Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds (38 page)

When Hunter went down for a nap, Terri joined him on the porch.

“It’s Chase,” Bishop stated out of the blue. “I’ve finally figured it out. Chase is behind all this.”

“What? How did you come to that conclusion?”

“It all makes sense. He’s had his nose in every single thing that has gone wrong lately. He was in Houston and caused us to get a late start and not go to Amarillo. He was the one accusing Butter of stealing those medical records. I’m telling you, he’s behind all this.”

“Did he cause Nick to verbally attack us?”

“Not directly.”

“Did he incite the riot or shoot Diana?”

“No… not that I know of.”

“I think you’re just jealous. It’s cute and very flattering, but your timing is poor.”

Bishop’s face got red. “I’m getting a little tired of people thinking I’m that shallow and insecure. I especially expected a little better from my wife of all people.”

For a second, Terri thought he was teasing, or exercising that infamous, ill-timed humor. It quickly became clear, however, that her husband was serious. “Oh come on, Bishop,” she pushed back. “You know I was making a joke. You understand the value of laughter when times are stressful.”

“I know you were joking,” he stated in a low monotone. “That’s not what’s pissing me off. It’s the fact that my analysis is dismissed so easily. You’re not the only one who can read people, my dear.”

She didn’t like his tone or statement. “Seriously, Bishop? You want to dissect recent events with an eye toward Chase McQuire? Fine. Let’s roll down that path and see where it leads us.”

“Fine.”

“First of all, he’s not been in the right place at the right time to be involved in half of the incidents. Where would you like to begin?”

Bishop rubbed his chin, almost as if he was regretting the conversation already. “The first fiasco after his arrival was that bullshit up by Fort Davidson… that weird, still-unexplained team that arrived out of nowhere and shot up my men.”

“And Chase was involved in what way?”

“You told him where I was, didn’t you?”

Now it was Terri’s cheeks flushing red. “Yes, I probably mentioned it. It wasn’t a secret or anything. Hell, your guys and you were loading up trucks full of supplies in broad daylight. Remember?”

“So he knew. Maybe he called in some old friends. You said he was in the military, right? Those guys that hit us in that valley were ex-military…. I’m sure of that.”

It all came welling up inside of Terri, an eruption of painful memories and strong sensations. The trip back to Houston, seeing their old home, and Chase’s reappearance in her life. It all combined with Nick and Diana’s strange behavior to make her feel as if her world was collapsing – as if her head was about to explode.

“Bishop! Is there some virus going around that is converting testosterone into stupidity and paranoia? First, it infected Nick, and now you? Do you really think Chase wants in my pants so badly that he would hire a team of professional hitmen to take you out of the picture?”

Bishop stood abruptly, his face cold with anger. “There you go again, and quite frankly, it’s getting a little old. You’re a stunning young lady, but not
that
hot, sweetheart. Of course, Chase wouldn’t go through all that just for a piece of your ass. It was the new property law that he was trying to sabotage.”

With her lower lip trembling in rage, Terri stood and glared at her husband. “In all our years… with all the threats and tragedy and death we’ve endured, you’ve never spoken to me like that,
sweetheart
.”

Bishop knew he should apologize, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned his back to her. “I need space,” he informed his shell-shocked wife. “I need some time and open spaces to think. I’m going to go hunting.”

“You’re what? You’re going to leave Hunter and me here by ourselves with the second apocalypse looming on the horizon?”

“You guys are as safe here as anywhere.”

“Maybe I’d feel safer in the new house that Chase is fixing up,” she hissed. “He invited me to come see it. I’m sure it’s a little nicer than the camper.”

“See… see what I mean,” he growled back. “That little lard worm is just trying to drive a wedge between us. I should have gutted that shit shark when I had the chance.”

Terri knew she’d struck a nerve, the veins on the side of Bishop’s neck pulsating, the corded muscles on his arms tight like a guitar string. Deep down inside she knew it was wrong, but her fury eroded all restraint. “I don’t think he’s trying to come between us at all. I think he’s merely trying to open my eyes,” she spouted, instantly regretting the words.

In all their time together, she’d never once thought Bishop would, or could, strike her. Her husband’s reaction, there on the front porch of their favorite place on earth, challenged that belief. His fists balled as his weight shifted forward - a lion preparing to pounce. For the first time in her life, Terri was frightened of the man she’d married.

Fortunately, it passed in a heartbeat, the Texan’s stance returning to a non-threatening keel, almost relaxed. “Suit yourself. I’m going hunting.”

Terri was over the top pissed. “I can’t believe this! Right when we need each other the most, you’re running out on me. What the hell has happened to you, Bishop? Maybe Nick was right. Maybe you have lost your honor.”

“Nothing has happened to
me
,” he replied coldly. “I just need to go hunting. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

Without another word, Bishop went inside their room and gathered his equipment. He emerged a few minutes later after giving his sleeping son a soft kiss and whispering, “I love you.”

Terri stood speechless by the door, arms crossed and mind burning from their fight. Bishop paused in front of her, bending to deliver a forehead peck. She moved away, purposely avoiding the kiss.

Sighing, he walked out into the Texas night without another word.

Terri held it until she was sure he was too far away to hear and then began to sob. “Oh, God. What is happening to us?”

Bishop drove out of Meraton, a hunting trip to the mountains the last thing on his mind.

