Dark Coup (18 page)

…

“Holy
cow
,” Jessie said when they came to J.B.’s stall.  “He grew fast!”

Travis smiled.  “Not really,” he said.  “He’s hardly grown at all since the last time you were here except for putting on some weight, he just wasn’t walking around much and there were a lot of people around so he looked smaller.”

Travis made a clicking noise with his mouth and then kissing noises, which set the girls giggling again.  J.B. came over to where they were standing and put his head through the gate and nuzzled Jessie.

“You can pet him,” Travis said.  “He likes being scratched between the ears and along his neck.”

Jessie and Bekah both looked at their mom and at a nod reached out to pet J.B.  He whickered a little and shook his head towards Bekah’s hand, which made her shriek and J.B. pulled away.  J.B.’s mom, Sunshine, looked over at the commotion, but didn’t feel the need to interfere…yet.

“It’s ok,” Travis said, and held out his hand to the foal.  “He’s as skittish as you are, so just be gentle and try not to make any sudden movements.  Remember, you’re as new to him as he is to you.”

“Can we feed him,” Bekah asked.

Travis looked at Marissa for the ok and then went to get some carrot sticks.  He’d learned a long time ago that you didn’t carry the treats in your pocket or let the horses know that was where they came from–that was a good way to teach a horse to nip and bite.

When he came back, he showed the girls how to hold the treat out on their hand so that they wouldn’t get bitten: with the carrot stick lying flat on their hand and their fingers bent down and away from the horse’s teeth.  Since J.B. was still a baby, being hand fed was a new thing and he was still learning.

Travis showed them there wasn’t anything to worry about by feeding J.B. first, and the foal gently picked up the carrot stick with his lips and then started chewing once his mouth was away from Travis’s hand.  Bekah was next, although she was clearly nervous, even though she had asked if they could feed him.  She giggled a little as J.B.’s velvet lips probed around on her hand until he found the carrot stick.

It wasn’t until after he moved his head away that she realized her hand was covered with horse spit and she made a face.  Marissa made a face of her own at her oldest daughter, one that said ‘don’t you dare make a scene, especially not before your sister has fed him.’  Instead, Bekah just wiped her hand on her jeans.

Jessie, after seeing that neither Mr. Gibson nor her sister had gotten bitten, wasn’t nearly as nervous as Bekah had been.  She also didn’t listen to what Mr. Gibson had said and held the carrot stick out in her fist.  Before Travis or Marissa could respond or say anything, J.B had reached out and bitten the carrot stick off just above her fingers.  Next, Jessie opened her hand and let the small piece of carrot stick lay flat on her palm, like she’d been told to do, and after a few seconds of chewing, J.B. picked it up with his lips and moved his head to chew it away from her hand.

“Well I’ll be,” Travis said.  “Lucky that didn’t go worse, but for a bigger piece of food that’s actually how you’re supposed to do it; keeps them from taking too big a bite at first.”

Travis shook his head.  “I really wish you hadn’t done it that way, though,” he said.  “You could have gotten bitten, honey.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessie said, and looked down while she wiped her hand on her pants.  “He wasn’t going to hurt me, though.”

“What do you mean,” Travis asked, “he wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“I don’t know,” Jessie said, “I could just tell he wasn’t going to hurt me.”  She reached her hand out and scratched J.B. under the chin and along his neck, and he stuck his head further out to rub the side of his face against her head.

“You’re a good boy, huh,” Jessie said.  “You wouldn’t bite me, would you?”

J.B. pulled his head back and blew air through his lips to make the pbbbbh sound horses are famous for and then shook his head.

Jessie turned to her mom and Travis with a big grin.  “See,” she said.

Chapter Nineteen

“Dan,” Ty said.  “I need to apologize.”

Dan was usually a pretty forgiving guy but he decided he was going to let Ty do most of the talking for a little while.  He didn’t know if things would have worked out any differently if Ty had listened to him or not, but he was in the mood to let him squirm a little.

“Ok,” was all Dan said.

“Look,” Ty said.  “I was wrong, really wrong.  I’m not used to being wrong.  I’m also not used to being so completely out of my element.  Even when I worked with Doctors without Borders, we knew what we were going into ahead of time, so we knew what to expect.”

