Standing at the Edge

by William Alan Webb

  “The Civil War?” Steeple said, blowing his lips. “I’m not even going to justify that with an answer. If you go down that road, you could argue the Sevens are simply American citizens who chose a different form of government, like the Confederates did, which is why posse comitatus is outdated anyway, whether it applies to foreign enemies or not. Our military needs to fight anybody, anywhere, who threatens our government.”

  “What government?”

  “The one we’re going to install.” Steeple didn’t bother to hide his irritation at talking in circles. “To protect our people.”

  “What if it’s the government itself which threatens our families?”Angriff asked. “After all, that’s why we had the Second Amendment.” He reached over to the holster on his desk corner and slid a Desert Eagle free. Turning the gun over, admiring the workmanship, he held it so Steeple could get a clear look. “Norm Fleming hates these things, you know; he says they’re much bigger than they need to be and don’t hold enough ammo. The magazine only holds seven rounds. But I like ’em; you know why?”

  Steeple turned his hands palms up. “What has this got to do with anything?”

  “My mind wanders, Tom,” Angriff said. “Maybe I’m getting old. The reason I like these so much is they fire a fifty-caliber round, and I load the ammo myself. You know, to squeeze out those few extra feet per second of muzzle velocity. Norm says I’m overloading them, but he’s a worrier.”

  “So what? Everybody’s heard of your damned Eagles. Now, can we get back on track? We’ve got serious business to discuss.”

  “Humor me. I heard you out on that plane back in Switzerland; you can spare me a few extra minutes, can’t you?”

  “If you’ll get to the point.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get the point. Anyway, when you combine a fifty-caliber hollowpoint with the muzzle velocity of my hand-loaded rounds… well, they do a lot of damage to human flesh. Even a hit in the arm might cripple you for life, assuming you survived and didn’t bleed out. And if I fired at a really close range… How close are you sitting to me now, Tom? Eight feet? The kinetic energy at that range, combined with the weight of the round itself, would slam the bullet right through you and leave a softball-sized exit wound. Probably go through the glass behind you, too, and it’s reinforced. I don’t even know if we could replace it.”

  “What’s going on here, Nick?”

  “I’m talking about my guns and what a mess they make when I shoot somebody.”

  “Why?” Steeple said, beginning to realize that something had gone wrong somewhere. “Because I hope you’re not threatening me. That’s a serious offense toward a superior officer. You could be court-martialed for that. That’s not what’s going on here, is it, Nick?”

  “Hell, no,” Angriff said. Then, as if noticing for the first time that he only wore his old three stars on his collar, he took them off, reached into his top desk drawer, and pinned on the five stars. “My Congressional appointment is quite specific. It states that I am the highest-ranking officer in the armed forces of the United States of America, which means I no longer have any superior officers. Including you, Tom.”

  “You pompous son of a bitch!” Steeple said. “You don’t have five stars! We haven’t had a five-star general since Omar Bradley! Congressional appointment, my ass. There is no way in hell you’re my superior officer. I would have known about it. Now, I order you to stand down and hand over your command to General Fleming, before you force me to take action against you. You are relieved of duty.”

  Having picked the Eagle up again, Angriff aimed at Steeple and took out the laminated original of his Congressional appointment.

  “Be it known that by Act of the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America, in joint resolution acting in emergency session, henceforth from this date Nicholas Trajanus Angriff shall, by the will of this Congress, be promoted to the rank of General of the Army and is authorized to wear five stars to portray his new rank. Further, be it known that in this new rank Nicholas Trajanus Angriff shall be superior to any and all officers of the United States military, regardless of rank, seniority, or branch of service.” He paused and let that sink in. “It’s signed by President Collins, whoever that was. There’s a clause down below that if something rendered me unable to accept this post, the promotion would go to the next highest-ranking officer in the brigade, namely Norm Fleming. Fortunately for me, that didn’t happen.”