He hated deceiving Terri and would no doubt pay a price for that later. In his mind, however, he was completely justified. After all, she wouldn’t even consider that her former lover was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

What he needed now was proof. Unquestionable, clear as day evidence.

He continued driving west toward Fort Bliss, his mind digesting the facts as fast as the truck was eating up the miles.

Twenty minutes outside the Alliance’s largest military installation, he pulled to the side of the road and began to formalize his plan. It was all so risky, an all or nothing gamble, but he had to do it.

He’d snuck in and out of Bliss before, delivering a message to the visiting president, and then having to escape with the chief executive after an attempt on his life by the Independents. He knew the layout well.

Checking his watch, he knew there were only four hours until dawn. He needed the night to accomplish his mission. That’s when the base’s personnel would be the least active.

He thought about driving to the neighborhood he’d once used as a springboard to penetrate the base’s perimeter. He could leave the truck and go in on foot. It was a 10-mile hump from there to the building that housed the base's primary communications center. If he hustled and traveled light, he might just make it in and out.

Then what?

He’d be exhausted, that’s what.

No, he decided. There was a better way. He was getting too long in the tooth to go rushing off into the desert with a pack and a rifle.

Pulling out onto the road again, Bishop made for the front gate.

The sentry approached cautiously, traffic at the wee hour unusual, even for a facility as large as Bliss. “I have a priority one message from Chairperson Diana Brown,” Bishop informed the sleepy soldier.

“Identification, please,” the specialist stated, following procedure.

Bishop handed the man his new driver’s license. “Check the list,” he told the soldier. “You’ll find I’m cleared for entry.”

The trooper did just that, waving Bishop through a few minutes later. “Finally some respect,” Bishop whispered as he pulled through the gate.

He drove directly to the communications building, pulling the exact same stunt on the LT sitting behind the desk. “Give me the message, and I’ll see to it,” the officer offered.

“No,” Bishop answered curtly. “This is POTUS eyes only.”

“Fine.”

Bishop was shown into the room where Diana and he had recently spoken with the Colonel. A few minutes later, the young sergeant on duty said, “The White House is on the line, sir. Press here to talk; release to listen. It takes the computers a bit to decode each transmission, so you can expect a slight delay.”

“White House operations,” came a metallic sounding voice. “State your message.”

“Message is for POTUS and reads as follows; Code Red. Call Bishop at 1714419292 ASAP. End Message.”

The voice in Washington repeated the words back to Bishop, and then the transmission was over. The Texan exited the building and the base as quickly as possible.

The “Code Red” was an old phrase from the days when Bishop had worked for the Colonel. The Texan hoped his old boss would remember. The number was the satellite phone he’d been issued while searching Palo Dura for the pot growers.

Two hours later, he pulled the truck into a secluded spot and waited for the President of the United States to call.

Three times Bishop checked the phone’s battery level, nervous that he’d foul up his best opportunity by making a mistake with technology he wasn’t used to operating.

After another 40 minutes, the phone rang, causing Bishop to jump.

“Hello, sir. Thank you for calling.”

“What’s wrong, Bishop? This is highly unusual.”

“Sir, I need to speak with you about the ambassador you assigned to the Alliance. How well do you know this man?”

There was a pause on the other end before the familiar voice said, “I don’t know him, son. I’ve never met the man. He was recommended to me by a private individual who’s been doing good work with our recovery. I checked his resume and offered the post.”

Bishop briefly explained a few of the events that had occurred since the ambassador’s visit and then asked for a huge favor. “Does he have a satellite phone like the one I’m using, sir?”

“Yes. He is supposed to use it for emergencies or other critical communications that can’t wait for the normal courier.”

Bishop hesitated for a brief time and then popped the big question. “Sir, could you check his call records for me?”

“What? Did I just hear you ask that I check up on my own ambassador’s activity like he was a teenager who was going over on his cell phone minutes?” sounded the indignant voice.

“Yes, sir, you most certainly did hear me correctly.”

“And exactly what do you expect me to find, son?”

“I think you’ll find your representative have been making numerous calls that have nothing to do with his assignment here in Texas. If that winds up being the case, I would very much like to know where those calls are going.”

“That man is a diplomat of the United States of America, Bishop. His communications are considered confidential and property of this country. He also has immunity. What exactly are you accusing him of?”

“It’s very complex, sir, and I can’t prove anything just yet. I do believe, however, that the future of the Alliance, as well as the U.S. recovery, may depend on this information. We both know that if Texas goes over the edge again, there’s a good chance you’ll be dragged into the abyss with us. No one wants that to happen.”

The president knew Bishop well. The Texan had saved his life and was one of the most competent operators the Colonel had ever employed. He wasn’t a man to go flying off the handle, nor had the chief executive ever known his former subordinate to subscribe to wild theories.

Bishop had risked his life to save the Colonel’s predecessor and to stop a second civil war. But most importantly, he’d never made any sort of request like this before.

“Give me an hour,” POTUS finally responded. “I’ll call you back at this number.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Relieved that his request hadn’t been rejected outright, Bishop again found himself idling while he waited. It was maddening.

“I can’t just sit and wait any longer. I’m gonna head back for the ranch,” he finally announced to the empty cab. “I have a feeling I’m going to need some extra gear.”