"You lucked out, Sir," Willis said, filling out his log. "One room at the Qs, ready and waiting. If your Major Miller shows, I'll tell him where you are."
"Thanks," McLanahan asked. "I appreciate your help."
"No problem a-tall, Sir," he said, maintaining the rhythm with a pencil. "You here for survival school?Got your OdorEaters and flea collars ready?"
"I went through all that stuff years ago," McLanahan replied. "I guess they thought I needed a refresher."
"Sure, Sir," Willis replied, already tuning himself out now that the goofy lost captain was taken care of. "Everyone needs a little practice bleeding every now and then. "McLanahan was going to reply, but Willis was far away in his music and a copy of Playboy.
The shuttle arrived not-so-promptly at twelve-fifteen. No one, not even Airman Willis, had talked to him since he made his room reservations. The entire terminal was almost empty.
McLanahan thanked Willis once again and climbed aboard the blue school bus when it beeped outside. Again, he was the only one on the bus as it rattled away.
It was a short drive to Fairchild Air Force Base. McLanahan showed his ID to the gate guard and opened his gym bag for the M-16-carrying guard and his huge German shepherd. Fifteen minutes later, McLanahan sprawled sleepily on a queen-sized bed in the Visiting Officer's Quarters.
He undressed, showered, and lay awake on top of his bed for a few confused minutes. It was just after one A.m. Restlessly, he picked up the base phone book and scanned the personnel directory. There were several Millers listed, and even two Major Millers, but neither with a similar office symbol as the one on his printout. McLanahan checked the organizational listings, but there were no organizations on base even resembling the office symbol on the message.
He threw the directory back on the nightstand.
"Screw 'em," he said half-aloud. "If they want me, they should figure out where to find me. "He left a six-thirty wakeup call at the front desk and slipped under the coarse olive-drab G.I. horse blankets.
McLanahan awoke with a violent start to the furious sound of impatient knuckles rapping on wood. He felt as if he had been asleep for hours-perhaps it was the billeting clerk pounding on his door because he got no answer on the wake-up call. McLanahan glanced at the clock on the dresser. Nope, he'd only been asleep for an hour.
He slipped on a pair of gym shorts from his bag, smoothed down his blond hair, and opened the door. Two black men, one in a civilian suit and the other an Air Force security guard, were standing impatiently in the doorway.
"Captain McLanahan?" the guy in the suit asked. He did not even look at McLanahan-he was scanning up and down the hallways.
"Yeah," McLanahan replied irritably, scratching his head.
"Patrick McLanahan?"
"Yeah, yeah. "McLanahan wasn't in a conversational mood, but his gruff attitude didn't faze these guys.
The guy in the suit looked immensely relieved. He put a finger on the security guard's chest as if driving his commands into the guard's body.
"We got him. Notify the gate guards. Then get an unmarked car and have it sent over here pronto. No Air Force or DOD crap on the doors."
"We got one. "The guard trotted away. The guy in the suit pushed his way into McLanahan's room and closed and locked the door.
"I need your ID, Captain McLanahan," he said brusquely.
Like hell," McLanahan said, finally beginning to wake up.
"I want to see your ID right now or I'll call back that sky cop you just chased away."
The guy muttered a "Jesus H. Christ" under his breath, but pulled out a wallet and held it up. McLanahan turned on the room light and squinted sleepily at the card and badge.
"Staff Sergeant Jenkins, Air Force Office of Special Investigations, " the man said, snapping the wallet closed. "Now, sir, if you don't mind "Yeah. Okay. "McLanahan fumbled through his jeans and produced the card. Jenkins already had a walkie-talkie in his hand. He studied the card, nodded, and thumbed the mike.
"Control, seven-seven," he said as softly as he could.
"Seven-seven, go," came the reply.
"I've located our subject. I'll be escorting him back to the main rendezvous point."
"Copy, seven-seven. "Jenkins returned the card.
"Captain McLanahan, please get dressed and get your gear together." "Hey, wait a minute," McLanahan protested. "What's going on?"
Jenkins was frowning impatiently, his fists on his hips.
Apparently he didn't like anyone, even officers, asking him why" and "what."
"Sir, we are going back to meet Major Miller," he said in short, clipped words. He glanced down at his walkie-talkie and clicked it off. "You were supposed to wait at the airport for further instructions, were you not, sir?"
"Yeah," McLanahan said, feeling his ears redden. Shit, he thought. I screwed up. He reached for the jeans, wondering if Jenkins was going to stand there and watch him dress. "Ten o'clock. Nobody showed up.
I thought I'd get a room at the base and wait… " "Why the base, sir?" Jenkins interrupted.
"What do you mean, 'why the base'?I get orders to Spokane. It's gotta be… " "Sir. "Jenkins was obviously holding in check the massive urge to lash out with a 'you dumb shit officer, who the hell told you to assume anything?" but he said instead, "That was an unfortunate… misjudgment. You were to meet Major Miller at the terminal. He was delayed, but he expected you to sit tight until you received further directions. "The spitting emphasis on misjudgment was too obvious.
"Okay, okay. Yeah. You're right, sergeant," McLanahan replied. "I'll be ready in a minute."
Obviously, Jenkins had no intention of leaving.
"Where are we going?"
Jenkins did not reply, but he looked more exasperated than ever with every question. McLanahan glared at him as he finished repacking the gym bag and pulling on his jacket. It really did take McLanahan only a minute to get ready because he carried so few items.
McLanahan retrieved his key, stepped out into the hall an turned toward the lobby.
"This way, sir," Jenkins said, grabbing McLanahan's arm and swinging him around toward a dimly lit hallway to the back.
"But my room… "Will be taken care of, sir. This way" Jenkins led him to a side door that opened up to a laundry delivery dock and a dumpster in the rear of the building. A blue sedan, its engine idling, was waiting. As McLanahan headed for the steps leading down from the dock to the pavement below, Jenkins grabbed the gym bag off McLanahan's shoulder.
"I'll take this, sir," he said quietly "Get in and we'll leave. "He trotted down to the sedan, knocked on the window, and trotted around to the trunk just as it popped open. He hid the gym bag under some blankets and then slid quietly in the back seat next to McLanahan.
As they drove out the gate and onto the highway leading back to Spokane International, Jenkins picked up a device from the front seat and clicked it on.
"Bear with me, sir," he said, passing the device quickly over McLanahan's body. He repeated the sweep once more, then clicked it off and set the device next to the driver.
"Now, Sergeant Jenkins," McLanahan said, "can you tell me what the hell's going on?"
"As far as I'm allowed, sir," he replied. "Major Miller was supposed to meet you at ten o'clock at the airport. He was delayed arranging for secure transportation. When he wrote your instructions he assumed that, when your printed instructions left you off at the airport, you would stop at the airport. A bad assumption on his part, apparently."
"Well, since we're admitting to poor assumptions tonight, I've got a few more," McLanahan asked. "I assumed that my final destination was Fairchild-why else would I be sent to Spokane?Now I'm assuming all this to mean that Fairchild is not my final destination."