Almost 1,000 miles west of Kingston, Iowa, Lt. Bernie Hedges, satellite flyer, watched the screen of his computer console as Badir Alhazred invaded Black’s house on Windlesham Concourse.
“Weird looking place,” Hedges commented. “That terrorist’s pretty slick, I’ll give him that.”
General Chuck Acri couldn’t disagree. “He could teach some of our AFSOC boys a thing or two about reconning. And Tyler’s security sure didn’t slow him down.”
Bernie loop-the-looped his eyes and smirked. “Right, sir.”
Acri winked.
Deep in Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado Springs, the men were in a control room of U.S. Space Command (SPACECOM), where Hedges had rerouted his bird into a Low Earth Orbit (LEO) to keep an eye on Black’s home; after Val received the emergency call from Hotchkiss, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to construe Alhazred wanted to extract some personal vengeance against Black for Cuba.
“Terrorists can be so predictable,” Acri opined.
* * * *
Badir heard a TV playing in the basement, but established that the first floor was vacant before checking it out.
Slipping downstairs, Glock cocked, he scanned the gym area. It was as nice as MIC intel on Black’s abode told Badir to expect. “No decadence here,” he thought.
And no sign of Harry or de Osta.
Badir suddenly didn’t like the feel of this home invasion. While FoxNews informed viewers that Governor Bob Holden was considering challenging any Republican victory in Missouri’s senate race in court, the terrorist backed up the stairs.
That’s when the lights went off.
“Making house calls now, Doctor Grantham?”
Badir snapped off a round in the direction of Black’s voice.
Something shattered, and Badir cursed.
He’d just killed a Bose VCS-30 speaker.
“Nice shooting, Tex.” Black’s voice now emanated from all directions.
“I will die before I let you capture me!” Badir began to raise the Glock to his mouth.
“I’m looking at you with night vision goggles. Try to swallow that bullet, Mr. Alhazred, I’ll tranquilize you. And then where will you be?”
“You’re bluffing!”
“If you researched me, then you know I never bluff.”
Badir had, and Black never did. He lowered the Glock.
Fierce pounding erupted upstairs. Badir expected uniformed men of some sort to swoop in and apprehend him, but the pounding continued.
* * * *
“I don’t believe this! The skunk’s locked us out!”
Strahan and a team culled from the FBI, CIA, and Kingston SWAT had surrounded Black’s house as soon as SPACECOM notified them Alhazred had entered their trap.
“Sir,” an FBI agent shouted, “every window is glass clad polycarbonate.” Bulletproof. And every wall and door was reinforced with Clifton's High Hard Ballistic Steel. Like John Hammond in THE LOST WORLD, Black had spared no expense fortifying his home.
* * * *
“It’s just you and me, Badir. Toss the Glock, dump your coat, and discard any concealed weapons. And so you know, my NVG has a thermal imager. You try and trigger that bomb you’ve got and I’ll…”
“Tranquilize me. I remember.” Badir had no choice but to comply.
The door to Hogan’s Alley opened.
“Step in here. You and I have some unfinished business.”
The door into Hogan’s Alley automatically locked behind Badir.
Accustomed to making other people feel defenseless, Badir didn’t enjoy like experiencing helplessness himself, but he had to remain calm. This situation wasn’t completely hopeless. Badir still had once ace up his sleeve.
“Ever see a John Wayne film called THE SHOOTIST?”
Badir spun. Black was behind him, but he never heard the man’s footsteps.
“THE SHOOTIST? No.”
“Just wondered. Where’s Hotchkiss?”
So much for Badir’s ace. “So that’s why you want me alive.”
“Duh. Not that I expect you to tell me.”
“My silence does afford me some small leverage. Would you care to cut a deal for Hotchkiss’ release?”
“America doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Have you forgotten about Iran-Contra?”
Badir had a point. “Fine. Here’s the deal. Tell me where Hotchkiss is or I’ll beat you ‘till your ears bleed.”
Badir’s head went back and forth. “Unacceptable.”
“Is that your final answer?” Black stepped towards Badir, ready to fight.
The terrorist braced himself for Black’s first move, just as ready. “Yes, Regis, it…UHN!”
Two needles lanced his back. Badir’s mind and legs turned to soup. The next thing he knew, Harry and de Osta were standing over him, holding Mauser “Jumbo” air handguns.
“Where is Berne Hotchkiss?” Val shouted.
For some reason, unlike with Black, Badir was content to tell the lady.
Black and Val sat together on the swing of his front porch.
“Berne’s probably dead.” She could scream, she was so anxious.
“Never give up, Miss de Osta. If your friend’s alive, ODA 527 will rescue him. It’s what they do.”
“De Oppresso Liber,” Val softly quoted the Special Forces motto.
“That’s it.”
Strahan’s team had immediately taken Badir away after Black finally let them in. Discovering Badir was pumped full of sodium pentothal hadn’t made Strahan any happier. Neither had Black’s farewell to Badir: “Don’t forget to mention my name to those towelheads down at Camp Delta.”
Black’s cell phone rang. He answered, “Gotcha,” then handed it to Val.
“Hello?”
“Val?”
“Berne! You’re okay.”
He should be, given time.
Black listened to the friends and smiled. It felt great to do some good and defend his country again. Maybe for the last time.
Val cried as she disconnected. “You know, when I told Berne I was interviewing to be your TA, he wasn’t sure it was such a hot idea.”
“It isn’t the easiest job in the world.”
She gave Black a look. “Funny.” Wiped away tears and took a breath. “Listen, I’ve got to know. Earlier, down in the gym, did I…I mean we…uhm…”
“What?”
“Dammit, you know!”
“Miss de Osta, trust me. If we had, you’d remember.” As always, he was being serious.
“Can I ask you something else?
“Anything.”
“When are you going to call me Val?”
THE END
But Tyler Black will return…