  Steeple studied the paper, looking for flaws, but his expression told Angriff he understood exactly what it meant. Then his eyes cut to the date. “This was signed two years after I went cold. The government couldn’t have lasted that long; there was nothing left to govern.”

  “And yet this document made it into Overtime after it was supposedly sealed for good.”

  “That’s impossible! Nobody else knew how to access Overtime without activating it.”

  But Angriff saw his eyes shift left for a split second and knew there was somebody else. “I outrank you, Tom, whether you like it or not, whether you’ll admit it or not, and I’ve got twelve thousand combat troops to back me up. You said you were going to take action against me?” Angriff smiled and let the pistol drift in line with Steeple’s face. “I think you have it backwards.”

  Steeple sat back, still in shock. “You would raise your hand against a fellow officer?”

  “That’s rich, coming from you, you sanctimonious bastard. You took away my life, you tortured my family, and you did it with a straight face. Of course, you’ve had a lot of practice at it.”

  It finally came to Steeple that Angriff knew more than he was telling, and that something had suddenly gone very wrong. It was time to up the ante. “I don’t know what prompted this lunacy, but do you really think you have the high card, Nick? You don’t, you know. I do. I have something you want very badly, and to get it, you’re going to have to do exactly what I say.”

  Angriff casually aimed the Eagle’s muzzle until Steeple could stare down the barrel and see the concave tip of the round in the firing chamber. “You’re wrong, Tom. You don’t have anything I want, not any more. My people extricated my wife and daughter from Comeback while we’ve been talking. So now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with you. My top two choices are either to beat the living shit out of you with my bare fists, or blow your head off.”

  #

  Chapter 41

  Do nothing secretly, for Time sees and hears all things, and discloses all.

  Sophocles

  Operation Overtime hangar deck

  1628 hours, April 16

  Once her mother and sister had been lifted out of Tank Girl and hurried down the hall by a waiting medical team, the job was done, the mission over. Morgan could relax. Everyone could relax. The others drifted off to eat and shower, but Morgan headed for the hospital. Once there, she stayed close to hear word of her mother and sister. Green Ghost followed and stayed with her, and Nipple stayed because he stayed.

  A few minutes later a nurse came out, smiling. “Vitals are good, and at his request we’re moving both of them to General Angriff’s quarters.”

  When the nurse left, Morgan smiled at Green Ghost. “I’ve got to admit, you guys are good. I was impressed.”

  Before he could answer, Nipple snarled. “Did you think Saint Nick would send in the second team to save your precious mother?”

  “Hey! I’ve had enough of your shit. What’s your problem, anyway?”

  “Nipple, stand down!” her brother said.

  “I’m tired of being told to shut up. Nobody ever tells Blondie here to stand down, do they? Has that sack of shit upstairs ever done one damned thing for us?”

  Morgan grabbed Nipple’s upper arm and hauled her around. “I’m getting tired of you bad-mouthing my father, too.”

  Nipple jerked her arm away. “Don’t grab me again.”

  “Nipple!”

  “Stay out of this, Big Brother. This is between her and me, and it’s been a l
ong time coming.”

  “If you hurt her—”

  “She won’t hurt me,” Morgan said. “But the bitch better start showing my father the respect he deserves. I don’t know what he sees in you; you’re a raving psychopath. I’d have thrown you out of here a long time ago and we’d see how you’d fare out in the desert.”

  “I’ll bet you would,” Nipple said in a rising voice. “I’ll bet you’d love that. You’re exactly the kind of sister I thought you’d be!”

  Morgan stepped back. “What did you say?”

  “Little Miss Innocent, acting like you didn’t know.”

  “Like I didn’t know what?”

  “Shut up, Nipple. Don’t mind her, Morgan. You know she’s screwed up and delusional.”

  “You know damned good and well what’s on that birth certificate, Nick.”

  “Nick?” Morgan wondered if she’d heard that right. “Why did she call you that? What did she mean by that sister crack?”

