Chapter 27: Simon goes to Town.

Simon was uneasy. Arabella had been avoiding him since their discussion in the shower the night before. With a heavy load on his mind he had made his way back into the city to continue outprocessing. The lines were as long as they had been before the holidays; the only change was that it was hotter. As Simon despaired at the thought of sitting in another line, he knew that he had to leave the Army properly this time or they'd just show up on his doorstep again.

Finally, he had made it to the front of the line. Anxiously perched on the front of his chair, Simon made sure that his paperwork was in order. Simon readied himself to answer the clerk's question as fast as he could.

"Uhh. I'm sorry Major Woodsman. Someone's flagged your records. I've got to make some phone calls. It won't take a minute." The clerk smiled apologetically but it was clear that there was nothing for Simon to do but wait.

After a few minutes on the phone, whispering his name and ID number to whomever he was talking to, the clerk looked up and flashed another apologetic smile. "It won't be much longer sir. They're sending someone down to take care of you. Could you wait over there?"

Simon gathered up his papers and relinquished his seat to the next fortunate in line. A few minutes later a soldier stuck his head in the door and called out Simon's name. A sleek staff car sped them across town to one of the plush hotels that the military had commandeered during the Rebellion. Another soldier met him at the hotel's entrance and guided Simon past the large pool to a secluded bungalow.

A small group of men sat on the bungalow's porch. Simon immediately recognized the man at the center of their assembly. Major General Arthur Manlius. Surrounding him were the men that the media portrayed as the general's "brain trust". Yes men one and all, Simon thought.

The guide offered Simon a seat but the general made no move to greet him. Simon sat and made polite small talk with the people on either side of him while lunch was served. Most of the conversation centered on the pacification of the Eastern Shore and the military's plans for the future. Simon winced as the general's flunkies spoke cavalierly about "intervention squads" and the sweeping legal powers that the President had granted the occupying forces under a set of legislation called Article 9.

Simon's eyes narrowed suspiciously when he recognized the petite brunette that brought the food in from the kitchen. From his place at the head of the table, Manlius noticed this and gloated softly at the look on Simon's face.

"That's right Major, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you. She's the same young lady that caused a bit of ruckus during the Rebellion."

The general threw his arm around her waist and gathered the silent girl to him, patting her hip possessively. "Her daddy thumped his Bible when he had the connections. But then the Article 9 commission got wind of his rebel friends." He paused for dramatic effect. "And he got sent back to school," he said using the euphemism for a government re-education camp. There was polite laughter from the general's sycophants. "Even his political buddies couldn't interfere with Article 9," Manlius boasted.

Simon gave the general a slight smile and nodded. Manlius, sensing that his audience was receptive, released his hold on Christine and charged ahead with the real subject of the meeting.

"So Major Woodsman, you're getting out?"

"Yes sir," Simon said.

"Then I think we might be able to help each other."

"How do you mean, sir?"

General Manlius leaned back in his chair and smiled as if he'd been waiting for this question. "It's a new era, son," he spoke to the table at large, "and leaders need to attune themselves to all segments of the population." There was a polite scattering of nods around the table as the flunkies warmed up to the fact that their boss was on his soapbox.

"And how do I fit in?" Simon's question froze the conversation. The Chief of Staff looked like he had swallowed something rotten, but the general recovered smoothly from the interruption.

"That's what I'm asking you." Manlius pulled a handheld computer from his suit pocket. Reading the small screen, he tut-tutted to himself.

"Woodsman. Simon M. Major. Assigned to First of the Twenty-sixth Infantry. Regular Army. Six foot one, 185 pounds. Seems to be a little confusion about that unit. It never seems to have been deactivated..."

"A hundred and eighty five? I swear I've lost at least ten pounds."

Unruffled, the general put the computer away and put on his best 'fatherly' look. "What I'm saying Major is that we're asking you to join the team."

Manlius casually held out his hand and accepted the cigar that Christine placed there. As she bent to offer the general a light, Simon noticed the red welt that crossed her shapely rear end. Manlius puffed noisily on his double corona.

