"I don't know if she'll buy it, but try to negotiate her down to just sending a body guard. Tell her you want quality not quantity. Ask for one or two older experienced agents, not some hot shot young guy, who will be gung-ho about making a fuss around you in public."
April thought about it a little and how security worked on Home. "On Home," she explained I'd rather have Jon Davis the head of Security guarding me, that any of his agents. He teaches them all, but when you get right down to it he's death on wheels and better than any of them. Do you think here, they have one exceptional agent like that, who supervises the training of the others, I can ask for?"
"You can try, but he's probably older, so they won't be assigning him for actual protective duty and his bosses will probably fight having him loaned out tooth and nail, because once you get someone like that it's a fight to keep him from being stolen away, or retiring. On the other hand, they'd be happy they don't have to lose someone from an active group, that's all committed to guard someone else. They must be stretched pretty thin the way things are right now. Last thing anyone will want to do, is actually pull experienced protection off Wiggen. That's amazing she was offering any of her own detail. I'd bet she hasn't ran that idea past them, or they would be screaming. Ask her for the firearms instructor, or the armorer for her detail. Make sure she knows if he's older you'd like that."
April went back to Wiggen. "Look," she said, "I don't want to pull a big mob of agents off other duty, when you have so much to cover anyway. I don't want a big detail, that will be like a damn parade going down the road, if I want to go shopping. And for sure I don't want a bunch to try to manage me at every turn. How about just temporarily assigning me the guy, who is so skilled he instructs your other agents in firearms and tactics, or is their armorer? Whoever is like the head couch of your team. He's probably older and I'd be more comfortable with him than a young man for my own privacy. I'm used to an older instructor, like my man Easy. Hell, we'd even stripped down together in combat, when we come out of p-suits and had to clean up and he doesn't ogle you like a kid would, ‘cause it's just nothing he hasn't seen before," April could see an amused grin on Papa-san at that. "Would you ask your folks if they have a guy like that? Of course you can give him authority to call in other resources, if he sees he needs them."
Wiggen frowned. "One man isn't much of a guard," she protested. "I had a bit more in mind than that."
"It's lots of protection, if it's the right one," April insisted. "After you've seen me shoot now, would you rather have me guarding you, or the eight they sent to guard Harrison?" she asked pointedly.
Wiggen sat and thought about that a moment and grinned unexpectedly. "You're very persuasive with words. Are you sure you don't have a future in politics yourself?"
April just bit her tongue. Firmly. Papa-san filled the silence. "If April wishes to accept a body guard, we have room and no problem accommodating another guest."
"Thank you," April said, pleased she wouldn't have to leave.
Wiggen left the split screen open still and called the guard over. "I don't want to wake your Captain again. Who trains you men on weapons and teaches you tactics and so forth?"
"Our chief firearms instructor is Gunny Mack. He's armorer for the outfit also. He has a good size crew who work under him, but he's the main man. He programs our walk-throughs on the virtual range and is the one that grades and passes or cuts us," he hesitated.
"What are you reluctant to say sailor?"
"Begging your pardon Ma'am. In my very junior opinion, he's tremendously competent."
"Thanks, lieutenant. I'll contact him this morning."
"OK, April," She still sounded awkward saying that. "I have a man like you are talking about. I'll send him out later today. With those ribs, I would say you are going to rest a few days before you go out dancing anyway, so I'll send him on military transport and he'll be there quick enough. If you have any issue you really can't resolve with him or his commander, you can call me at this address. It's private if you please.
"But you haven't asked him to come yet," April protested.
"When the President asks, it's a thinly veiled order," she assured her. "He'll be coming tomorrow. He just doesn't know he volunteered yet." She stopped and looked at April thinking. "There is a dinner for the new German Ambassador in a couple weeks. If we're both alive, would you care to attend a state dinner on your ‘vacation' here?"
"I'd be honored President Wiggen. Thank you for asking me."
"That's fine. I'd rather see you face to face sometime and it will irritate all sorts of people, who it will give me joy to irritate," she said smiling. "Good night," she disconnected.
"That was strange," Papa-san told her. A person like President Wiggen doesn't just call someone up direct. They always have a secretary or an aide call and get whoever they want on the phone, before they come on themselves. They must be having a pretty bad night, if procedures are that loose."
"What was she talking about when she said that her guards were sitting close in the room with her because it had been a night of the long knives? I know she wasn't coining a phrase. I could hear the quotes around it, when she said it. Is it classical literature? Shakespeare?"
"In the European Wars you know who Hitler was?" Papa-san asked.
"Sure, Dictator of the Third Reich, who fought the Americans and allies in the Second European War, the same time as the Japanese fought them in the First Atomic War."
