Chapter 2: Powder Keg

Friday, June 26, 2026—Missoula

The EBK administrative building—an eight-story, nondescript classical revival structure from the late ‘40s—had been abandoned for over a decade when Sherman Eckers approached the out-of-state bank that owned it. Initially slated for demolition for housing, the bank deemed the project unfeasible due to removal and rezoning costs. After inspecting the building and estimating renovation costs, Eckers presented a lowball offer. The bank accepted without haggling, and the company moved into its new headquarters a year and a half later.

It was much larger than needed, so they renovated only the first four stories, using the top levels for storage and maintenance. The fourth floor was for officers and board members, with restricted access. The third floor housed most managers and department heads, except HR and IT, on the main floor and basement. Jim’s office was neither posh nor in a coveted corner; it had no windows, being in the center of the third floor. He chose it for its location and oversaw its renovation to ensure it was impervious to ionizing radiation and non-ionizing forms like ultraviolet, microwave, and transient electromagnetic disturbances. Even the low-emission 2700K warm yellow LED light fixtures were shielded.

At 1640 hours, he entered the lobby next to a shorter bald man resembling a caricature of Uncle Fester—hump-back included. Sullivan ‘Sully’ Johansson sat on the board of directors with two other members and the Chairperson, Ms. Benfeld-Evans. To most, he was an easygoing and light-hearted guy, quick with a joke and quicker to laugh at his shortcomings—until you pissed him off. He had just returned from an overdue (work) vacation of saltwater fly fishing in the UAE.

“Ready, Jimbo?” he chortled happily outside the lobby entrance.

Jim held the door open and nodded, “Age before beauty.”

It had been nearly two months since he entered the main office, and he recognized less than a third of the faces in the lobby heading toward the elevator.

“Hold the elevator,” Sully murmured, stepping through a frosted glass door labeled Human Resources. He reappeared a moment later and joined his friend in the lift. Jim pressed the 3rd floor button, and the doors closed. He opted for comfort over aesthetics, wearing khaki cargo pants with a web belt and a thin cotton long-sleeved shirt that stretched over his broad chest and thick arms. He wore his faded ball cap and removed his GatorZ mil-spec sunglasses, allowing them to hang on his chest from their lanyard strap.

He noticed over half of the third-floor desks were empty. Most of the remaining staff looked up curiously at the two. Hardly anyone recognized him out of his usual business attire, and those that did gawked. All conversations ceased as they headed for the office in the center of the large room. His windowless office had a reinforced door behind the wide desk and partitioned cubicle where Janice typically worked.

“Feels like a Boondock Saints scene,” Sully quipped beside the taller man.

Jim snorted, “Maybe the Big Lebowski.”

“Oh please,” the bald man scoffed. “You’re no Jeff Bridges.”

The ex-ranger raised an eyebrow, “And you ain’t Phillip Seymour Hoffman.” He stepped into the cubicle. “John Goodman, maybe,” he muttered.

“Please,” Sully replied good-naturedly, reaching for the doorknob, “Allow me.”

Brent Carson looked up in surprise from Jim’s desk as the door swung open. He recognized the Board Member and began to rise, frowning. At 48 and five foot three, the newly hired office manager appeared as if his years had been unkind. He was overweight, and his thin, graying hair was combed to the side in a woefully inadequate attempt to cover his receding hairline. He wore a custom-fitted wool suit that barely covered his stocky frame. He wore thick-framed glasses that squeezed the bridge of his bulbous nose.

“Mr. Johannsen, this is a surprise—” he stammered, pushing the plush executive chair (not Jim’s) back from the desk. Then he noticed the large man stepping in with him. It took him a second to recognize Keller, dressed like an off-duty mercenary. The ball cap and three days of growth obscured his features. “Who ... what is the—” He froze when he recognized the man. “Keller! What are you doing barging into my—”

“Shut up and get out of my office!” James retorted as he strode past the desk to stand before a large portrait of an elderly man on an ornate couch with a solid black cane. One could mistake the likeness for Winston Churchill until the eye recognized distinct differences in expression and body composition. The late Emmit Evans was not as rotund, nor was his expression quite so pompous and stuffy. The artist captured the kindly cherubic light in the man’s eyes, which James missed the most. But his attention was on the sides of the portrait as he peered intently at the edge of the frame from both sides, where it touched the wall.

Carson stood angrily and shouted, “How dare you barge in here! You’ve been suspended until further notice pending an—”

“Save your breath,” Sully cut him off dismissively.