"There are really only two sides to this situation." The general blew a cloud of blue smoke above the table. Simon held his breath to keep from coughing. "Ours. And our enemies."

"Well sir. I guess when you look at it that way..."

Simon was interrupted by a sudden commotion from the pool area. The general looked around, annoyed that his dramatic moment had been spoiled.

Christine, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth, looked over the screen of bushes and told the group, "Mr. Tyler is here."

Those simple words seemed to curdle in General Manlius' stomach. Simon sensed the moment and excused himself, passing behind the screen of ornamental plants as he left the pool area. Through the bushes, he could see Bobby mugging for the media cameras that he had undoubtedly brought with him, and the general, glowering as if someone had pissed in his champagne, emerging from the shadow of his bungalow to stand in the sunlight with the young politician.

Simon walked quickly through the hotel lobby and nodded to the doorman for a cab. A piercing whistle stopped him as he was about to get in to the back of a local taxi. Juliet, her shoulder length blonde hair framing her beautiful tan face, waved him over to her convertible sports car.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Simon asked as he climbed down into the roadster's sleek leather seats.

"Shut up and listen." Juliet stomped on the accelerator and shot from the hotel's driveway across two lanes of traffic. "Your girlfriend is swimming in shit lover boy. The heat's looking for her because she was messing around with a guy named Paris Mawbry."

"I know." Simon sounded a lot calmer than he felt.

Juliet slapped his thigh with a well manicured hand. "Well aren't you pissing ice water!"

Simon noticed that her short skirt accentuated her long tan legs. Juliet swerved to miss a slow moving car and Simon jerked his eyes back to the road.

"Get the folder out of the glove box. You're officially out of the Army," she said.

He fumbled with the catch and removed the crisp manila folder.

"What's this going to cost me?" he said warily. "The last favor I you gave me put me in the middle of a war."

Juliet kept her eyes on the traffic and continued to talk in the same sassy, streetwise tone. "Don't say thank you. Just get your ass back to Staunton and get your girl."

"What?"

"She left in this afternoon's convoy. She'll be home by tomorrow afternoon. If they let her live." The powerful car smoothly slid next to the curve and stopped.

"But why are you doing this?" Hundreds of questions flooded his mind.

She gave him an annoyed look. "Cause I'm your fairy fucking godmother. Why else?"

As Simon scrambled to pull himself up from the low car, she added the kicker. "It's almost midnight Cinderella. Watch your back."

Simon stood on the curb dumbfounded as Juliet hit the accelerator and sped away in traffic.

Arabella rode the convoy bus, near sick with fear for herself and Granny. She had always known that Granny's free spirit, "live for today", lifestyle had her mentor walking on thin ice when it came to the authorities, but she had a definite feeling that this time was worse than ever before. The bus was quiet. Most of the passengers were soldiers being demobilized from the Rebellion. Looking around her at the other passengers, Arabella thought of Simon.

The bus pulled into Fishersville early on the second day of travel. Arabella quickly disembarked and, not having any luggage, disappeared toward the coffee shop that Felicia had told her about. Felicia was there, as promised, and Arabella made only a passing note of the worried look on the secretary's face. Once in Felicia's little car, Arabella started asking about Granny. Felicia admitted to not being able to track Granny down but told Arabella that they were going to a "friend's" house to hole up and think of ways to find Granny without attracting a whole lot of attention to themselves.

Felicia drove up to a small camp cabin at the end of a gravel road. 'Isolated' was the thought that entered Arabella's mind as she followed her lover's secretary up the wooden stairs and into the small building. The interior of the cabin was sparsely furnished with battered, seedy furniture. At the table sat a tall, muscular man in a white dress shirt and extravagantly patterned vest.

Arabella looked puzzled as the man stood and moved toward her. She noticed the sparkle of diamonds in his cufflinks as he stuck out his hand to greet her. She also noticed that his conceited smile didn't extend to his eyes.

Felicia made the introductions. "Arabella Hood, this is Mr. Hooke."