Chapter 13

Zeus

I was itchy to do something again.

Back in ... that is, when I was ... well, in the days before Arti ... uh, when I was on my own ... I mean, I'm still on my own, because I don't have any sort of caretaker or anything ... but, you know ... before we started doing everything as "us" doing something.

Back then, I was busy all the time. I had a string of alternative identities to care for. Go to Comanche, and be Lee Roberts for a few days. Go to Weatherford, Texas, and work on the John Lyndon identity. Go to Little Rock, Arkansas, and be Frank Benjamin. I think that's all I set up ... hard to remember all of 'em sometimes. Now I was Alexander Hobart.

Anyway, I had things to do. In the recent past, I was an 'adjunct meeting attender.' I didn't even take any notes, and Arti did almost all of the talking. That's when I was attending meetings, lately I'd been a wastrel. Shooting at rocks, playing Indian poker with 'the boys' at the VFW hall. It seemed like I should spit out a stream of chewin' tabaccy or something when I said that. Hell, I was even doing exercises with Navajo Pete – that's how bored I was.

So when Martinez rang the bell, I was like a racehorse: ready to go, lead me to the starter's pistol, put me in coach, I'm ready to play.

Of course, "we" had something to do first. We had to make the camper livable. That meant a trip to Gallup to rent a storage space, and to move all the unnecessary stuff into that. Why were we carrying around unnecessary stuff? I don't know, but Arti though we should have it for the new house.

Okay, now we can go, right? Wrong. We had to stock up on food and such for two people (I didn't want to call us a 'couple') for several weeks. You'd think we were going camping in the Andes. We were going to California; surely they had food in California.

NOW, we were ready to go. Packing the last few things in the camper, Arti asked me "Do you have your bulletproof vest? Are you happy with your revolver for a weapon?"

I looked at her.

When I was in the SEALs, I was technically a sailor; I used most of the colorful vocabulary attributed to sailors in my reply to Arti. She laughed.

"Then I guess you didn't have 'DEA' stenciled on your vest either, huh?" she said between guffaws. "You want to take care of the gun, while I go and get you a non-official 'official' DEA-type vest?"

With a sigh, the H2 was duly pointed down the road toward the gunsmith's, and Arti rode off toward the 'Shoppe of Harrows' – proprietor Joshua Harrows – just on the 'inskirts' of the reservation ('Inskirts' sounds to me like a perfectly good word, the opposite of 'outskirts.' Not 'just outside' of something but 'just inside.' If Io could use 'amaze-ball, ' then I certainly could use 'inskirts.'). I saw her turn on the ITE headset device and chatting merrily away to Io as she hopped on her 'bike – no doubt, the conversation was at my expense.

"Inskirts," said Martinez in my head. "You are so full of crap, sometimes! It's no wonder your eyes are brown."

Oh yeah, I replied in my head, how come you didn't warn me about not having a vest? Or not carrying a big old relvolver in my slim, trim DEA costume?

"I don't read minds, to prevent fools from acting foolish. I only foretell the future. Usually."

Foolishness? I'll have you know that I had my black turtle neck shirt all pressed for the occasion. So there.

We carried on like this for the thirty five miles to the gunsmith. Mr. Smith – he claimed a direct lineage to the Smith of Smith & Wesson fame – had my background check papers already and he had a real cute little .45 Springfield M1911A1 for sale. With a great deal of regret, I set it aside. I wanted something that would use the same ammunition as Arti's Glock. I settled for a pair of Sig's: the SP 2022 and the SPC 2022, complete with a waist holster for the SP 2022 and an ankle holster for my hideout gun, the SPC 2022. Plus 9 mm. ammo and spare clips, of course.

Now, Alexander Hobart was duly outfitted with a personal armory. With only one rueful glance at the Springfield .45, I headed back to our rendezvous point. Io advised that Arti would be there before me. It seems that I had spent more time than I thought playing with my new guns.

I stopped the H2, turned it around and went back for the Springfield. Too good to pass up.

"Now, can we get on the road?" Arti asked.

"WHAT?! You were the one who had to go to the storage unit. You were the one who insisted that we had to stock up at the grocery store. You were..." I sputtered.

She laughed, pecked me on the cheek, and said, "We better let Io handle the hitch-up to the camper, don't you think?" Then she hopped in the driver's seat so that none of Navajo Pete's family would be startled when the car 'drove itself.'

I went in and told Mr. And Mrs. Soaring Eagle that we were leaving, finally, on another mission to undisclosed parts for undisclosed purposes.

"Good hunting, Together with the Spirits," said BlueBird. It was around noon, and she was preparing a salad for lunch.

"Another mission?" asked Pete from the living room.

"Yeah," was my usual taciturn no-information answer.

"Hope it goes as well as your trip to mouse-land."

"How did ... Did Arti say something?"

"No she didn't say anything, but L.T., I'm not dumb. It was kinda hard to miss the fuss over the mystery shooter who killed all the terrorists by rifle and who saved Orlando. It was all over the internet, you know," he replied. "'The Eagle, ' that right wing rag of a TV network, was practically gaga over it. I especially liked the note to the Secretary of Homeland Security. That was on the conspiracy web pages, but it sounded true. 'Patriot Sniper' – that's what they're calling him, you know."

"Well, this one's a little bit different. Won't make the papers, I shouldn't think. Less international intrigue, more of an important personal mission for a fallen team member."

That got his attention. "You know if you need any outside help, you only have to ask. The boys'll line up for a former team member."

"We might – might – need some air power help, later. If this doesn't work out. I don't know yet."

He lowered his voice to an almost inaudible lever, so BlueBird couldn't possibly overhear. "What kind of air power?"

"A pick up or maybe a drop off in Mexico, small craft, flying low. That kind," I said.

He fell silent for a few moments. "When will you know? ... And what kind of lead-time you going to have?"

"We should know in a week if this works. Trying to interdict things before they get to Mexico, ya know? I'm afraid we're not going to have much lead time at all if we need a pick up. If we have to do it, the drop off is on a no-rush basis."

"That's typical." He laughed lightly. "I think I may have something that will help. I'll work on it."

Navajo Pete's 'may have something' was better than a guarantee from the Armed Forces. Especially if it was off the books.

"Gotta go, Pete. Thanks." And I scampered out the door.

"Number One, take us to San Diego, warp speed. Make it so," I said to Io, completely unnecessarily of course, as we turned on to I-40 in Gallup.

"Roger that captain," said our abiological partner. "However, there is an intergalactic storm caused by highway construction, near Flagstaff. If I may suggest an alternative." She switched the accent of her avatar to one that was nearly Jay Silverheels. "Ugh. Us can go past Tonto National Forest and save time, KimoSabe. Many hours faster."

Arti and I almost fell out of our seats, laughing. "Hi-yo, Silver!" I cheered.

With that, she changed her avatar's voice again. The deep, mellifluent announcer voice intoned "A fiery H2 with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty Hi-yo Silver! The Lone SEAL! ... With his faithful Indian-speaking companion The Huntress, and his dog, Sonny, the daring and resourceful rider of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early years of the 21st century in the western United States! Nowhere in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice! Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear! From out of the past come the thundering tires of the great H2, Silver! The Lone SEAL rides again!"

She earned the enthusiastic applause that Arti and I delivered.

"Fantastic, Io! Brava!" shouted Arti.