Sandra Hill (25 page)

Sammy did smile when she told him she would be returning later to stay the night with him…and that she had a special bedtime saga to tell him. “The Loathsome Lout Prince and the Beautiful, Brave Viking Warrior Maiden.”

Give me an S, give me an E, give me an A, give me an L…

Zach was standing in the empty press box at the Penn State Nittany Lions football stadium, preparing for tomorrow night’s homecoming game with Notre Dame.

He was connected by lip mike and earpiece to the other eight members of his team scattered about the 110,000-seat steel edifice. They were all jacked up, but nothing was happening…so far.

It was a great architectural marvel, situated here among the beautiful Nittany Mountains in Happy Valley, but it could very well be a bitch to empty if terrorists had their way.

In addition, it was an especially attractive setting because of all the colorful hot-air balloons there in the near distance, part of the homecoming celebration. The ballonists, many of them Penn State alumni, met here every year to show off their latest babies to each other and the grateful crowds. The parade and pep rally had been held the night before.

The government was keeping this threat low key, but the rumor mill had it that terrorists were targeting this stadium on this particular weekend. Americans in large numbers made a tempting target. If they could take down a hundred thousand people in one pop, it would make 9/11 appear like a minor blip on the terrorist tally board. Still, it was only rumors at this point.

“Everyone in place?” asked JAM, head of this mission.

“Roger,” said Cage, who was lying flat atop the roof of the VIP suites.

Sly, Max, Geek, Slick, Scary Larry, Omar, Travis “Flash” Gordon, and Cody O’Brien also reported in from their various positions…in the two tunnels leading to the locker rooms, outside the concession stands, the massive parking lot, and even tailing Coach Paterno. They were all dressed to blend in with the expected crowds, wearing blue and white or blue and gold jerseys with school emblems, except for a cursing Flash, who’d picked the bad luck short straw. He was dressed as the Nittany Lions mascot, complete with sweaty lion’s head. It was a tradition at Penn State that every time a touchdown was made, the Nittany Lion had to go out on the field and do a push-up per point, including those previously earned. By the end of the game, the lion could conceivably do more than a hundred push-ups in that heavy costume, not to mention dozens of front and backflips. Occasionally, he was passed up through the bleachers by rowdy, sometimes drunk students. All in all, a pain-in-the-butt assignment.

Geek was the only one who thought it was cool to hit on college coeds, although Cage had been eyeing one of the cheerleaders who had “a bootie to die for.” Cage’s words, not Zach’s. They’d been there all week, twiddling their thumbs, way too much time to think.

And of course Zach was thinking about Sammy. And about Britta…way too much. But then, she’d given him a going-away present to beat all going-away presents.

“You’ve got that look on yer face again,
cher
.” Cage had just slipped into the press box with him.

“Would that be my ‘I’m bored to death’ look or my ‘I’m past ready to rumble’ look?”

“It would be the love-struck look.”

“Don’t you mean horny?”

“Nope. I’m seein’ love, baby.”

“Seriously, dude, I’ve gotta make some decisions about Britta when I get back to the base.”

“Why?”

“Because…I don’t know, just because.”

“Dum-dum-de-dum.”

“Please. It’s just that I feel responsible for her being here. And I do care about her. And…”

“And?”

He grinned.

“Great sex, huh?” Cage prodded.

“Really great sex.”

“Let’s face it, you’ve been hooked on her since you met her two years ago.”

“That’s another thing. Do you really believe this time-travel crap? Do you really think
we
traveled back in time? I know we don’t talk about it, but I got used to telling myself that it was our imaginations, that it was just some kind of reenactment crap.”

“Me, I tell myself it was a joke that Max pulled on us, and one of these days he’s gonna say, ‘Gotcha!’ Except he hasn’t…yet.”

Zach bit his bottom lip, then confided, “I’m thinking about quitting the teams.”

“No way! You love being a SEAL.”

“I do, but maybe it’s time to move on. I don’t think Arsallah is ever going to give up. Unless he dies—and I can only hope—but, barring that, Sammy is going to be in danger forever. Living with guards and babysitters is no normal way to raise a kid.”

“Shiiiit! I kin see yer point, but, man, ya blindsided me. What would ya do? Would ya stay in the Coronado area?”

“I would need to go in hiding of some kind. New name, persona, job, everything. And I’d have to cut off contact with all my family and friends, totally. Like witness protection, except done voluntarily.”

“Jist doan do anythin’ hasty. Talk it over with someone who knows somethin’ about this hiding in plain sight business. Your grandad, maybe, with all his government contacts.”

“It was his idea.”

Cage whistled. “I doan know what ta say, then. Let me ask ya this, wouldja take Britta with you?”

He thought for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

But deep inside, he knew. And the answer was no.

Girl talk…same thing through the ages…

Britta sat with Madrene and Hilda in Tony’s Bar & Grill where they laughed till they cried, then they cried till they laughed. The fact they were drinking pitchers of mead did not help the situation.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Britta glanced at Hilda. “I still cannot believe you lived in a place called Hog Heaven.”

“How about me? I lived in a bloody harem for two years.
Me?
In see-through gunnas, with rouged nipples!” Madrene was a far-famed shrew—a
nice
shrew—who had a talent for nagging.

Britta and Hilda put hands over their mouths to stifle their giggles. Britta could not imagine Madrene being subservient, which would surely be required in a harem. Or that she would stand still while someone painted her nipples.

“And you both believe you have time-traveled?” Britta asked. “I cannot credit any sane person accepting such nonsense, and yet…”

“Most of us have concluded that it is a miracle of some type. A God-ordained thing,” Madrene said.

“But mostly we try not to think about it at all,” Hilda added. “Searching for logical explanations is a futile exercise.”

