Chapter 28

"You know that he needs the operation, Mary. You also know that he won't go into the hospital, unless you and I work on him. The old bastard is just too stubborn," said Donna.

"Yes, I know. But he won't listen to me. He just keeps saying 'after the mission'," Mary said with a heavy sigh.

"Well, the old boy made me 'the boss', and I'm going to have the whole crew push him on this ... even Lena and Joseph."

"Maybe that will do the trick," said Mary as she sat down and ran her fingers though her hair in worry and fear. "I can't lose him, too."

She began to weep quietly.

Donna went to Mary and sat next to her and then hugged her, saying as she rubbed the other woman's back, "I know, shhh. I know ... shhh, shhh, shhh,"

At that moment Rianna entered the room with her fussing son in her arms. "Mary could you take care of Jake for ... What's the matter? Why are you crying?"

"Come, sit," said Mary as she patted the couch next to her.

"Mary what's the matter? It's Gramps, isn't it? Is he hurt? What is it?"

"Give her a chance to answer, Rianna," said Donna.

Little Jake had quieted, but when he heard the alarmed tone of his mother's voice, he decided that he was the one who should be the center of attention, not his grandmother. Jake was teething, and he let out a scream. Then he twisted so violently that Rianna had to grab for the child, as he started to tumble from her lap.

"Here, let me have him," said Donna.

She lifted the wriggling and complaining child into her arms, and headed for the kitchen, and a Popsicle, to sooth the little guy's sore gums.

Rianna was torn between the wails of her baby, and her concerns for what had made Mary cry. Then, suddenly, the wails stopped. Rianna was able to direct her full attention toward Mary.

"Now, Mary, I want you to tell me what's going on."

"Your grandfather has several aneurysms in his brain, and they are leaking. Those leaks are causing him to have mini-strokes. If any one of those aneurysms ruptures, then he will have a massive stroke, and could very well die. He needs to have an operation; but he refuses, citing the needs of the mission. Donna and I have been trying to get that stubborn man to go to the hospital, now ... not 'after the mission'. I'm afraid I'll lose him, and that's why I'm crying."

Rianna sat dumbfounded and then she began to get angry, very angry!

"Oh, really? We'll just see about that!" said Rianna in a deep threatening growl.

In the next instant she was out of the room headed toward John with a full head of steam, doors slamming behind her as she went.

John was sitting on the porch thinking, when the storm that was his granddaughter burst out of the house, and rounded on him.

Rianna started jamming her index finger into his chest, to emphasize each and every word that she said as she hissed out her orders to the shocked man.

"You ... are ... going ... to ... go ... to ... the ... hospital ... for ... the ... operation ... right ... away! You got that? No more stalling! Do you hear me? Do you understand? If you even try to stall ... I'll get in your head, and make your life a living hell! And you know I can do it!"

When she had finished speaking she remained standing over John trapping him in his chair.

"Well, what have you got to say to that, you stubborn old bastard? Huh? Let's hear it! Are you going or not?"

By now John had managed to get his hands up in front of himself in a defensive posture.

"OK! OK! I'll go! I'll go. Damn girl! No need to get violent," he complained. Turning to Mary he said with resignation, "Make the call."

John was hugged and smothered in kisses by Mary, in her relief and joy.

The call was made and the operation arranged to take place at the end of the month, a week and a half week away. While they waited, John had Rianna scan Joey and his family.

The first thing that Rianna did during her scans was to remove the sadness of the children for the loss of their old life. The second thing was to break Janet's depression. Finally Rianna did a deep scan of Joey, looking for even the slightest deception. She found none and told John of her findings.

John was still suspicious though and asked, "Then why did he bug Valkyie's gear?"

"Those bums threatened to hurt his family, Gramps. And they were very descriptive about it. Just believe me when I tell you, because I'm not going to repeat the threats. They're too vile."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Gramps, you rescued his wife and children. He couldn't possibly be any more thankful or loyal to you."

"Good, then let's go home.

Jacob had been trying to read between the lines of the files of the four men that were in custody. However, there was nothing more to be garnered from what was in the files.

"Jack? Would you come in here, please?" Jacob asked through the intercom.

"Sir?" said Jack Wright, Jacob's aide-de-camp.

Jack entered Jacob's office and stood at attention before Jacob.

"How may I assist you, Sir?"

"First, you can relax. You know that this isn't the real Army."

"Proper protocol is the heart of any organization, Sir. Though we may not be the real Army, this is STILL a military organization, Sir."

