Final Disposition (25 page)

      “But you won’t know for sure, because you can’t remember who I am or what I look like,” Talbert said.

      “Exactly,” Cellars agreed.  “Which would still be okay, if I could meet you at the station where there’s going to be a bunch of cops hanging around who know who you are,” Cellars said, “but I can’t do that, because of Reverend Slogaan’s idiot followers.  And, in the mean time, I’ve got a whole bunch of people running around Jasper County looking to throw me into an Army stockade, beat the crap out of me, or burn me at a stake.  And apart from those two Army MPs, I don’t know what any of them look like either.  So, for all I know, if I meet up with you at some private location, I could be walking into some kind of trap.”

      There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then:

      “Did it ever occur to you that I might have the same problem in meeting up with you in an uncontrolled situation?”

      Cellars’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

      “If you really are an Oregon State Police Captain, presumably a tough guy who moved up in the ranks, with a whole bunch of armed troopers at your disposal, why would you possibly be uneasy about meeting me face-to-face?”

      “Because the last time I saw you, about eight days ago, I was lying in a hospital bed with scars all over my head and face … all because I ran across some shadowy characters that I couldn’t deal with face-to-face.”

      “Shadowy … characters?”  Cellars could feel his heart tightening in his chest.

      “Characters who have an amazing capability to sound — and possibly even appear — very much like someone else; someone you know and trust.”

      “That sounds … crazy,” Cellars said.

      “Yes, it does,” Talbert agreed.

      Cellars suddenly blinked, and then nodded his head slowly in realization.

      “So that’s why Sergeant Bauer was so —”

      “Yes … exactly.”

      “Then I don’t see how we can —”

      At that moment, Cellars’ j-Connector rang.

      “What’s that sound?” Talbert demanded.

      “My cell phone,” Cellars said as he pulled it out of his jacket pocket and stared at the small screen that read:

      INCOMING CALL FROM: MALCOLM

      The j-Connector rang a second time … and then a third as Cellars continued stare at the small electronic device.

      “Cellars —!”  Talbert’s irritated voice.

      “Hold on for just a minute, Captain,” Cellars said into the radio, keying the mike with his left hand as he punched the j-Connector’s ANSWER icon with his right, “I’ve really got to take this call.”

CHAPTER 17

      “Hello,” Cellars said hesitantly, speaking into the j-Connector’s microphone.

      “You’re a tough guy to keep track of, Cellars.”  A deep voice that Cellars immediately recognized.  His baritone voice, harmonizing with Jody’s alto, as Bobby strummed a guitar … a long time ago?  How long?

      Cellars had no idea.

      “Malcolm?”

      “That’s General Malcolm to you, Major.”

      It was a commanding and serious voice, but Cellars could detect something else in the background — a melodic intertwining — that sounded a lot more like … amusement?

      “But I’m not —”

      “I understand you’re in a hurry to resolve some things with Captain Talbert, face to face … and you need a middle-man to facilitate that, as well as a location.  Is that correct?”

      “Yes, but —”

      “Advise Captain Talbert that a Major Mike Montgomery and a Major Angus Gladstone will be at the Chin’s Donut Shoppe — at the intersection of Main Street and Ferreira Road in Jasper Springs — in approximately twenty minutes.  He’s welcome to bring company.  Talbert, Montgomery and Gladstone all know each other, so everything should work out just fine.”

      “But
I
don’t know either of them,” Cellars protested.

      “Actually, you do … in a manner of speaking,” the deep baritone voice responded.  “Montgomery’s my Delta Detachment Commander … the two of you met and worked together a few days ago, before you were hurt … and Gladstone is my Military Police Detachment Commander, as well as Sergeant MacGregor’s boss.  Have fun … we’ll talk later.  Bye.”

      The call disconnected with a loud click.

      Cellars stared at the j-Connector for a long moment, then dropped it onto the front passenger seat and thumbed Bauer’s packet radio mike.

      “Talbert ... are you still there?”

      “I’m here,” Talbert responded immediately.  “What the hell’s going on out there?”