  “Nothing. She hears voice, imagines things — she’s out of her mind.”

  “You fucking coward.” Nipple shoved her brother away. “I’m tired of pretending! She’s gonna find out some day. They all are, including dear old Dad.”

  “Let’s go,” Ghost said, dragging her away. “Sorry, Morgan.”

  “She called you Nick! What did she mean? Or would you rather I ask my father?”

  Green Ghost stopped and again Nipple jerked her arm free, like a bratty teenager.

  “Your dad doesn’t know anything, Morgan,” he said. “Because there’s nothing to know. Please drop it.”

  “Nothing to know?” Nipple was yelling by now, her voice echoing down the corridor. “No, nothing at all, except that he’s our father, too!”

  #

  1747 hours

  Angriff sat on the edge of the bed, not even trying to stop crying, and watched his wife’s chest rise and fall with perfect regularity. Beside her, Cynthia mumbled in her sleep, which was a good sign. Dr. Friedenthall had cleared them medically, although until they actually regained consciousness, they were not completely out of danger.

  But the miracle had been revealed, as well as the depth of Steeple’s betrayal, by his wife and baby girl being alive at all. And now, when all of the evidence had said otherwise, he had his entire family back. It did not seem real, and the only way his emotional spirit knew to deal with such overwhelming news was to weep.

  He brushed a loose strand of blond hair from his wife’s forehead and traced his finger down her temple, the way he had done every time they had made love. Sniffing, he backhanded his tears away. “If you can hear me, Janine, come back to me. I’m just the horse; you’re the rider.”

  A light knock on the door brought him to his feet. He’d left orders not to be disturbed unless the fate of the brigade was at stake, and both Walling and Schiller knew better than to violate that order. When he opened the door, however, it was Morgan. “Come on in,” he said. “They’re still sleeping.”

  “Can we talk out here?”

  “Sure.” He stepped into the living room, but Morgan kept going, past the galley kitchen and out the front door into the hallway. “What’s up?” he asked, with the door safely closed behind them.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Daddy, I’m not sure how to ask you this…”

  “I’ve told you a million times, Morgan: the only way to say something is to say it. It must be important if I needed to come all the way out here, so just get it out.”

  “It’s more private out here, in case Mom or Cindy wakes up.”

  “A public hallway is more private?” he said.

  “Dad, you were twenty-three when you met Mom, right?”

  “Thereabouts.”

  “You dated two years and then got married. And you were married thirty years when… when Tahoe happened.”

  “Where are you going with this, Morgan? You already know all this.”

  “Was there somebody before Mom?”

  “Where the hell did that come from? Not only is this not the time or place, it’s none of your business, either.”

  “Maybe it is,” she said. “I’m not asking to pry. I really need to know. It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask.”

  “There might have been one or two. I was a normal young man.”

  “Anybody serious?”

  “If you don’t count high school, just one,” he said. “I dated her for more than a year. She hated the military, asked me to resign, but I was a brand new lieutenant and the Army was my life. She was half nuts anyway; I suspected she was doing drugs. One day she just up and left. I never heard from her again. Your mom knew… knows all about her.”

  “Joan Bauer,” Morgan said.

  “So Mom already told you? Then why are you asking? I need to be in there in case your mom or sister wakes up.”

  Morgan shook her head. “Daddy, before today I’d never heard of her.”

  “What does Joan Bauer have to do with anything? For all I know, she was hit by a bus the day after she packed off. I told you I never saw her again.” Then the full import of Morgan’s words sank in. “Wait a minute. Your mother hasn’t woken up yet, and she’s the only one who would know. But you just said she didn’t tell you, so how did you find out about Joan?”

  Morgan rubbed the back of her neck and looked away. “No, Dad, Mom’s not the only one. Joan Bauer didn’t get hit by a bus. She left because she was pregnant and didn’t want you to know. She thought you would make a terrible father.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous… and how do you know any of this, anyway?”