"Yes. Most historians lumped them together and called it the Second World War when I was growing up. If you read the documents of the time they regarded it as two fronts of one war, when they fought it. It's just recently historians have tried to separate them, to fit the way people look at wars now. Anyway, Hitler came to power in Germany using a bunch of street thugs, called the brown shirts, or the SA. But they were so brutal and lawless and scared the public so badly, that he almost lost power, because Germany came close to declaring martial law under the regular army to control them. So he had a smaller faction of the brown shirts, what they called the SS, who were a little more trained and disciplined, round up the other out of control elements he had used and just summarily executed most of them. Maybe a thousand. Nobody really knows how many. He very publicly said he had no apology for acting as High Judge outside the law to save his country and nobody called him on it. Nobody called him on the fact that he was the one put it in peril to need saving. That was when he really consolidated his absolute personal power over the larger part of his society, by dropping this radical faction that he had rode to power. It was a pretty slick transition to pull off and that's what it's known as now, The Night of the Long Knives."
"I know she wouldn't draw a comparison between her government and Hitler's," April said, looking bewildered. "But is she trying to draw a parallel between Homeland Security and these brown shirts?"
"Perhaps you should ask her at dinner," Papa suggested. "It might make for some interesting conversation." He smiled to himself picturing that.
"You seem to really enjoy history," April remarked.
"Oh, I love history. That's the field in which I was awarded my first doctorate," he said to her surprise.
Chapter 38
Gunny Mack Tindal woke up to a new day relaxed. He just wiped his face with a washcloth for now and would shower later. He put on shorts and a tight pair of running shoes without socks. He knew all the arguments against that, but didn't care. He didn't like socks. As long as he retired his shoes for running as soon as they started to lose shape, he never got blisters. He dropped and did rolling setups while the coffee brewed, half decaff, half regular. He'd have just a tiny cup before running. The room around him held a hundred reminders of his wife, dead three years now, but it seemed like last week.
She had died at work suddenly, a shock to him and everyone who knew her. Sitting at her desk looking at her screen she had felt a sudden pop in her chest and only had time to briefly wonder with surprise what that odd sensation could be, as
the undetected aneurism let loose. He was glad she had not died slowly in pain, as too many do. But he felt faintly betrayed. The husband usually dies first. Especially when he is older and Mack was by four years. They had planned to travel in retirement, as they always enjoyed doing with what vacation time they had. He already qualified to retire if he wished and was waiting for her to reach that goal she never would now.
He could go ahead and retire now, but it seemed so pointless at the moment. Traveling alone, he would be constantly thinking how he wished she were with him. He had enough money. They had always been frugal. They kept the same house they raised their three children in and by a fluke of location and timing, it alone had appreciated to a small fortune. Anna had insurance at work, insurance from her professional association and a hefty term policy they had bought to cover her while the kids were growing up. They had talked about canceling that when she turned forty-five and the payment went up, but hadn't quite got around to it.
If he could have been honest with himself about it, he was still a bit depressed and just starting to work out the last of his mourning. He had just kept plugging along in his job, not so much because he loved it, as he told himself, as that it very effectively filled the time. So now that he was working all that out, he didn't understand why instead of feeling better, he was just slipping into a different sort of funk he didn't understand and couldn't label. In truth he had not yet discovered he was bored. If you had suggested it he would have denied it.
For example he knew too well exactly what he was going to do today. He'd do seventeen more sit-ups, drink a six ounce coffee. Run six and a half miles, turning right from his drive because he turned left yesterday and return to a light breakfast, shower and dress in a duty uniform for his drive to work. He had a shipment of new nine millimeter Glocks at work to disassemble and he'd be instructing the new fellow Rewold how to hand deburr and radius any corners and edges not to his liking and replace a small number of parts with aftermarket items.
He knew where he'd eat lunch and what he'd have. In the afternoon he had three lieutenants from the protection detail, to re-qualify on a walk through combat pistol evaluation. If any of them failed he'd formulate a week long refresher course and requalify them, or send them for a medical and psychological work up, if they could not requalify from the refresher.
He drank his coffee, stretching between sips, getting ready to hit the door when his phone rang. He usually didn't carry it running. He was not on one of the strict lists, required to be always available for contact, but he answered it, sure it would be something he could clear in a moment and get to his run.
"Gunny, this is Captain Yoder. Captain Ridley is temporarily removed from active duty and unable to deal with matters of the protective services. President Wiggen has asked me to brief you on a special assignment on her behalf. Report to my office at your start time and bring your personal keys. While you are on this special temporary duty, if there are any items that need canceled such as a paper, or any pets or house plants, I was instructed to have them taken care of by the State Department. I'll have someone here you can instruct what needs done and return your car home for you."
"You should also bring a light bag, with a couple changes of civilian clothing, suitable for a Hawaiian climate and any medications or personal items you'll need for about a month. You'll be acting as solo bodyguard to a very special foreign VIP, on behalf of the President, so you are free to carry whatever personal weapon you prefer and you are free to draw any heavier weapon you'd care to take from your armory. You'll be getting expedited military transport, so you can carry everything in cabin with no problem. Do you have any questions or problems with this assignment?" His tone of voice made clear, he didn't want to hear any objections.
For Gunny the last remaining wisps of depressive fog dissipated at the Captain's words. He was going to do something different today and his mind snapped back into the clearest focus he'd felt in years. He took a deep breath and felt wonderful. "Yes Sir. Could you have someone bring a few items I know I'll be short to your office and I'll leave room for them in my bags?"