Brent’s face turned red as he gawked at the older bald man. “I beg your pardon?” he retorted. “I will not...” He craned his neck and shouted out the door. “Somebody, call Security!” He turned to the engineer, who ignored him. “And get Adrienne Babcock from HR up here!”

“Security?” Jim replied as he plucked his Ox Forge black tactical knife from his belt. With the push of a button, the dark blade snapped open with an ominous click that sent chills down the officer manager’s spine. “Since when did we get Security?”

“That was last year, actually,” Sully replied, “Per Sherman’s instructions. You should check your emails, Jimbo.”

Carson gasped and gawked at the black blade with frightened eyes. “You ... You can’t bring weapons in here!” he squeaked. “Call the Police!”

“Oh, calm down, fool!” the board member chided as James turned back to the portrait and prodded behind it delicately with the slim blade. “That man is a weapon. Which you would know if you had read his personnel file.”

“He ... he doesn’t have a personnel file!” the other man panted in a panicked voice.

Satisfied with his findings, Jim stepped back and flicked his wrist, sending the blade into the desktop, where it thudded point first. He never took his eyes off the oil painting. He grabbed the portrait by its sides and carefully rotated it counterclockwise before lifting it away, revealing a large silver-faced safe recessed into the wall behind.

In the main room, the elevator dinged, announcing the arrival of more people. Several uniformed men crossed the floor towards the office, and Sully waved them off dismissively.

“What are you doing?” Carson demanded, staring at the hidden safe.

“Making sure you haven’t compromised any State secrets,” Jim replied distantly as he turned the large black knob on the vault’s front.

“What?” the man retorted indignantly. “I’ll have you know—”

“Carson,” Sully cut him off sourly, “Please shut up!” He turned back to watch his counterpart work the lever and open the reinforced safe door to reveal a 32-by-24-inch cubical space over two feet deep. His chest obscured the contents, but the first thing he removed was a 1911 Springfield Armory .45 pistol with a five-inch barrel and hot salt-bluing finish. The polished wooden grips featured double diamond etching and a trademark crossed-cannons logo. He released the magazine, letting it drop into his hand before racking the slide, checking the chamber, and slapping the mag back into the grip. After clearing the weapon, he tucked it inside the waistband of his lower back.

No one noticed the office manager opening and closing his mouth frantically as the former Ranger pulled several metal containers from the safe, sealed in smoky gray mylar sleeves. He handed the containers to the bald board member, who accepted them carefully. He removed another stack of similar boxes and set them on the desk. Next, he took out a large fabric sack with a zipper and lock, like old money bags but larger. The bulging veins in his forearm showed its considerable weight, confirmed by the dull metallic clunk when he set it on the desk. He closed the safe, replaced the portrait, and turned back, gazing evenly at the stricken man, who fell back into his chair. The four security guards in the doorway watched with uncertain expressions.

“How did you get into this office?” he demanded of the frightened man, plucking his blade from the desktop and folding it closed with a click. He never took his piercing gaze from the office manager as he returned the knife to his pocket.

“I ... I ... a locksmith came and—”

Jim turned and gazed at the indifferent board member. “An oversight,” the bald man shrugged. “One that will be rectified.”

Jim tucked the containers under his left arm and grabbed the heavy bag with his other hand. “Let’s go,” he said to the shaken office manager. “C’mon. I said get out!” He stepped back, allowing the man to get to his feet and dart past the guards at the door.

Jim was the last to step out. He closed the door loudly before joining Sullivan, who was giving orders to the four security personnel.

“I want someone at this cubicle until the lock gets replaced,” he ordered calmly. A uniformed member nodded. “Nobody can enter that office except me, Mr. Keller, or another board member. Once the locksmith is done, bring the keys to my office. I’ll be here late.”

“Yessir,” the guard replied. He and a partner followed the two men back to the elevator. A third guard joined them in the car as the doors opened.

Sully swiped his ID badge against a black card sensor and pressed the 4th-floor button. He glanced back at the stunned staff—including Carson, who looked poleaxed. “You still haven’t figured out what the ‘K’ in EBK, Engineering, stands for?” he smirked as the doors closed.

James snorted as they rose toward the executive level, “Nice theatrics.”

“Me?” Sully chortled. “‘State Secrets’?” he mimed. “Nice touch with the .45,” he added. “Just don’t shoot yourself in the ass.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim scoffed. “Only an idiot would carry a hot 1911 in his pants.”

