromise the security of the Republic of Texas. Neither of you can speak a word of this to anyone, including your fellow law enforcement officers. Is that clear?”

  Zach didn’t like all the cloak and dagger shit, his initial assessment being that the military was being overzealous. “We have to inform our chain of command, just like you do.”

  “Major Putnam and Colonel Bowmark of the Texas Rangers have been cleared to receive this information as well,” the Army officer pushed back. “But that’s as far as it goes.”

  Giving each other a “what the hell,” glance, Zach and Sam signed the papers.

  “Thank you,” the officer responded. “I’ll have copies of these made for your records before you leave here today. Now, if you’ll follow me.”

  The man rose and exited the room. Without looking back, he strolled down a long hall at a brisk pace, the speed challenging Sam and her crutch.

  Eventually, they stopped at an unmarked elevator that didn’t list any floors on the buttons inside. That’s because there weren’t any buttons. The officer swiped a keycard through a slot, and soon they noticed the sensation of the box as it moved down.

  Zach had no idea how far underground they traveled, but when the doors opened, the two lawmen found themselves facing three, armed MPs and a sturdy-looking steel door.

  For the third time, their identification was checked, and then the rangers were shown into a large room with numerous high-resolution monitors, rows of desks, and several military personnel bustling here and there.

  Zach spotted a tall man approaching, his swagger signaling someone of importance. “Welcome to our new situation room, Rangers,” he began. “My name is General Hopkins. I command the military intelligence and counter-intelligence units for the Army of the Republic. Please, be seated. We’ll begin shortly.”

  Zach and Sam were shown to a conference table and took their seats. One by one, others began joining them, everyone in uniform and displaying a variety of different ranks and insignias.

  Without further ado, General Hopkins arrived at the head of the table and launched the meeting. “As I’m sure both of you know, the Treaty of Secession granted Texas 9% of the existing U.S. military assets. Most citizens know about the naval ships, aircraft, and ground forces that changed flags and are now part of our armed forces.”

  The two rangers nodded.

  “What many people don’t realize is that we also were given 9% of the intelligence assets. These forces include space-based observation platforms, remote listening posts, and even a few spy planes.”

  Zach was beginning to understand all the security now.

  “Without wading through the technical weeds, you both need to understand that our satellite assets can hear, as well as see.”

  Sam tilted her head, “Hear? As in actual auditory resonation?”

  The general nodded toward a lady colonel sitting at the table. She answered, “In a way, yes. Let’s just say our technology can detect sound waves at resolutions far beyond the human range of hearing.”

  Zach thought about the episode that had occurred in Sam’s bedroom less than two hours ago. “How detailed of a resolution and resonation are we talking here?” the tall ranger asked.

  The general chuckled, “No worries, Ranger. We’re not spying on everyone and everything. I do, however, hope you now can understand our need for secrecy. The average citizen wouldn’t have a positive reaction after learning that we can hear, and differentiate among voices, car engines, and even sounds that are beyond a dog’s audible range.”

  “The system was designed to monitor battlefields and areas of operation for our troops,” the female colonel continued. “We can not only identify individual truck engines but can tell if the vehicles need a tune up. We can also recognize the voices of enemy commanders and individual soldiers. I’m sure you can see how this would give our forces an advantage during a conflict.”

  Zach and Sam both nodded, but were still unsure how the military’s disclosure affected them or their case.

  The general cleared that up. “We can also identify individual firearms. Each rifle and pistol has a unique sound signature, just like a fingerprint or DNA sample. I can tell you with certainty that one of the weapons used during your recent gunfight in San Antonio was also discharged a few days later along the Rio Grande River.”

  Both of the rangers were stunned but for different reasons.

  Sam jumped in first, clearly intrigued by the technical aspects of the information being shared. “So you can tell the difference between my .45 and my partner’s? From space? Even if we’re using the same ammunition?”

  “Yes, because you don’t use the same weapons,” the lady colonel smiled. “Ranger Bass uses a full sized .45 with a five-inch barrel; you use a Commander model, with a 3.5-inch tube. There is a distinct difference.”

  Zach couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “So you’re watching … err listening to everything going on in the republic?”

  “No,” sounded the general quickly. “We are not
spying on the people of Texas. Normally, our devices are utilized only during military combat operations or for training purposes. It is merely a coincidence that a few days before the events in Langtry, President Simmons had requested that we conduct some research for his office. The issue of the expiring Federal Firearms Act was hotly debated, and the executive branch thought our technology might provide for a compromise that would be acceptable to all sides. Their thinking was that Texas would legalize several classes of weapons, but the discharge of all firearms would be monitored by our equipment. If a crime was committed, we could identify exactly which weapon was used.”

  “So if somebody robbed a bank and sprayed the lobby with their newly legal machine gun, your space-ears would be able to tell law enforcement whose gun it was?” Sam asked.

  “Yes,” answered the colonel. “Every weapon – even when you compare samples from the same model, make, and lot – has unique audio properties, even more specific than the grooves left on a fired bullet. There are minor machining differences, sometimes less than a thousandth of an inch. Components used in springs, triggers, barrels, and even magazines all provide an identifying sound signature that we can store, catalog, and compare.”

  Trying to wrap his head around what he’d just heard, Zach probed, “So, say a man walks in a gun store and buys a new firearm. He’d have to shoot it, which in effect would register the weapon. Is that right?”

  “Essentially, I believe that is what President Simmons and his staff were thinking. However, the Republic’s Congress managed to work out a compromise, and our services will not be needed. We were in the process of retasking our equipment when the massacre at Langtry occurred.”

  Sam, not wanting to get sidetracked into a political debate, reverted to the general’s previous statement. “You said one of the weapons fired at the River Walk was also used along the border recently?”

  “Yes, the incident where two Texas Troopers were involved with some supposedly undocumented border crossers. I believe one of the officers was killed, the other wounded. That same firearm, a Glock 18, was also fired in San Antonio during your encounter there.”