Ace started to laugh.
“I said shut the fuck up,” snarled the shooter.
Ace tried to stifle his laugh as he watched a black dude get out of the van with another guy. Nobody wearing uniforms, but that had to be a military helicopter. Ace smiled into the gravel. I was right. She wasn’t a cop. Gordy owes me. A soldier girl!
Dumb shits. Now whatta you suppose they thought was in George’s foot locker?
“Open it,” the guy with the flak jacket ordered. One of the shooters shouldered his rifle and went to the foot locker which now, in addition to the dome light, had several intense flashlights trained on it.
The locker was secured with several bands of duct tape. The shooter took out a Randall knife and cut the tape. As he peeled it away, the others crowded forward, like holding their breath as he snapped the hasps up and lifted the lid.
Pure stunned silence.
Flak Jacket turned on the older white-haired guy and snarled. “Colonel Wood, you better be able to explain this.”
“Check it. Take everything out and check it,” Holly said in a tight voice.
Ace started laughing again. No one moved to stop him this time. He watched them remove the tightly packed wooden containers and stack them to either side of the foot locker. Open one.
“That’s it?” Nina said in a strangled voice. “CIGARS? I took my fucking clothes off for a box full of cigars?”
“Not just any old cigars,” Broker said, trying to hold down his rising mirth. “Those are Cohibas, honey.”
“Not just any old Cohibas, either,” Holly said in a weary voice. “Looks like forty-two ring, seven inches. Those are Lanceros. What Castro used to smoke.”
The shooters slung their rifles and motioned for Ace and George to get up. Ace turned to George and said, “Better let me do the talking.” Seeing the small catlike smile play across George’s lips, he said firmly, “George, hey man, this isn’t funny.”
George Khari immediately sobered.
The shooters moved off with Nina, Jane, Broker, and the two guys from the van. They all joined the white-haired guy and the guy with the Geiger counter. They stood in a little semicircle. Flak Jacket was doing all the talking, in a controlled shout. He waved his hands in tight circles. The guy was pissed. Ace heard the word circus several times.
Jim Yeager stood back from the harangue and then moved smoothly into the power vacuum. Hands on his hips, faintly smiling, he said, “Okay, Ace. Why don’tcha explain what’s going on here. Like, who’s this guy?” Yeager pointed at George, who was now furious, trying to dust the gravel stains off his shirt and shorts.
“Assholes!” George yelled. “They put oil on the gravel, or something. Look-brand new, from Cabela’s, fucking ruined.” He shook his fist at the coven of military types and shouted. “You pussies. You got nothing better to do? Is this because I come from Lebanon? I pay taxes, you know, goddammit, and so does my uncle. He was in Korea. First fucking Marines. He walked from Chosen to the coast with shrapnel in his knee, and you fucking Girl Scouts have fought-who, the fucking Panamanians? The Grenadians? The dip-shit Iraqis? Some losers in Afghanistan?”
“George, calm down,” Ace said. He turned to Yeager. “He’s George Khari, an old friend of the family. He’s a liquor distributer from Grand Forks. We kind of run into each other on the road.”
“Uh-huh,” Yeager said. “And what about that?” He pointed to the foot locker.
Ace smiled, enjoying himself. “Well, we were trying to figure out what to do about that. I found it just sitting there on the gravel north of town.” Ace paused, relishing the moment. “Fact is…I didn’t open it, Jimmy. You did.”
“Who are those fuckers?” George demanded, pointing at Holly and company. “I want all their names and their jobs. I want to talk to my lawyer!”
Yeager said, “C’mon, figure it out. They’re people from the air base across the road. You’re on government property here. They probably scrambled to see why you’re creeping around the site. Like back during the missile time.”
“Yeah, right. Protecting the gophers who live here, huh?” Ace grinned. “You know what I think? I think you should get your ass out there and write a ticket to that fuckin’ helicopter. Looks to me like it’s blocking traffic.”
“Watch your mouth, Ace,” Yeager warned.
Broker gathered that the troubleshooter who’d flown in from the Office of Homeland Security was willing to break the rules for a nuclear event. But not for a box of smuggled cigars. They had nothing on George Khari-who was a Christian, for heaven’s sake, the guy said with a whiff of born-again indignance-not some Muslim fundamentalist crazy. And nothing really on Ace Shuster for possession of the cigars that a good lawyer couldn’t get thrown out of court. Jane and Nina were right. The guy was after Holly’s scalp. He used the words irresponsible, renegade, and rogue.
“You got till tomorrow morning to clean up this mess. Then I want everybody en route to Bragg by noon. Figure out a way to make it so that this didn’t happen. End of story.” The Washington bureaucrat took off his flak jacket, dropped it at Holly’s feet, and stalked back to the helicopter.
“Dry fucking hole,” Holly said, kicking at the dirt. “Rashid fed us a line of crap.” He circled his fist and pumped it. The guy with the Geiger counter and the four shooters trotted back to the helicopter. It lifted off and droned away to the south. The black guy and his partner got back in their van and drove off to the east. Holly gestured to Yeager to come over and talk. That left Broker, Jane, and a very pissed off Nina standing on the side of the road, illuminated by the lights from the Tahoe, looking at Ace and George.
“So this is your real life, huh? Some kinda soldier?” Ace called out to Nina.
“Ace, you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your hole,” Yeager yelled. Then he went back to conferring with Holly. After a few moments, Holly motioned to Nina, Jane, and Broker. When they were huddled around him, he shook his head. “You heard the asshole from D.C. We’re outta here.”
“You mean just let them go?” Jane pushed out her chin and planted her hands on her hips.
“No choice. What’d they do?” Holly said.
“I can take Ace in for possession of contraband,” said Yeager, “but he has a point. It was a classified Army unit opened that box. If we charge him, that could bring this whole operation into court. A good attorney would try to subpoena you guys, take depositions, make you testify in court…”
“You heard the man,” Holly said and jerked his head in the direction of the fading helicopter rotors. Then he turned to Yeager. “Can you make it go away?”
Yeager heaved his shoulders. “I’ll try.” He walked over to Ace and George. Broker, Nina, Jane, and Holly followed.
“Okay, Ace, we’re going to offer you and George a deal, and if you’re smart, you’ll take it.” Yeager took out his cell. “I can call the SO, get a man out here in a cruiser and arrest you two on suspicion of smuggling…”
“Am I under arrest?” George asked, jaw thrust forward, truculent.
“Not at the moment, but I never want to see you in my county again,” Yeager said. “You understand, you little asshole?”
“Fuck this. I’m calling my lawyer,” George hissed.
“Wait a sec, George, let’s hear him out,” Ace said.
“Or,” Yeager said, “we do this little trade. Real simple. You forget what you saw here. We forget what we saw.”
“Who gets the cigars?” George stepped forward and narrowed his eyes.
“What cigars?” Yeager turned and faced the highway.
Broker smiled and said, “Maybe you could spare a few, for sweetener.”
George’s scowl evaporated the more he thought about it. “Sounds good,” he said quickly. He immediately started loading the cigar boxes into the foot locker. Ace helped him load it in the back of the Lexus. Then George shut the hatch and handed two boxes to Broker. “Best fuckin’ cigars in the world.” He turned to Ace, shook his hand, and said, “Say hello to your dad when you see him.” Then George Khari got in his Lexus and drove east, toward the interstate.