While the containers didn’t precisely warrant ‘top secret’ classification—they contained all the company trade secrets and many prototype components whose function and composition were closely guarded secrets, not listed with the United States Patent and Trademark Office. Some of the sensors and electronics were used exclusively by the DOD in military and satellite systems. The safe hadn’t been tampered with, but the company had protocols for the slightest breach or threat. So, all the sensitive components had to be relocated and inspected by at least two cleared officers before they were resealed and locked away.

Janice was into her second bottle of Mezzacorona when she heard Jim’s old Jeep pull up and shut off. She was languishing on his bed wearing one of his worn, black 101st Airborne t-shirts. It was like a tent on her petite frame, falling to her knees when she got up, swaying until her equilibrium caught up with her inebriated brain. Whoa, girl, steady as she goes, she thought drunkenly as the key turned in the door. She blinked as he stepped into the darkened living room, pausing to sniff the air and peer into the shadows. “Janice?” he inquired softly, hanging his keys on a nearby hook and re-locking the door.

“I’m in here,” she replied with a slight slur.

He walked to the dark bedroom, peering into the darkness until he recognized her beside the bed. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she breathed back. His presence affected her again, and she hiccupped, embarrassed, as her nipples tightened. She felt warmth in her groin and slowly pressed her knees together. “How did it go?”

“About as expected,” he replied, stepping past her to switch on a bedside lamp. He could smell the wine on her breath and noticed the tall stemmed glass on the bedside table; it wasn’t his. “Are you feeling okay?” He touched her bare arm, and she shuddered as goosebumps appeared on her skin.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. “Mmm. Never better.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed them up and down her back, noticing she had no bra on beneath the shirt. “That’s good to hear,” he replied awkwardly, pulling his hands away. “There’s a board meeting tomorrow afternoon. I want you to come so we can rescind your suspension and get you working again.” He paused for her reply. When she didn’t, he touched her shoulders to push her away. She tightened her grip around his waist and sighed. “Janice?”

“Hmm,” she murmured.

“Let go so we can tuck you in for the night.”

“I can’t,” she murmured back, her words muffled by her face pressed against him.

“Can’t what?” He laughed at her behavior.

“I don’t want to,” she replied, turning her face aside. “And I’m not tired.”

He humorously picked her up like a child, scooping her legs up with one arm while supporting her back with the other. She squealed in surprise, then giggled as he deposited her onto the bed. “I insist,” he replied, straightening and turning away.

She gazed adoringly at him as he sat on the bed to remove his boots. She reached out with a small hand and tentatively touched him, running her fingers along the hard muscles in his back. She felt him shiver briefly. “God, you are so beautiful,” she whispered.

He chuckled again, brushing his large hand over her forehead. “And you’re quite drunk.” He tried to get up, but she gripped his hand tightly. “Don’t worry,” he assured her gently. “I’ll be in the next room.”

“No,” she said quickly, “Don’t.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

She hiccupped, refusing to meet his gaze. “I ... need to ask a favor,” she stammered. “A really, really big favor.”

Jim could feel the weight of her emotions and pursed his lips. “Janice—”

“I want a baby!” she blurted, then turned away from him sheepishly, “We want a baby.”

He felt awkwardly uncomfortable by her confession. “Um ... in the Army, we call that fraternization—”

She didn’t hear him as she sank back against the headboard, hugging her knees. “I’m about to marry the most beautiful woman in the world.”

James nodded in agreement. He had met Marta Sleeping Bear many times and agreed she was a poster child of Native American beauty.

“She’s a Crow Indian, you know ... from Banff, Alberta,” Janice smiled proudly. “Her tribe raises and trains horsh—horses. She’s up there helping with the Calgary Stampede.” She paused and sighed dreamily. “God, I miss her! Shum—sometimes, I can’t believe she’s real or loves me as much as she does.”

She blushed and looked at him sideways with a devilish smirk. “Gives new meaning to ‘eating crow,’” she giggled.

James threw his head back and roared with laughter, encouraging her to continue.

She sheepishly continued hugging her knees and began rocking back and forth nervously. “We have talked a lot, James,” she said quietly. “We want to start a family.” She looked away from him for fear of rejection. “We want... ‘I’ want ... a baby.” Her voice nearly broke as she spoke the words she’d been dreading, “I want your baby.”

The room was silent as she rocked back and forth uncertainly. “I would never ask this of another man,” she sniffed. “And if you tell me no, I won’t ask again.”

