Chapter 32
THE DEBRIEF AND AFTERMATH of Danforth’s attempted defection and subsequent demise took hours—the big question being, “Who is Danforth’s superior, the mystery woman?” When Zander and I finally made it back to Gamble’s meeting place, it was long after midnight.
We’d been under intense pressure for nearly a week, and we were both tired, but for some reason—perhaps getting shot?—I felt like a wrung-out dish cloth. I crawled onto the couch and slept hard. I don’t think I even turned over until something pulled me from my deep sleep.
“Hey.” Zander sat on the arm of the couch stroking my arm. “Hey, sweetie. You’ve been asleep a long while.”
I smiled up at my husband, his beautiful gray eyes smiling back at me.
“What time is it?”
“Don’t you mean, ‘Which day is it?’”
“Oh, wow. That long?”
“It’s nearly five o’clock Friday evening. You were out fourteen hours straight.”
“For heaven’s sake!” I started to sit up and groaned as my wound protested.
Zander slid his arm under me and helped me up. “You’re only four days out from being gut shot, remember? You’re still tender inside.”
“Y’know . . . when you say, ‘gut shot,’ it sucks all the romantic mystique right out of it.”
Zander grinned. “Romantic mystique, huh?”
“Uh-huh. The beautiful heroine takes one for the team, but she suffers and endures with impressive courage and dignity. The handsome hero, unable to resist her charms, clasps her in his arms, holds her to his muscular chest. Their gazes meet and lock; he declares his passionate love and undying devotion and leans toward her, his lips parted, ready to plant true love’s first kiss on—”
“Pffffffft. Not until she brushes her teeth he doesn’t.”
We busted up. I could hardly catch my breath, and I had to hold my side.
“Don’t! Please!” I begged. “It hurts to laugh when you’ve been gut shot!”
“Right. Sorry. Let me distract you: Are you hungry? I brought in dinner.”
Food? Everything in me stood up and cheered.
“Yes! Bathroom first. Then dinner. And coffee. And breakfast. And lunch. Cause I missed all of them.”
We plowed into the Indian takeout, me alternating sips of Chai latte and coffee between bites of biryani, butter chicken, baingan bharta, chole, and chicken tikka masala.
“Man, I’m so starved. What happened while I was sleeping, by the way?”
“Gamble called. The doctors released Trujillo this morning, and I caught him up on what transpired in the Situation Room yesterday.”
I’d forgotten about Danforth. “Oh. Yeah. That was . . . harsh.” I shivered, recalling the pilot’s unemotional statement. “Splash one, Command.”
“Also, the nanomites took advantage of the time while you were sleeping to dink around downstairs. Something about increasing their storage capacity and adding functionality to the surveillance arrays. I think they are still at it.”
“Good. Maybe they won’t bug me about their storage anymore.”
Jayda Cruz, our upgrades are needed for the good work we do. As 2 Corinthians 9:8 instructs us, “And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”
Zander sniggered. “Huh. Guess they told you.”
I sighed. “Yeah, they did. Sorry, Nano. I really appreciate all you do, and I shouldn’t have grumbled about your needs.”
We forgive you, Jayda Cruz. Besides, complaining is more suited to Special Agent Grumble.
I had to, again, wrap my arms around my abdomen and hold on until I could stop laughing. “Please!” I begged.
“A merry heart does good like a medicine,” Jayda Cruz.
Still hugging myself so I didn’t hurt, I admitted, “Yes, Nano. It surely does. Thank you.”
We take our responsibilities to heart, Jayda Cruz.
“Um, sorry? What?”
Jesus has entrusted aspects of your welfare and wellbeing to us, Jayda Cruz. He is the Creator. We take our obedience to him seriously.
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Us, too. And thank you, Nano.”
I looked at Zander; he shook his head and switched up the conversation. “Jay, do you remember Dredd telling us that most of Mal’s crew lived at the clubhouse?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it’s going to take months, maybe longer, for them to repair all the damage to the clubhouse, and no one can sleep there until they get a new certificate of occupancy. So, while the work goes on, Mal’s rented some furnished apartments outside Baltimore for his crew. Gamble and Trujillo are going to hang out there while Trujillo gets her strength back.”