      “I think I just got a call from a match-maker.  How does twenty minutes from now at Chin’s Donut Shoppe sound?  Apparently, a Major Mike Montgomery and Major Angus Gladstone will meet us there and act as the go-betweens … and you’re welcome to bring company.”

      There was a long pause, then:

      “I’ll be there.”

*     *     *

      It took Cellars the full twenty minutes to work his way through the falling snow and icy roads to Chin’s Donut Shoppe, which was located on the outskirts of Jasper Springs.  When he got there, he found the donut shop closed, and the parking lot empty … except for a single armored Humvee parked on the far side of the lot facing the front door.

      It was immediately clear to Cellars that the armored and helmeted soldier in the ‘up-armored’ Humvee’s roof-top turret had a complete and commanding view of the entire lot with his long-barreled 50-caliber machine gun.

      
Holy shit, what have I got myself into this time?
  He thought as he pulled Bauer’s patrol car into the lot, drove past the Humvee, and then backed into a parking spot to the right of the shop.

      “Nine-Echo-One,” Cellars said into his radio mike.  “Where do you guys want me?”

      “Right where you are will do fine for the moment, sergeant,” a vaguely familiar voice responded.  “Talbert’s on his way.  ETA one.  Sit tight.”

      Forty seconds later, two OSP patrol cars and a plain white SUV pulled into the donut shop parking lot and took three widely-spaced-apart parking slots on the far left side of the building.

      Then, as Cellars continued to watch, a slender uniformed officer in a police commander’s hat with what looked like a pair of silver captain’s bars on the shoulders of his long field coat stepped out of the SUV … followed, a moment later, by a tall, heavy-set soldier in a full set of field fatigues who stepped out of the Humvee’s driver-side door.  The two men met in the middle-left portion of the parking lot under the watchful eye of the Humvee’s turret gunner, and shook hand.

      A moment later, Cellar’s radio beeped.

      “Showtime, Sergeant, you and I are the next act,” the vaguely-familiar voice spoke.

      “Okay, on my way,” Cellars said agreeably.  “Do you want me to leave my weapons in the vehicle?”

      The voice on the other end of the radio connection chuckled.  “No, feel free to bring whatever you’ve got to the table, Sergeant … but don’t count on it trumping a fifty.”

      “Understood,” Cellars replied.  “I’m coming out now.”

      The Army Major who met him in the middle-right portion of the parking lot — again under the watchful eye of the Humvee’s turret gunner — had the name ‘MONTGOMERY’ stitched onto the right breast pocket of his field jacket, and an amiable smile on his tanned and weathered face as he extended a gloved hand.

      “Good to see you again, Colin,” the soldier said, his gray eyes calmly taking in the scars on Cellar’s face.  His grip was solid and confident, but not overpowering.

      
He doesn’t give a shit about the guy with the fifty-caliber in the Humvee turret,
Cellars thought, staring back into Montgomery’s calm but watchful eyes. 
He knows he can kill me with his bare hands, and there’d be nothing I could do to stop him
.

      “I’d say it was good to see you, too … Mike,” Cellars said hesitantly, “but the honest truth is —”

      “I think I have a fairly comprehensive understanding of your situation,” Montgomery said, watching Cellars’ eyes now.  “Be advised that Angus and I will do whatever we can to get you back into the game.”

      “The game?”

      “That’s right.”  Montgomery nodded his head solemnly.  “And in that regard, I have a message from the General,” he said.  The message is this: ‘Bobby is suiting up.  It’s taking a little longer than we expected.  Hang tough and continue to follow your instincts until he gets there.’”

      Cellars blinked.

      “That’s the entire message?”

      “Every word.”

      Cellars considered this for a few moments, then:

      “Do you have any idea what any of it meant?”

      Montgomery smiled.  “Let’s just say I have a few thoughts on the matter that I’ll keep to myself for the moment.  Are you ready to get re-introduced to your Captain?”

      Cellars shrugged.  “Sure, why not.”

*     *     *

      In the time that Cellars and Montgomery had been talking, an OSP sergeant dressed in SWAT Team gear had stepped out of the nearest patrol car with a large cardboard box in his hands.

