“Coronado?"
“Yeah, Team 12.”
“When did you retire?”
“Called it a career in oh-six after three tours in southern Iraq," said the chief. "How about you?”
“I left full-time service in ninety-four. But retired from the Corps as a reservist the same year you did," Mike said, "Were you with the teams in the early nineties?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I was a frequent flier with your guys back then.”
“You shitting me?”
"First Force Recon,” Mike said. “'89 to '94.”
Hilde nudged Mike. “Honey, our bags are coming.”
“Holy shit,” said the chief. “Small freakin' world, ain't it? I might'a driven your god-damned boat then, devil dog.”
Mike held out his hand to shake.
“Mike Farris.”
“Jim Walters.” The retired senior chief took his hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You part of this group?” Walters jammed a thumb at the Texans.
“No, thank God. I'm up here with my wife for our honeymoon.”
“Where’re you from?”
“Ohio. We're up here for two weeks. A friend of mine from back in recon, Marcus Johnson, is taking us on a 'photo hunt' of Denali.”
“Mojo Johnson?”
“You know him?” Mike stepped forward and pulled his bags off the conveyor.
“Me and Mojo were the only two Alaskans in the big green machine I knew back then. I drove his ass all over the Iraqi coast and river system.”
Walters stepped up to the belt and grabbed a couple of bags.
“Hey, if you ever get out to the Matsu Valley, look me up.” He dropped one of his bags and handed Mike a business card. “We can shoot the shit over some beer.”
“Will do, Chief,” Mike said. “Pleasure meeting you.”
Mike and Hilde followed Lonnie out the doors toward the sidewalk, pulling their wheeled bags. Lonnie pointed out their truck and waved, signaling Marcus to pull to the curb. In less than twenty seconds, they loaded up and pulled out of the terminal, turning onto International Airport Road. A few miles later, they exited to Minnesota Boulevard and followed it into downtown Anchorage, where they had rooms booked at the luxurious Hotel Captain Cook.
The Captain Cook, Anchorage's first and foremost luxury hotel, had originally opened in the late sixties. Unlike the sterile look of national chain hotels, the Captain Cook touted old-fashioned elegance with dark teak paneling and burnished brass accents. Interspersed between classy shops that sold everything from expensive fur coats to hand-carved walrus tusk scrimshaw art, murals of the hotel’s namesake, Captain James Cook, illustrated his life on the seas.
Hilde scanned the crowd awaiting check-in. Many of them she had seen at the airport, including a number of the Texans. She froze in her tracks, a look of surprise on her face.
“What is it?” Mike asked.
“That's Tonia Roberts,” Hilde replied, nodding toward a black woman halfway across the room. The woman, hair pulled back in a tight bun, was dressed in a dark blue pant suit that seemed half a size too small.
“Have I met her?”
“I don't think so. She's Secret Service, Presidential Security.”
Tonia was talking with a tall, serious-looking man dressed in a black suit. Hilde called out and waved her hand to Tonia, who turned at the sound of her name, her mouth gaped open with an astonished smile. She broke off her conversation and walked toward Hilde.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Tonia said.
“I'm on my honeymoon. I was wondering the same about you. Don't tell me the big guy is coming up here.”
“As a matter of fact…” Tonia trailed off, her eyes scanning Mike and the others.
“Tonia, let me introduce my husband, Mike Farris.”
“You're Mike Farris?” Tonia raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. “The happenin’ chaplain? Superman with a priest collar.”
“I don’t know about all that. It was just a bad guy who needed some attitude correction.”
“Yeah,” Tonia said with attitude, “a bad guy with a big bomb. Your name is everywhere in federal law enforcement circles.”
Hilde jumped in, deflecting the conversation. Mike didn’t like to talk about the incident in Ohio that had introduced them more than a year ago, and had also cost the life of his first wife and only child. She introduced Marcus and Lonnie.
“Lonnie is a state trooper. We're all pretty much in the same line of work.”
Tonia looked at Lonnie's protruding belly.
“They better not have you out on patrol now. Please tell me you're not breaking up bar fights with a package in the mail like that.”
Lonnie laughed. “No, of course not. I'm a lieutenant, anyway, so most of my work is behind a desk.”
“Good,” Tonia turned toward Marcus. “And please tell me this stud muffin standing next to you is just a friend, who is single and looking. Tell me he’s not your husband.”
Marcus grinned sheepishly and held up the hand with his wedding ring. “Spoken for, ma’am.”
“Damn,” Tonia said. “Are all Alaskan men like these? If so, I may need to extend my stay.”
“Mike here is just a plain old mid-westerner,” Marcus motioned to his friend.
“But,” Lonnie interjected, “they’re both retired Marines.”
“Ooh,” Tonia said. “I'm gonna start hanging around the Marine barracks at 8th & I then. I mean, damn, girls.”
Mike blushed. “We come with a lot of baggage though.”
“If you're done flirting with our husbands,” Hilde said, “you didn't answer the original question. Are you up here for business or pleasure?”
“I wish it weren’t so, but we're working.”
“You mean the boss is coming here?”
“Yep.”
All four of them looked impressed.
“What prompted this visit?” Lonnie asked.
“I bet it's for the Alaska Gas-Pipeline opening ceremony,” Marcus said.
“Double damn,” Tonia said, “a hottie and smart to boot. Girl, you'd better take care of this man, 'cause I am shopping.” She winked at Lonnie, then returned to Hilde's question. “Big guy is coming up for the event next week. A few other international big leaguers are joining too.”
“Wow. How did we not know about this?” Mike asked.
“Well, honey,” Hilde said, “we’ve been in the process of getting married for the past few months. That takes precedence over any significant worldwide news.”
“Gotcha there, Mike,” Lonnie said. “Woman's got her priorities straight. I think we're going to get along just fine, Hilde.”
The man Tonia had been talking to strode over. “We need to get moving.”
“Warner, this is Mike Farris,” she said, pointing to Mike.
Warner looked at him silently. He was the type of person who seemed to see everything, but said little. He was not particularly muscular, and definitely military before the Secret Service. He carried himself with a humble warrior's confidence that could make a weaker man melt in self-doubt just looking at him.
“Outstanding job in Ohio, sir,” Warner said. “Sorry we can't talk much, but we've got work to do.”
“Understood,” Mike said.
“Okay, Mr. Roboto,” Tonia said with a shake of her head. “Sorry, Hilde, I've got to get back to establishing a defensible perimeter and surveying potential vulnerabilities.”
Warner turned his expressionless face toward her. “We need to finish the sector.”
“Let's get together for drinks later,” Hilde said.
“You got it,” Tonia replied. “I'll try to find another date, though. Lurch here only drinks gun oil.”
Warner crunched his eyebrows.
“I don't drink gun oil,” he muttered as they walked away.
They checked in, then got into the elevator.
“I’ve made seven o’clock reservations at the Crow’s Nest restaurant on the top floor of the hotel.” Marcus said as they ascended. “Until then, get some rest in your room to work out the jet lag.”