Chapter 9

"My apologies for the interruption to tonight's entertainment," Captain Marcato said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for his rec center to be hosting a pussy eat-off. Cindy looked at me nervously and even held my hand. Bart and Lana seemed less concerned, which reassured me, slightly.

The captain folded his hands and looked at us. "Sergeant Parsons has recommended the two of you for a non-military role in a mission my platoon has been called on to execute. Frankly we expected to have more time and opportunity to win you over to working with us, but events in the threat zone seem to have raced ahead of us here."

He took out some papers. "What I am asking of you requires not only your consent but your agreement to an oath of strict confidentiality. I cannot tell you in advance what the mission is, but I can tell you that it involves extremely dangerous enemies of our country. Your part in it is expected to not be dangerous, and may even be pleasurable; however, there is always an element of risk in any form of military service. It is a service, however, which will be of great value to our country. Are you willing to agree to all of these terms?"

Cindy and I looked at each other, nervously, and then at Bart, who gave me a look of cocky assurance. What the hell, I thought, and said "Sure."

"Miss?" said the captain, looking at Cindy.

"As long as it involves an audience," Cindy finally said.

"Yes it does," he said, "yes it does." He reached behind himself for a folder and opened it to reveal a grainy photo of a familiar face from the news. "Holy shit," I said.

"That phrase may be more appropriate than you know," the captain said. "I take it you recognize this individual?"

In less than an hour we were on a C-130. It was kind of bizarre that the same soldiers who'd been whooping at our ladies' raunchy sex show now sat around us so grimly professional. At least, looking at them, you felt protected.

I looked at Cindy and took her hand in mind. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She looked back at me and for the first time I felt that there was love in her eyes. "Yes, Ricky, I want to do it for you, and for our country," she said. "It will be a beautiful way of... doing it for the first time."

"I think I love you, Cindy," I said to her. "Our relationship isn't exactly the most conventional, but-- I wouldn't change a thing."

"Hate to interrupt," Bart said, "but remember, Cindy isn't the only one who's going to be doing something for the first time, partner."

"I know," I said, reaching across the aisle to touch Bart and Lana's hands, too. "I love all of you."

"Prepare for landing," the captain said.

We landed at Crowley Air Force Base in Nevada and were greeted by a Colonel Reich; it was 0100 hours but we were too energized with the enormity of what we were about to do to be tired. We were hustled off the field quickly and a few moments later a blue and white 747 landed on the runway behind us.

From the air the base seemed to consist of only a few nondescript buildings. But once we were inside a glass elevator took us to a vast subterranean chamber carved out of the basalt rock. A glassed-in viewing stand stood, four stories high, along one cavern wall. Massive steel doors were carved into the opposite side, each marked with the Great Seal of the United States-- the pyramid with a glowing eye. The floor, big enough to play Major League Baseball on, was mostly bare cement-- save for one area covered with red shag carpet and a wide variety of pink and purple throw pillows.

We-- the two dozen or so of Bart's platoon, plus Lana, Cindy and me-- huddled at the edge of the carpeted area, waiting nervously. Suddenly there was hubbub in our group and Lana nudged me and pointed toward the viewing stand. I could make out three or four burly men in suits-- and then, in the middle, there was no mistaking him. It was the President.

We watched him shake hands with generals and an assortment of other guests as they filled the room. We heard another airplane landing above us and a couple of the soldiers grinned at each other. That was the "high value target" they'd been expecting. It was almost showtime.

The elevator started to descend from the top and we saw a large contingent of guards with automatic weapons surrounding some sort of large platform or table draped in black and tilted almost upright. At the bottom four of them moved out, forming an advance guard, while others began to wheel the platform toward the center of the floor, about 15 yards from the carpeted area. They chained it to a five-sided indentation in the cement of the floor, and then they stood at attention. I could see the figure under the black drape stirring; it sounded as if there was some sort of muttering going on under it.

We continued to wait for a few more minutes. Then a spotlight hit a microphone and a famous Italian tenor--you'd recognize him in an instant-- was standing there waiting to sing. A voice boomed over the loudspeakers, "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for our national anthem," and the fat, bearded tenor began to sing, his strong clear voice echoing throughout the vast cavern. I tell you, I've been to a lot of ball games but this version of the national anthem was really moving.

When the tenor was finished he was escorted into the viewing stand. Now the guards advanced toward the platform. Touching their radio headsets to their ears, they waited for a signal; it came, they whisked the cloth away and-- a hush went through the crowd. We had seen his face so many times, in the newspaper, in grainy videos, the monster who had killed so many in the name of his religion. You could see why so many in the Middle East followed him-- even upside-down, chained to an inverted pentagram, his piercing eyes, his tall, slender form, and his gray-white beard made him an imposing, magnetic figure. It was also clear, looking at him now, his dark eyes burning into us with utter hatred, that he was mad, a twisted religious maniac.

There was a bleat of feedback from the loudspeakers, and then the President began to speak, his Texas twang echoing around the rocky walls of the cavern. "The day of your capture is one that Americans have looked forward to for a long time," he said to the figure chained far below him. The prisoner tried to talk back at him but the vast cavern seemed to swallow his voice up. "The murders you committed in the name of your perversion of religion could not go unpunished for long. No doubt you imagined that when we caught you, we would allow you to spew your hatred on our 24-hour news channels through the months and even years of a public trial. Well, sorry, that's not how it's gonna be. We have something much more interesting to do with you."