“Tell me why…how…you decided to stay here in the future,” she urged them both.

“I no longer had any family there. I had no desire to go back,” Madrene said. “Except for a need to avenge myself against that evil Steinolf, but then my brother Torolf took care of that.”

“’Twas different for me,” Hilda said. “I was drawn two ways, wanting to stay here but believing I was needed in the past, at The Sanctuary.”

“And what decided you?”

“Love,” they said as one.

Britta’s heart wrenched at that message. Partly because she suspected she was falling in love with Zachary and partly because she feared he only lusted for her. “I am so confused. I do not want to go back, but I keep having these strange dreams. My father and brothers are attacking the abbey in some of them, and there is so much blood. But in other dreams, it is the nuns who are attacking my father and brothers, led by some warrior nun, and the ruthless men are the ones lying in their own sword dew. Either way, I feel almost a physical pull to return to the abbey.”

Madrene and Hilda stared at her. It was a compelling dream…and obviously different from their own experiences.

“Dost think the warrior nun is you?” Hilda asked.

“Nay. She has coal-black hair. And unusually vivid blue eyes.”

“How does Pretty Boy fit into all this?” Hilda asked.

“Like a thorn in my backside.” Her flip answer garnered grins from her friends. Then she added, “’Tis his fault I am here. I think. He wish-prayed me here.”

“My father believes he was wish-prayed here,” Madrene told her, “and look how well things turned out for him and Angela at the vineyard.” Madrene’s father, Magnus Ericsson, was married to a woman who owned Blue Dragon Vineyard somewhere here in California.

“You say that you blame Pretty Boy, but you aren’t unhappy to be here, are you?” Hilda inquired.

“I am content to be here. Mayhap I was destined to travel here to learn these new military tactics, as I originally thought. But what if Zachary is the reason for my being here?”

“Would that be so bad?” Madrene asked.

“Yea, it would. Who would I be then, except an appendage to some man? I have always identified myself as Britta the Warrior. If not a warrior, what would I be?”

“Lover, wife, mother…or any job you choose,” Hilda said. “This really is a remarkable country for women.”

“Lover? I am already that. I think. But wife…or mother?” She shook her head decisively. “Ne’er did I expect to see myself in those roles. I always considered myself too big and unfeminine, with none of the maidenly graces.” Although an image flashed into her mind of her holding Sammy earlier that night.

“I don’t know.” Hilda grinned. “Pretty Boy does not seem to have a problem with your size or femininity.” She turned to Madrene and told her, “Pretty Boy was smitten with Britta from the start. Could not keep his eyes or hands off her.”

“Pretty Boy?” Madrene glanced Britta’s way. “Pretty Boy does not chase women; they chase him. You must have something.”

“Well, I do let him perform perversions on me,” she admitted.

Both women choked on their glasses of mead.

Some ladies at a neighboring table stopped eating and gazed at her with sudden interest.

“You better explain yourself,” Hilda said with mock severity.

And Britta did, much to the ever-dropping jaws of her two friends…and their neighbors.

“Oh, I do not think that is so perverted,” Hilda said, “except mayhap for that wheelbarrow business.” She leaned closer to Britta and Madrene and confided, “Torolf taught me how to pleasure myself. In front of a mirror.” Seeing the interest she had garnered, Hilda continued with glee, “And one time he made love to me as I was bound and gagged.”

“Do not dare stop now,” Madrene said.

Already, Britta was picturing herself in such situations…with Zachary, of course.

“And you both know about chocolate body paint, do you not?” Hilda inquired.

When she finished relating the purpose and method of chocolate body paint, Britta said, “Can we stop to purchase some on the way back?”

“I’ll second that, and mayhap strawberry, as well. Ian is partial to strawberries.” Madrene had a considering expression on her face. “And, by the by, I think my brother Torolf wins the prize for most perverted.”

“I will tell him that.” Hilda smiled.

“Oh, no, please do not,” Madrene said.

They all stood up, preparing to leave, when Hilda said, “So, anyone game for The Horny Toad?”

“The
what
?” Madrene inquired.

“A sex shop.”

“Hilda!” Madrene was laughing. “You shock me.”

“Hah! There is naught that could shock you, Madrene,” Hilda contended. “You are the one who gave me edible underwear for a bridal showering gift.”

Edible underwear? Eeeew! A sex shop?
“Uh…I do not think I am interested in purchasing sex,” Britta said. “I get enough from Zachary.”

Everyone laughed at her then, including the people at nearby tables.

The plot thickens…

Mullah Ahmed Arsallah sat in a San Diego hotel suite watching a TV screen showing remote-access pictures of that bastard Floyd’s home, twenty miles away.

“Everything is in place?” he inquired of his assistant.

Daoud nodded. “Our operatives are in place in the house across the street. Six of them.”

“And the occupants of the house?” He addressed Hakim, who was sometimes referred to as The Executioner.

“Disabled and will not awaken for hours.” Hakim would have preferred killing them all, including their hostages-to-be, something which might yet happen.

“And Lieutenant Floyd…are we certain he will not return in the midst of our…um, mission?”

“He and seven other SEALs are occupied with that bomb threat we devised. In a place called Pennsylvania. Even if he were warned now, it would take half a day for him to return. By then, we will be gone, including the boy, Allah willing.”

Arsallah nodded. “Number of guards inside and outside?”

“One inside, two outside,” Hakim said. “Plus there is a woman inside with the boy, as well. A military woman from WEALS.”

Arsallah frowned his confusion.

“Rather like a female Navy SEAL.” This explanation came from Daoud, who exchanged stony looks with Hakim. The two men had no love for each other, which was just as well. Arsallah did not like his comrades to develop strong bonds with each other. Their whole allegiance should be to him. “It is a new military unit for women,” Daoud elaborated.