Ty paused.  “I’m not used to being blindsided,” he said, “or not having the right tools or the right medicine.  It was a shock to the system.  I’m sorry I didn’t listen.  You were right and I was, not right.”

“This is killing you, isn’t it,” Dan said.

“
Yes
,” Ty said, “for more reasons than you think.  I hate being wrong because I hate losing.  I didn’t get into medicine to lose patients, Dan.  I know it’s going to happen but that doesn’t mean I have to like it, and this was
bad
.  Forget the blow to my ego, this was rough.  People need to trust their doctor.  I don’t know if they’re going to be able to do that now, and I
am
a good doctor.”

“I know you are,” Dan said.  “Once you figured out exactly what it was, I don’t think anyone could have done a better job under the circumstances.  I really don’t.  I’m sorry I was being difficult and I wish I could have helped out more.  All I knew was that it looked so similar to what we saw in the neighborhood…what killed my son, that it had me spooked.”

“I’ve been living in a dream world, Dan,” Ty finally admitted.  “The world I used to live in, where I had tools and medicines and labs…that world is gone.  There aren’t any doctors or nurses or paramedics anymore.  There are just healers now.   I’m willing to work with you, Dan, if you’re willing to work with me.”

“Deal,” Dan said.  “That’s all I ever wanted.”

…

July 5, 2013 - Fort Rucker, Alabama

Sanford looked at the uniform hanging in the doorway as he was getting dressed and shook his head.  He’d spent an hour the previous night trimming stray threads and tightening a couple of loose buttons on all of his pants and coats, but they still looked…vulgar.  It was wrong, in so many ways, just wrong, and it was becoming a problem on base.

He noticed more and more equipment that wasn’t being maintained like it should be.  Uniforms were a particular problem, and it was affecting morale and performance.  Things were starting to slip, attitudes were changing, and as ridiculous as it may sound, it was because little things like uniforms weren’t being held to a high standard.  People were growing sloppy and that just wasn’t acceptable.

It was to be expected that the ready stores would eventually run out, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t take care of what they had.  If anything they should be taking better care of what limited resources remained.

Sanford looked at his coat and another thought occurred to him.  The Colonel’s uniform didn’t look like it was really any the worse for wear after a year.  Why was that?  It most likely
wasn’t
because he’d had dozens of uniforms before the power went out, which meant that the Colonel was still drawing from stores when everyone else had been severely restricted.

Sanford finished tying his tie and grimaced at the knot.  It was starting to get shiny from always being in the exact same place and from the oil on his hands.

“We’re all equal,” he muttered to himself, paraphrasing Orwell.  “Some of us are just more equal than others.”

…

“Sir,” Hodges said.  “We’ve tracked them down to Denver.”

“Excellent,” Sanford said but with no real expression in his voice.

“They’re at the Denver International Airport,” Hodges said, “or, more likely, underneath it.”

Sanford still looked nonplussed.

“Seriously,” Hodges asked, completely in awe at how naïve his Major was.  “The
Denver
International Airport.  You know; the one that they built for no good reason while there was a perfectly good airport already in Denver?  The one that went over budget by tens of millions of dollars and yet somehow, magically, the money just appeared and nobody said a word about it?  The airport where whole buildings were built
wrong
and instead of being torn down and done again…they were
buried
, completely intact!”

“Nope,” Sanford said, chuckling.  “I take it there’s some conspiracy theory about the Denver International Airport.”

Hodges put his hand over his eyes.  “Actually,” he said, “yeah, little bit…, Sir.  And it sounds like it wasn’t actually that far-fetched after all.  That’s where the most recent communication, today’s, terminated at.  I sincerely doubt that if the President is there, he’s hanging out in concourse A or some frequent-flyer’s club.”

“Are you for real?” Sanford asked, then continued when it became obvious that Hodges wasn’t kidding.  “Ok, so while we’re at it, any bets on who the Colonel is working for?  The Illuminati, the Knights Templar–maybe little green men from Beta Reticula?”

“They’re grey,” Tuttle said.  “Little
grey
men…from Beta…sorry, Sir, it was on an episode of the X-files.”

Sanford glared at Tuttle, but barked a laugh after a second.  “Seriously, though,” Sanford said.  “Who do we think he’s working for?”