“Mal rented that many apartments?”
“Actually, he’s leased a ten-unit building in an upscale, gated apartment complex. The units are all studios, but that’s all the guys need. They’re adding some extra security measures to the building, too.”
We couldn’t go back to our apartment either. “We should think about setting up in a new place. You must be really tired of sleeping in a chair.”
“What I’m tired of is not snuggling with you.”
I flushed with happiness. “Me, too.”
“Well, that’s the thing. Mal’s offered us a unit in the building he leased. We can move in today.”
“Really? I mean . . . that’s so kind of him. And also? It’s a little reassuring.”
“Yeah, since we haven’t sussed out the mystery woman, she remains a danger to all of us—Gamble, Trujillo, Malware, Inc., and us. We’re thinking safety in numbers, a perimeter surveillance system, rotating guards. The whole nine yards.”
“What about Abe and Emilio? Izzie and your folks?”
“They’re safe for now.”
“But how long can they stay hidden, away from their normal lives?”
“I dunno, but like you said, we need to play offense, not defense. Identifying and taking down this mystery woman comes next.”
“Zander, do you think we blew it by forcing Danforth’s hand? He was our only connection to her, to the woman.”
Zander tore off a piece of garlic naan bread and considered before he replied. “Danforth seemed to be her Number 2, meaning she relied a lot on him and, I imagine, on the NSA resources he provided. Now she’s lost that entire connection. Gamble says the President has ordered that everything and everyone in the agency be scrutinized by outside eyes.”
“How effective do you think that will be?”
He looked thoughtful. “The Deep State hides in plain sight behind rules, regulations, and red tape. They are patient and can afford to wait because, as federal employees, they are just about impossible to fire. They will outlast elected officials whose agenda or worldview they disagree with. I believe the woman’s allies inside the NSA will just pull their heads in and lay low to avoid detection.
“But, to answer your question, no. I don’t think we blew it. In the immediate future anyway, I think taking out Danforth makes our mystery woman more vulnerable.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I allowed Zander’s response to reassure me.
WE TIDIED UP GAMBLE’S meeting place, gathered the few things Zander had brought over from our apartment, and had a cab pick us up a few blocks from the house. It was around 8 p.m. when we stood in front of a newly installed barred security door and rang the bell. We looked up at the cameras and waved.
Dredd’s voice came over the intercom. “Ripley! John-Boy! Good to see you two. Come on up to Apartment E.”
The lock on the door released. We walked into a breezeway that bisected the two-story building and passed a laundry room on one side and a workout room on the other before we reached a stairwell.
Zander walked a little further down the breezeway. “Looks like apartments A and B straight ahead on the left and C and D on the right. Guess E through J are upstairs,”
We climbed up to the second f
loor and found Apartment E. Mal opened the door to us.
“Hey. Glad you came. Ripley, how are you feeling?”
“I’m doing okay. It’s really good to see you again, Mal.”
“What about me?” Dredd hollered from inside.
“Especially you, Dredd,” I called back. “You own the magic machine that brews the Elixir of Life!”
“Good to know I’m loved for myself.”
We all chuckled, then Mal gestured for us to come in.
A studio apartment isn’t big; Dredd’s equipment took up all the available space in the main room, leaving just a tiny kitchen and a bathroom.
“Well, as you can see, we’ve set up our command center here, and the armory is next door in Apartment F,” Mal murmured. He pointed to a monitor. “We have a guard hidden on the roof and another walking the perimeter at all times—discreetly, of course. Our cameras cover every approach, and we mounted a few farther out into the apartment complex.”
He dangled a set of keys. “We’ve assigned you Apartment I. Gamble is in J with Logan; Trujillo is on the other side of you in H.”
I didn’t know how to thank him. “You didn’t have to take us in like this, Mal.”