"Riiiiiight ... OK, if it makes you happy. Anyway, what I need for you to do, is work your magic. Dig up all that you can on our guests. Go all the way back to their diaper days. Oh, and Jack, I need it yesterday," said Jacob as he handed the personnel files of the four prisoners.

"Sir!" said Jack as he took the files and exited the room.

"I know he pulls that shit just to aggravate me," muttered Jacob under his breath.

The two women moved quickly and silently toward the wrecked chopper. The recovery of any items that could be of use, and an even quicker departure, found them back at camp in under three hours. They waited for the others to complete their mapping mission.

"This radio will come in handy, Boss," said Cara as the two women sorted out their gleanings from the chopper.

"Yeah, but these charts should help us even more. We can work up accurate locations, from the intel the others bring back," said Asha as she studied one of the charts.

That evening the other two women entered camp, looking tired and worn.

"This place is huge! Well, at least the anti-aircraft perimeter is," said Dixie as she sagged down the trunk of a tree, exhausted.

"Yes but the underground installation is narrow and I would assume deep by the placement of the air-shafts. It looks as if these people only upgraded the original mine's ventilation system," said Yumi.

"OK, good. Now let's get some rest, we'll go over all of this in the morning. I'll take the first watch, followed by Cara, Yumi, and then you, Dixie. Two hour watches, for tonight," said Asha.

Malcolm walked into Walter's office carrying a bottle of Remy Martin's Louis XIII Cognac. Well actually ... It wasn't a bottle but a hand cut crystal decanter.

"I hope that this works. If it does, it'll be worth the fifteen hundred I spent on this stuff," he thought.

What he saw when he entered the reception area of Walter's office brought him up short. The receptionist looked terrible. Her hair was in disarray and her mascara had run. The poor woman was making a valiant effort to repair the damage but with little success.

"Is he in?" Malcolm asked.

The woman tried to answer him but suddenly burst into tears and ran from the room. With a frown Malcolm moved into the secretary's office and found Walter's very proper and classy secretary, Clarice, in worse shape than the woman that he had seen in the outer office.

Clarice was unabashedly weeping, with her head resting on her fore arms on the desktop. Malcolm heard a commotion and looked to his left and saw into the staff room, it was filled with weeping young men and women.

"Shit! I hope that the old bastard hasn't died, yet!" thought Malcolm as he walked into the office of Senator Walter Lockhart.

Walter was stretched out on his couch with his left arm across his eyes. Even in that position it was evident the he had lost a considerable amount of weight in the short time since their last visit. Malcolm became worried, very worried.

"What's going on, Walter?"

Walter gave a start, and sat up.

"Oh, hello. What brings you?"

"Well, you said last week, that you were getting the test results back today. I thought that I would bring a bottle..." Malcolm's voice faded as he really saw his partner in crime.

Walter was gaunt and gray. Even his lips had no color at all. He looked up and motioned with his arm toward a chair.

"Come in. Come in and sit down."

Malcolm turned, closed and the door, and then went to the indicated chair. As he walked, Walter started talking in a monotone, staring blankly off into space.

"Yes, I got the results this morning, and ... it's not good. It is an inoperable tumor. I have a little more than a month, IF I'm lucky. You know? I'm glad that my wife left me, and that we didn't have any kids. I wouldn't want them to suffer. It's bad enough to see the kids out there. My staff is like family to me, you know. Did you see them out there? Such pain! I just told them a few minutes ago. Seeing that kind of pain makes me think of all of the deaths that we're responsible for. We're responsible for thousands, Malcolm. Thousands are feeling like that, and worse..."

As Walter spoke Malcolm rose and went to the bar for glasses. He placed one in front of the other man, and then broke into Walter's ramblings.

"Brought this to celebrate good news, but I guess we can drink it for commiseration, just as well," said Malcolm as he opened the decanter and poured some of the amber liquid into each snifter.

The aroma of the fine liquor brought Walter back to reality. He picked up his snifter and took a sip.

His eyes popped wide and he exclaimed, "This is marvelous! I've never in all of my life had such a smooth Brandy! What is it?"

Malcolm said nothing, he just handed the decanter to Walter.

"Cognac ... Remy Martin Louis XIII..." he whispered reverently. "This stuff cost a fortune."

"Yeah, fifteen hundred. The bottle — no, excuse me - the decanter is hand made crystal. I really thought that the news would be good, but we can still drink this as sort of a ... well, you know," said Malcolm with the wave of his hand.

Walter was almost in tears. "Thank you, old friend. This really means a lot to me. Let's drink to friendship then."

The two clinked glasses and said in unison, "TO FRIENDSHIP."