      Ignoring the soldier in the Humvee turret, the SWAT sergeant walked between the two pairs of men standing in opposite portions of the parking lot, stopped at a concrete-mounted metal table to the right of the donut shop’s front door that was covered with snow, brushed the snow off the table-top with his gloved right hand, and then laid the box down in the precise enter of the table.  As he did so, a fourth soldier exited the Humvee with a large thermos in one gloved hand and a pair of ceramic cups in the other.  He sat the thermos and cups down on the tabletop next to the box, and then proceeded to help the OSP SWAT officer brush the snow off the metal seats.

      At no time did the two visibly-alert men talk with each other, or even acknowledge each other’s presence.

      Finally satisfied with their work, the two diversely-uniformed men finally nodded to each other, and then returned to their respective vehicles … apparently the signal for Montgomery and Gladstone to lead their charges to the table.

      “Captain Talbert,” Montgomery said as he nodded cheerfully to the grim-looking police captain, and then gestured with his left hand, “Detective-Sergeant Colin Cellars.  I believe you two know each other.”

      “We’ll see how that works out,” Talbert responded, staring directing at Cellar’s face.

      If Talbert’s comment bothered Montgomery, it wasn’t obvious in the Delta Team Commander’s expression, which remained neutral.

      “But before we take leave of you gentlemen, to give you an opportunity to get reacquainted with yourselves,” Major Gladstone said in what Cellars took to be a deep Scottish brogue as he stepped forward and extended his right hand, “I’d like to shake the hand of the man who made a laughing stock out of my stout lads.”

      “I’m really sorry about MacGregor and Harthburn —” Cellars started to say as he absorbed Gladstone’s strong but mercifully brief grip, but the MP Commander waved him off.

      “No need to apologize, sergeant,” Gladstone laughed, his ruddy-tanned face breaking out into a wide smile.  “You out-smarted and out-flanked the pair of them with some very clever and unexpected tactics.  Lessons learned for both of the lads … and they’ll be better soldiers for it.”

      “But I suspect they’re still pissed at me?” Cellars ventured.

      “You won’t be wanting to take MacGregor up on any friendly boxing wagers for a while,” Gladstone advised.  “The man’s fair decent with his fists, for an amateur; although he lacks that certain degree of control necessary to become a truly accomplished pugilist.  I’m led to believe you discovered that unfortunate flaw in his character?”

      “He was pretty easily to get riled up,” Cellars admitted.

      “Something he needs to keep in mind with respect to his future endeavors, in and outside the ring.  But you needn’t worry about him looking you up for a bit of vengeance,” the MP Commander went on.   “MacGregor would like very much to remain a Sergeant First Class in good standing, and otherwise not earn the express displeasure of myself or the General.”

      “That’s good to hear, but I still owe them some money,” Cellars said as he started to reach into his jacket pocket, and then froze when he heard the sudden mechanical whirr of a heavy armored turret moving slightly.

      “You’ll be wanting to be keep your hands out in the open — and definitely away from your pockets — while you’re out here with the Captain, lad … for all the obvious reasons, and for one or two others that might not be so obvious,” Gladstone advised, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

      “But I —”

      “You don’t owe MacGregor or Harthburn a single penny.  I’ve already reimbursed them out of Detachment funds for their official expenditures on your behalf, your signed IOUs being perfectly acceptable receipts.  And I won’t even charge you for cleaning out the Humvee — that decomposing body was quite the clever ruse, by the way — or for shooting up the window.”

      “He really did shoot at your Humvee?” Talbert interjected.

      “I can’t say for sure that the sergeant here actually did the shooting,” Gladstone said, “but there are definitely three starred impact points on the left rear window of the Humvee that Sergeant MacGregor swears were not there when he sadly lost possession of his assigned vehicle.”

      “I
was
the one who did the shooting,” Cellar said.  “I can’t really prove it, but I never did reload afterwards, so there are three rounds missing from the magazine in MacGregor’s pistol.  I’m sorry about that, too, but —”

      “And where would that pistol be right now?” Gladstone inquired.

      “In the trunk of that OSP patrol car, along with my — uh, Major Cellar’s — fatigues.”

      “Is the car unlocked?”

      Cellars nodded.

      Gladstone reached into his field jacket pocket, pulled out a small radio, and spoke into it.