"Certainly Gunny. The President herself made very clear you are to be given anything within our power to provide. That's the most generous support doctrine I've ever had the pleasure of hearing. Wish we heard it more often, don't you know?"
"Yes Sir, wish we did." Gunny for his part, was astonished a strange captain was being chatty with him. He guessed when the President talked you up, it gave you a certain status beside any rank. Now if he could just find out how the devil she latched on to him for this duty, he'd know sooner if it was a plum or a booby prize.
"I'd like two boxes of long twelve gauge shells with tungsten flechettes, a nice Panama hat size seven and five eighths, two compact anti-personnel concussion grenades, a bottle of high factor sun screen, a pair of baggy swim trunks size extra large and a dozen Snickers bars. Thank You Sir, I'll be there quickly," he promised.
Captain Yoder hung up amused and tore the list off his old fashioned desk pad. His aide would go nuts over the crazy combination of items to run down. Not just a Panama he noted, a nice one. That's OK he thought, it'll keep my man on his toes. Gunny Mack was everything he had heard rumored. Not a single normal question, when asked to take off half way around the world on a bizarre mission, just an unhesitating laundry list with Snickers bars. Maybe he was as good as they say.
Gunny showered quickly and dressed in loose clothes and soft shoes for a long plane ride. In his biggest soft bag went a full dress uniform, carefully folded since he could not hang it. He didn't care what Yoder said about civvies, he wanted it available if he was guarding a VIP. Then after half the bag was full, elastic waist shorts and t-shirts, some beach pants and flip flops and a floppy hat. In his pockets went a small folding knife, a compact LED flashlight and his wallet. A very expensive compact com pad went on his belt, with spex in a hard case. Around his waist went a fanny pack, with a compact nine millimeter on a scandium alloy frame with titanium alloy barrel and four magazines. His passport and ID went in the same pack. Around his neck went a braided cord with a slim carbon fiber knife hanging in a slim sheath, upside down.
He stood looking at the long case parked on a wheeled carrier against the wall. The man said any personal weapons he wanted. The chances he would ever actually use a bench rest rifle were pretty slim, even if he got some free time to shoot as recreation and if he took the gun he needed the bench kit and the shooting table. They didn't have prairie dogs in Hawaii anyway, did they? He left it, but went out the door cheerier than he had been in months. He was actually humming, even though he missed his run. The little econo-box he drove was packed full.
At his office he laid a paper pad out and noted from whom his computer access could be obtained and the few really urgent things that needed done. Yoder had failed to formally tell him who would be taking care of his present duty, but this was the least he could do for them. Then he took a SWAT style carrier and loaded a .30 caliber rifle set up for sniper duty, a pistol grip shotgun with a powered magazine, a very compact H & K submachine gun with a field service kit for it and a very special ammo pack. He also packed a surveillance package with remote sound and camera units, that could be deployed ballistically from what looked like a flare gun, or just thrown by hand. He added a couple snoop robots about the size of a grasshopper, that used the same display as the other sensors and a normal Frisbee drone. There was another kit that basically allowed you to spoof and defeat someone else's sensor suite. Last he added a tiny kit that would allow you to put a tracking chip on a person or vehicle. All the electronics fit in about a liter volume. He felt funny signing everything out. He was used to the other side of the counter, so to speak. When it came to the authorization and command of issue he hesitated. So far he just had a verbal from Yoder.
He paused and reflected on how well he knew the man. He didn't think he would be involved with any strange political actions, but he didn't know the man enough to risk his neck.
He expected written orders when he got to the man's office and didn't expect to actually speak to the President. But he better cover his butt in case anything wasn't kosher and he was walking around with all this weaponry. It felt funny too but he hand wrote: By personal order of the President, for detached duty per verbal orders. Reporting to receive written orders from Captain Yoder. That should cover him, along with the call he'd automatically recorded on his pad. He was so early there were not any of his techs in yet. It just never even occurred to him anyone might challenge the Master Sergeant carrying out anything he pleased. He went out with two more bags almost fully equipped.
When he reported to Captain Yoder the items he requested were sitting on the corner of the man's desk. He had to have a pretty efficient staff to get them that fast. He was handed a credit card in his name and an Aerospace Force emblem on the face. He peeled the tab and set it to his genome. He was pleased to see whoever rounded things up, had laid out three swim trunks so he'd have a choice. He asked for the flash bangs, as much to see if anyone would argue with him, as much as really wanting them. Current protocol in the protective details he supplied excluded them. It appeared, since they supplied them, that they really intended to allow him to operate fairly independently.
Yoder handed him orders on the usual forms and a letter with the President's actual signature on it, detailing his tasking. A second letter formalized the action as a Presidential finding. It actually gave him a chill up his back, that anyone thought that might be necessary. There were travel documents and the a collection of briefs in individual folders. One for April, one for her host Satos, that had a different cover with a special trim along the edge.
April 2: Down to Earth Page 33