  “I know because I’ve met her kids, your son, my brother, and my other sister. You know, the sister who’s psychotic?”

  “Psychotic? What in the hell are you—” Then Angriff backed up, felt faint, and reached for the wall.

  Morgan started to slide an arm under his left shoulder, but he pushed her away. “Are you all right, Daddy?” His face was pale, and it frightened her. She had never seen him like that before, never, and she hoped he wasn’t having a heart attack.

  “Joan had kids?”

  “Joan had your kids, Dad. Twins. And they’re here, in the brigade. You see them every day. One is your head of Security.”

  “Green Ghost?” he whispered. “Green Ghost is my son?”

  She nodded. “I’ve seen the birth certificate. Nicholas Trajanus Angriff, Jr., born ten minutes before his fraternal twin sister, Nicole Teresa.”

  #

  SECTION SIX

  Messages

  Chapter 42

  The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.

  Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

  Operation Overtime, General Angriff’s quarters

  1829 hours, April 16

  Her last memory was of flying across the choppy waters of Lake Tahoe in an open speedboat. The boat reached shore, where she and Cynthia were half lifted, half thrown into the back seat of a black SUV waiting on the highway. There had been a sting in her arm, like from a needle, and then nothing.

  Janine Angriff tried to open her eyes, shied away from the sudden light, and felt a warm cloth on her face. Lifting the towel up as a screen, she opened her eyes again and waited for them to adjust. After twenty seconds she peeked around it and saw the face of her husband.

  “Nick,” she said. The soft Virginia accent brought more tears to Angriff’s eyes. “What are you doing here? Where’s Cynthia?”

  Angriff smiled in a way she hadn’t seen since the nurse had first handed him Morgan in the delivery room. “She’s right next to you, honey. How are you feeling?”

  Janine reached over and felt the still-sleeping form of her younger daughter. Satisfied, she rubbed her eyes and propped herself on one elbow. “I’m really thirsty.”

  Angriff handed her a squeezer of cold water, which she drained. “Wow, that’s good. So where are we? Why are you here? Have I been ill? I had a really terrible dream. Cynthia and I were on this tourist boat at Lake Tahoe, and i
t was attacked by these horrible men who shot everybody, but not us. There was a speedboat and then the dream ended. What an awful nightmare.”

  He patted her hand. “You’re fine, you haven’t been sick, and I don’t want you to be. There’s a lot to tell you, honey. A lot, and most of it won’t make sense right away. Some of it doesn’t even make sense to me, and some of it is going to be a shock… well, most of it will be a shock.”

  “What’s going on, Nick?”

  “You need to rest for a while. I don’t want you getting sick.”

  “Nick, tell me what’s going on. Tell me now.”

  He’d forgotten how persuasive those dark blue eyes could be; he’d never been able to say no to her. He sat up straight and rubbed his jowls, then massaged the bridge of his nose, a sure giveaway that he was stressed. “The attack on the tour boat wasn’t a nightmare, Nini. It really happened. Those people were killed and you were kidnapped. We just now got you back.”

  “Oh, my dear sweet Jesus,” she said. “Dear Lord, no, not all those young people and their children. Tell me they weren’t all killed, Nick, please tell me that.”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could.”

  “I remember this lady watching her husband. It was chilly and she was sipping hot chocolate. He was on the bow, then there was an explosion and he was gone. She had a little red-haired girl, two, maybe three years old. They killed them, too?”

  He nodded.

  “Do they know who did it? Have they caught them?”

  “They’re all dead, too, Nini. We killed them.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said we. Who is we?” she said.

  “The people under my command and I.”

  “They were Muslim terrorists, weren’t they?”

  “No,” he said. “Believe it or not, they weren’t. That was all misdirection to keep us from knowing who really did it. But that can wait. There’s a couple of other things you need to know first.”