“Yes, I did. You and John-Boy are part of our crew now, Ripley. You’ve earned your spot with us.”
“But . . . we kind of brought all this trouble on you. I mean, you wouldn’t even be in this mess if you hadn’t taken us to the clubhouse.”
“I told you. You’re Americans. We share a common enemy.” He leaned closer and whispered, “And I haven’t forgotten what you did to save all of us even though you’ve wiped everyone else’s memories. In my book that makes us family. End of discussion.”
He waved us out the door. “Go on. Get set up in your new digs.”
Mal’s inclusion and generosity touched me deeply. I nodded and got out of there before I cried or something.
’Cause that would really mess with Ripley’s rep.
Chapter 33
WE HAD A GROUP MEETING Saturday morning to go over all of the security protocols and to insert Zander and me into the work rotation—me in the command center until I healed all the way and Zander on guard duty.
By noon the next day, we’d started to settle into “compound” living with Mal’s crew. Unfortunately, the next day was Sunday.
“We’ll miss church this morning,” Zander sighed, “not that we dare paint a target on our friends at Grace Chapel by showing up there. I hope someday we can convince Pastor Lucklow that we’re not the losers he probably thinks we are.”
“We’ve missed our Bible time with the Lord for an entire week, too,” I reminded him. “I feel . . . stale and dry. I need a big drink of living water!”
“Hard to have regular devotions when we’re running and gunning for our lives.”
“Running and gunning? We’re picking up Malware lingo now? Listen, we need some Bible time. Since we missed church this morning, we should have church here. You and me.”
He glanced at me. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Actually . . . that’s a great idea, Jay.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Now a devious light sparked in his eyes. “You and me and all of Malware, Inc.”
“Ooooh! Spill it, mister.”
WE INVITED EVERYONE (Mal and his five-man crew plus Gamble and Trujillo) to dinner and “chapel” that evening in the workout room. To a person, our invitations were met with skepticism and narrow-eyed resistance. To a person, Zander shrugged and said, “What we’re facing is bigger than all of us. We need God’s help. I’m not afraid to ask him for it—are you?”
Our macho friends professed to be afraid of nothing, so the challenge had an effect—of sorts.
“I’ll come to dinner, but I probably won’t stay for the other,” was Mal’s even reply.
“Yeah. What he said,” McFly added.
“Sure. You decide,” Zander said. “I’m making my mom’s enchiladas.”
Deckard smacked his lips. “Oh, I’m not gonna pass on that. Just, you know, I’m not a religious person.”
“Good. I’m not either.”
Mal loaned us a car to go get groceries and sent Baltar with us to ride shotgun. From there on, Zander was in charge. He ordered Baltar and me up and down the supermarket aisles getting this and that—including spices I’d never heard of. Back at the apartments, he commandeered pots, pans, and dishes from other apartments and ran our little kitchen like a battlefield.
Baltar fled as soon as he could. I would have, too, but, being married to the guy, I was more or less stuck. By the time we finished at six that evening, we had three ginormous pans of red chile enchiladas (two chicken and one pork), a huge tossed salad, two pans of a cheesy/spicy rice dish, and a couple of gallons of sweet iced tea.
Logan and McFly set up two tables and a dozen folding chairs in the weight room for us and laid the tables with plates, forks, glasses, and paper napkins scavenged from their apartments. Then they helped us haul the food downstairs.
Everyone came. We chowed down, complimented Zander on his enchiladas, told jokes, laughed at each other, and generally had a wonderful time. I think it was the most fun any of us had enjoyed in a while. I know it was for Zander and me.
I was particularly glad to see Trujillo. Her face was a ridiculous mess of bruises and stitches, but she seemed . . . content. Might have been the way Gamble waited on her hand and foot, seeing that she had what she wanted to eat or drink, fetching a pillow for her back. Behaving like a total dork.
I loved it.
“What?” he demanded. “You’re grinning like the village idiot.”
“I’m happy for you, Gamble.”