He was taken aback by her heartfelt revelation and swallowed, “You want my sperm to impregnate you with a child for you and Marta to raise?”

She sniffed and nodded, glancing up at him with teary eyes. “I promise we will never ask anything of you. You don’t have to be on the birth certificate. I will never ask for your support—”

He sat on the bed’s edge and touched her lips, silencing her. “Have you spoken with Marta about this?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes with his shirt sleeve. “We have.”

“Is she okay with it?”

She nodded wordlessly as she awaited his response. It was like an instant release of pressure when he smiled and nodded.

“Of course!” he breathed. “I would be honored to donate my sperm.”

She cried out tearfully and shuffled into his arms, embracing his chest. “Thank you! Oh God, thank you so much.”

He hugged her back and chuckled nervously, “I suppose this means I’ll have to go jerk off in a cup.”

He stiffened when she responded by holding him tighter. No fucking way! He glanced down at her face, buried in his chest in astonishment. “Janice?”

He lifted her face by her chin when she continued her silence, but she refused to look him in the eye. “Janice?” he repeated dubiously.

She glanced up at his face briefly before returning to his torso. “I’m ovulating right now,” she stammered softly. “My window started this morning—”

He released an explosive breath, “You’re kidding, right?” he exclaimed, prying her arms from around him and holding her at arm’s length. “You want me to impregnate you now?”

She forced herself to look up at his incredulous face. “Please...” she sniffled.

“But you’re ... gay,” he hesitated.

“Bi,” she corrected.

“But Marta is ... Is she really—” He released her and stood up. His mind was reeling, and he was embarrassed to feel himself growing hard at the thought of screwing his secretary. “She’s really okay with ... this?”

Janice sniffed again and smiled, reaching for her cell on the bedside table. She opened her text messages and held up her iPhone for him to read the other woman’s blunt response:

‘If you don’t fuck him—I will!’

“She’s nothing if not concise,” he chuckled, causing her to giggle.

He felt the tension in her body and sensed her apprehension as she nervously plucked at the fabric of his T-shirt. It took seconds to weigh her words against his moral imperatives. While he held firmly to the military bearing and discipline ingrained since commissioning as a Second Lieutenant, he knew it would utterly destroy her if he rejected her. With a resigned sigh, he sat back on the edge of his bed and reached for her hand. “Listen ... Janice,” he began softly.

She glanced into his eyes, feeling her hopes fade as she studied his expression.

“I agree to do this for you and Marta,” he added. “But this is not the right time.”

Her heart sank, and she seemed to withdraw from him dejected. “I ... I understand.”

“Perhaps, but I think you’re motivated heavily by your emotions. I want you to stop and consider the big picture for a moment. Look at what is happening in the world right now. This will have grave consequences when it reaches our borders.”

She shuddered. “You think we will go back to war?”

“I think the war will come to us.”

She gasped at his solemn declaration. “God, I hope you’re wrong.”

“There’s more to it than that, sweety. Think about your mom. The wedding.” He gently touched her shoulder. “You’ve got too much on your plate right now to consider becoming pregnant.”

She released a shuddering breath and nodded at his words. “You’re right ... of course. As always.” She patted his arm. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he interjected firmly. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I said yes, and I stick to that. But let’s hold off until the situation is more favorable. Deal?” He lifted her chin until she was forced to return his gaze.

She saw so many things in his soft brown eyes, all wonderful. Her heart swelled again with the certainty of his love and guardianship, and her eyes brimmed with happy tears as she moved against him. She savored the warmth of his powerful arms around her. “Deal,” she murmured into his chest.

Saturday, June 27—Missoula

The fourth-floor boardroom was prepared in advance for the scheduled meeting. The surfaces were polished, and vases of lilies adorned the center of the long table with pitchers of chilled water and glasses. A nearby beverage service had pastries, coffee, and hot water for tea. When the mandatory meeting was announced, 65 employees arrived, and several others were summoned from outlying areas. The staff meeting would be held immediately following the board of directors conference.

When Jim entered the building, he felt the tension in the lobby. Faces turned and gazed at him and his secretary as they strode toward the elevators. The frosted HR door was propped open, and Janice peered in to see several new faces frowning at her as she walked by. Jim paused outside the office.

“Wait here,” he told her under his breath. He entered the suite, closing the door behind him.

Janice surveyed the lobby and cubicles, filled with familiar faces glancing surreptitiously in her direction. She kept her gaze steady, noting those who turned away.