“We need to talk, Sir,” Hodges said.

Something in Hodges tone struck Sanford as a little…off.  “I was under the impression that’s what we’ve been doing, Lieutenant,” Sanford said.

“Not,” Hodges said, “like we have been.”

Hodges took a deep breath and tried to think of where to begin.  “Ok,” he said, “you hadn’t ever heard of anything odd about the Denver Airport, right?”

“Right,” Sanford said, drawing the word out to be several syllables long.

“You made a joke just now,” Hodges said, “about the Illuminati.”

Sanford made a face and then said, “Oh you can
not
be serious.”

“I’m not,” Hodges said, “about the Illuminati, but I guess you could say I’m a little bit of a conspiracy, not theorist, but maybe more of a conspiracy buff.  There’re a lot of conspiracies out there, and I’ve read up on most of them.  I’d be lying if I said all of them…but all of the major ones and most of the minor ones.”

“I assume there’s a point to all this,” Sanford said.

“Yes, Sir,” Hodges said, “if you’ll indulge me.”

“I have to admit,” Sanford said, “you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“One more question then,” Hodges said.  “Have you ever wondered why you’re still a Major, while people like Olsen keep getting promoted?”

“What does that have to do with anything,” Sanford asked, more than a little perturbed.

“Trust me, Sir,” Hodges said.  “I’m asking for a reason.  I’m older than you and I’ve been in the Army a little longer than you have, and I’m still a Lieutenant.  I have my suspicions as to why, but haven’t you ever wondered?”

“Of course I have,” Sanford grumbled, finally, “all the time.  I see…I see people like the Colonel get promoted, or I see good men get drummed out, and I wonder why? What’s going on?”

“Have you ever heard of the litmus test,” Hodges asked.

“Everyone’s heard of the litmus test,” Sanford said with a wave of his hand.  “It’s BS.”

“Really,” Hodges asked.  “Would you fire on armed or unarmed civilians if ordered to, Sir?”

“No,” Sanford said without hesitation.  “Not unless I was fired on first, and then only in self-defense and only in sufficient force to suppress the Op-For.”

Hodges just looked at Sanford for a few seconds.

“Oh, come on,” Sanford said.

“Who has been responsible for every raid that’s been conducted so far,” Hodges asked.

Sanford didn’t answer.

“Was it you, or Lieutenant Colonel West,” Hodges asked.

Sanford still didn’t answer, but was growing uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was headed.

“I already know the answer, Sir,” Hodges said.  “West was in charge, not you, because West has passed the test and you haven’t.  Both the Colonel and West passed the test and they’ve been promoted, and that’s just the tip of the conspiracy iceberg.”

“Go on,” Sanford said, leaned back and folded his arms.

“I know,” Hodges said, “
personally
know, a high-ranking officer that was drummed out because he wouldn’t toe the official Administration line.  They ruined his career.  They ran his name through the mud, and they tried to destroy his marriage by claiming he had at least two affairs.”

“You can never know what’s going on in someone else’s personal life,” Sanford said.

“I went through OCS with his brother,” Hodges said.  “I know the family, I know his wife.  These two were college sweethearts and he would have died before being unfaithful.”

Sanford looked sideways at Hodges.

“Think about it,” Hodges said, “do you really think that a scandal couldn’t be created if a four-star general didn’t pass the litmus test.”

“Wait,” Sanford said as he sat up.  “You aren’t talking about…”

“I am,” Hodges said, “and it was a set-up, pure and simple.  He quit saying what they wanted him to say and so he had to go.  I know him personally and I tell you the affairs never happened.”

Sanford sat back in the seat again, trying to accept the massive paradigm shift that was occurring.  The more he thought about it, the more certain things made sense, though.  The early retirements, all the missed promotions, non-judicial punishments for minor infractions that resulted in separation from the service–all of it seemed to make a sick sort of sense now.  And it had been speeding up over the last several years.

“There’s a lot more,” Hodges said.  “It just depends on how far back you want to go.”

“Well,” Sanford said, “they always say it’s good to start at the beginning.”

“Ok,” Hodges said.  “I assume you’ve heard of J. D. Rockefeller.”

“I lied,” Sanford interrupted.  “Don’t go back that far.”