He blushed. “Oh. Yeah. That.”
“Yeah,” I said dryly. “That.”
Dinner wound down, but before anyone could run from the promised “chapel” time, Zander pushed back his chair and stood.
“Look, I’ll keep this short. Deckard told me he’s not religious, and I don’t want to mess with his bad-boy status.”
We hooted and pointed at Deckard. He bowed in mock acknowledgment.
“The only thing I wanted to share with you is this, from the Gospel of John, Chapter 3. Now, in this passage, Jesus is talking to a religious person, but the guy didn’t get what Jesus was telling him. See, religion makes us deaf and blind to the good news. Religion is like an inoculation, a vaccine: It prevents you from catching the real deal.
“Jesus put it this way—and I’m going to paraphrase it here, so please don’t fact check me—you in particular, Gamble. I see you reaching for your phone!”
Zander’s self-deprecation and light humor elicited more good-natured laughter, but I blinked back tears. He was so kind when he shared the Gospel! He had an amazing gift, a calling from God, a powerful anointing to do just this: to speak the truth in love—and it completely blew me away, every time.
The first time I’d heard him—as he preached to the homeless in Albuquerque—I had been both awed and convicted. The Lord had used Zander’s words to jumpstart my journey back to him. I would forever be grateful.
“Anyway, what Jesus said was, ‘Look. I didn’t come into the world to condemn it; I came into the world to save it—the world is already going to hell in a handbasket, so I came to save it.’
“Think about that for a sec. Isn’t that the opposite of what you’ve heard? Haven’t you been told that God can’t wait to judge you, that he’s sitting up there right now with a big stick, just salivating over the beatdown he’s planning for you?”
A few heads nodded.
“Yes, we will all answer for the lives we have lived and, considering some of the things we’ve done, that is a scary proposition.”
Zander looked around. “You-all know me as John-Boy. John-Boy. Yeah, kind of a geeky guy. Squeaky-clean.” He grinned. “Hard to figure why a hot babe like Ellen Ripley would choose me, right?”
Snorts and snickers. Baltar raised his hand, “Don’t you
fret; I’m here when you get tired of him, Rip.”
More laughs, and McFly jumped in, “Don’t settle for that old man, Ripley!”
Baltar roared, “Who you calling old?”
Zander grinned, too. Then, when the laughter started to subside, he dropped the bomb.
“Yeah, nerdy me. What you don’t know about me . . . are the years I spent in an American-Mexican gang, about the drugs I peddled, the innocent girls I pimped, the drinking, the sex, the violence. I have a lot to answer for.”
No one was laughing anymore.
“I thank God that someone had the guts to tell me the truth about my need for God. See, one day, out of the blue, this old dude walked up to me on the street and said that God made me in his image, that he loved me the way a father loves his child. He asked me, ‘Do you like this life? Or do you want a new one?’ Well, I wanted to pull a blade on that old guy. I’m telling you, I wanted to stick him in the worst way.
“But he just kept on talking. He told me that God never wanted distance between me and him. That it was not God’s idea or desire for me to wander away, to be separated from him.
“Then he told me about the fix—God’s Plan B. What’s Plan B? I want you to think about the attack on the clubhouse last Tuesday morning, just five days ago. We were hit with superior numbers and overwhelming firepower. That Black Hawk hovered in the street and strafed the clubhouse with .50cal BMG rounds. Nothing—nothing—survived that barrage.
“With the outer walls breached, you were forced to retreat into the training center. You had reinforced that room, too, but the opposition planted charges that blew right through your thick walls. If they hadn’t knocked themselves out with their own gas, we might have lost that battle.
“Well, what if we had lost? I want you to remember the panic room in the training room. With the clubhouse breached and burning around us, you still had an ace in the hole. You had built, inside the panic room, a bug-out hatch and a tunnel that led to safety—a way out. A way to escape certain death. And I want to remind you that the bug-out tunnel was the only way out of the clubhouse once it was overrun.
Deep State Stealth Page 37
