Chapter 9

The next morning, while we were having our morning wake-up cup, a Jeep Renegade rolled up to the Sheriff’s office. A tall, muscular man dressed in Navy whites stepped out. When He got to the locked front doors, He was confused, looking around, frustrated. He spotted us and started walking toward us.

When he got close enough, I could see that this wasn’t a normal, everyday swabby. The first thing that jumped out at me was the badge on his chest. This guy was a SEAL. The ribbons also showed that he was no chairborne warrior. I could see the navy cross, a purple heart, and a bronze star. As well as the usual, ‘I was there’ fruit salad. I spoke up. “Howdy Partner, Can I help you?”

I was surprised when this guy’s voice wasn’t angry. If anything, he seemed amused. “I certainly hope so. Do you know where I can find the Sheriff or any cop for that matter.”

“Well, Paul generally doesn’t show up until 8 or 9 o’clock. Steve, his deputy, generally shows up a half-hour earlier. To make coffee and get their donut fix from Mabel’s.”

The newcomer looked at his watch. I could see that it looked like a standard-issue GI timepiece. The OD canvas wristband was standard issue. “Damn, another hour. Well, is there any place I can get a cup of coffee and maybe some breakfast?”

“There’s Mabel’s. But I’d give them a little bit. Chet, the cook, just opened up, and it takes a while for the grill to warm up. But I think we can offer you a cup. That is if you don’t mind camp coffee.”

“Mister, I’ve drank every kind of coffee known to man. From the finest Turkish brews to what looked like hot water and mud. And tasted it too.”

Suzy poured a cup, and I handed it over. “My names Suzy. This is Matt and our friend Jim.”

This was a bit of a test. If the guy just took the coffee and didn’t give a name, it would be his last.

“Thank you, sir. My name is Lance. Lieutenant Lance Bordan.”

He passed the test. “Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Bordan. What brings you to Elk City. We don’t get a lot of folks come through here, or at least stop here.”

“Well, Matt, I’m here on business. I’m from the Navy, and I need to talk to the Sheriff.”

“Isn’t that interesting. Can I ask why? or is it a government secret?”

“Not really, or at least as far as I know, it isn’t. It seems there is a guy here that we need to talk to. Somebody at the Pentagon thinks he’s important, They want to make sure he’s safe.”

A caravan of 3 black suburban’s rolled into town and pulled up next to his Jeep as he was talking. All four of us watched this.

“Seems the rest of the government has arrived.”

Bordan looked over at the newcomers. “How can you tell?”

“Well, other than movie stars, drug dealers, and other rich people, few people can afford armored cars. The flat, tinted windows give that away. And those GS motor pool plates belong to the government.”

While I was talking, several men in black suits climbed out and fanned out, looking at the surroundings, including us. Several others then climbed out and walked up to the office door. They seemed frustrated with the locked door. As we watched, two of them read the sign posted on the door. Not a sign, it was a sheet of printer paper Steve taped to the doors at night. It told anybody with an emergency that they should call the Highway Patrol.

After reading the sign, they stood there talking and looking around. When one of them spotted Lieutenant Bordan and our group, He started making a beeline towards us.

As they got closer, He spoke up, “Excuse me, I was wondering ... Matt, Is that you? Matt Reynolds? Do you remember me?”

It took me a moment. Then it dawned on me. This was Brian Jackson, The FBI agent that I met several years earlier. While our first meeting had been rough, He was smiling now. “Agent Jackson, it’s good to see you. How is Special Agent Dupree?”

“Charles? Last I heard, he was living the good life down in Florida. When he isn’t on the golf course, he’s out on the sport fisher he bought.”

“Sport Fisher? I heard those things weren’t cheap. What did he do, Hit the lottery?”

“Sort of seems not too long after retiring, He took a trip on a day fishing charter. And hooked himself a bluefin tuna. A big one too. There were three Japanese buyers standing by on the dock when they got back. He made enough to buy that sport fisher, brand new, with all the bells and whistles.”

“Good for him. Man’s got to have a hobby when he retires. Keeps the mind fresh.”

“IF I MAY INTERRUPT.” This was from the other suit, who had just walked up. “While I’m sure this trip down memory lane is amusing, we have business with the Sheriff. Do you know where we can find him?”

“Nope, sure don’t.” Typical self-important bureaucrat. He was lucky he got that much from me. “I suggest you step over to the cafe and get yourselves some breakfast. Paul will get here when he gets here.”

I turned back to Agent Jackson, “How about it, Brian, A good country breakfast at Mabel’s? Her food is just as good as the last time you were here.”

With 5 of us, Suzy decided that we needed to take over the corner booth. It was the only one large enough to handle us. Our only other option was the counter. And that didn’t encourage conversation. Tina Draper was the morning waitress. When we all crowded into the booth, she got a panicked look. Chet, however, looked through the pass-through and called out, “Y’all gets eggs, hash browns, and bacon. If’n you wants sumthin else, it’ll be an hour.”

I looked up at Tina, “Honey, bring the pot, and I’ll pour. You worry about everybody else.”

Suzy chimed in next, “I’ll get the plates too. Don’t worry about us, kiddo. We don’t bite.” She looked up and yelled at Chet, “They better not be scrambled eggs, Chet. Or I’ll have your guts for garters.”