Color Blind (Team Red) (18 page)

“I assume the military is paying them?” I queried, pretty confident in the answer.

“Yes, definitely. They are private contractors, like Team Red is. I was adamant that we don’t want a military presence on our property, but I would agree to a security team. These men are part of a security group based in San Diego, created by a bunch of retired Mustangs.”

Bas added, “I also know these two guys specifically, and I trust in their integrity and discretion. The down side is that they may feel they owe it to their employer to divulge what they learn about Team Red.”

“I’ve mentioned Mustangs before. Do you remember what they are?” David asked.

“Some kind of retired sailor’s club, right?”

Bas’ snort could be heard from where I sat behind him in the backseat.

“Okay,” I amended, “I didn’t mean to make light of it. But David mentioned it only briefly, and I will admit, I don’t understand its significance.”

David chuckled and bussed me on the tip of my nose. “I know babe. I mentioned it once in passing. I have a tendency not to dwell on my rank and stuff like that.”

“Since Mr. Modest here will probably downplay the significance, let me give you the scoop on Mustangs,” Bastian volunteered. “First off let’s do a Navy Rank 101. Do you know what a Warrant Officer is, as opposed to a Commissioned Officer, or even and NCO?”

“I have to tell you guys, I really don’t know much about ranks at all,” I acknowledged. “You are both retired, but you never even talk about the Navy or what you did for Uncle Sam.” Wow, I can’t believe we had never talked about this. Both men were career sailors, but it’s as if they threw a wall up between their civilian status and their life in the Navy.

“Quick and dirty on ranks then. There are NCO’s, those are non-commissioned officers. Bas was an NCO, a guy that works his way up through the enlisted ranks. Bas was an E-8, or Senior Chief when he retired. An E-9 is the highest NCO rank, but our Bastian preferred being in the field. He barely made the time to test for his E-8 rank, Lazy Fucker. There was no way he’d take the E-9 and be chained to a desk,” David teased.

“Now Wonder Boy here,” Bas butted in, “he started as enlisted and fast tracked up to E-7. After twelve years in service, he was eligible to apply for a Warrant Officer position.”

I interrupted Bas to ask, “Is that like a regular officer?”

“Nope,” Bas continued, “There are exceptions, but in most cases, Commissioned Officers go to an Academy or college to get their rank. Warrant Officers start out as enlisted men, but they are technical specialists. Although David had to apply to a selection board, warrants are selected by their peers, based on technical expertise. With David’s specialty in intelligence as an imagery analyst, he was practically guaranteed a spot. Warrant Officer’s a special commission by the President, and these guys are selected for their hands on experience, to act as mentors and technical trainers.

“There are special circumstances connected with David. His specialty and the imagery program he developed got him a special team of people, Yours Truly included, to work exclusively with him perfecting the satellite imagery and topographical mapping system. We can’t talk in depth about the work we did, and still do, but this guy’s brain is considered a valuable asset.”

“So, was David an E-10 or something?” I asked.

“Once I was selected as a Chief Warrant Officer, I was given a CWO-2 designation, the CWO-1 rank is no longer used. Every four years, I was eligible to apply for the next ranking,” David explained. “When I retired, I was a CWO-3.”

I did a little bit of mental math. “Why didn’t you advance to a CWO-4? You already had twenty one years invested.”

“Bas and I had made the decision to retire around the time I was qualified to apply for the next advancement.” There was a short pause, as if he wanted to consider his next words. “That was also right after your accident. I didn’t feel the urgency to go through the application process. We wanted to get home. Bas and I were both pretty worthless those last six months or so.”

David weaved his fingers through mine and held our clasped hands firmly against his thigh. He squeezed gently then continued his narration. “Mustangs are enlisted men that have risen in the ranks to become either warrant or commissioned officers. If you look them up online, you’ll see comparisons between thoroughbreds and mustangs. Mustangs are wild, having better survival instincts and considered more capable than their pampered counterparts.” Interesting analogy, as I can attest to my Mustang being quite capable, having wild skills, and very good instincts, in other areas.

“Mustangs can be any branch of the military, but the group of Mustangs in San Diego that formed Wild Horse Security are all ex-Navy men. That’s how we know some of the employees and one of the owners,” Bas explained, rudely interrupting my happy comparison. “We told the colonel we would welcome a couple of Wild Horses to the property, but we didn’t want active military.”

“Great name for a security company,” I grinned, at more than the name.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” David agreed. “An added bonus is that Fritz worked with us on our mapping program; he used to help Bas with hardware configurations. Both men also have the security clearance we need, so they will have access to our house codes.”

The SUV slowed, and I assumed we had finally arrived at the house.
“Yeah! We’re home!”
Red confirmed.

“As far as I’m concerned, you both have my best interests at heart,” I told them. “I’m good with whatever you decide as far as who is allowed in the house, and what we disclose to them about the Team.”

“Thanks, Babe.” David leaned over placing a soft kiss on my lips. “Love you,” he whispered.

“Ditto,” I replied with a smile.

I unbuckled my seat belt, as Red pressed his nose against the back of my neck.
“Do you want a visual when I get in the house?  I can see the two new guys at the front door. Is that the cat? Hey, the cat is in my yard! Gone for two days, and we are being invaded.”

“Slow down, Red,” I laughed. “Leave the cat alone, I need your help to get settled in, so you’ll have to delay territorial disputes for a bit.” In case he had been sleeping, or his mind wandering, while the men had filled me in, I went on to clarify, “The two guys are part of the security team Colonel Spencer hired to help us with the mission, and to help patrol the property. And, as for the mind vision, yes, please. I’d like to try again when we get in the house. It may still be too bright outside.”

“Ken should be here, Teresa. It’s a little after ten a.m. right now. We’ll have him make up some toast and maybe a scrambled egg,” David recommended.

“To hell with that! After two days of hospital food? I want REAL coffee, bacon, eggs, pancakes, and some fried potatoes.”

“That’s our girl,” Bas laughed. “So much for queasy.”

“I’m of the opinion, I need a decent meal, decent coffee, and a decent night’s sleep in my own bed. I’m starving, we left the hospital before I ate breakfast. Let’s eat, then plot world domination,” I suggested.

Red sounded especially pleased as he admired,
“At least you have enough sense to not plot a world takeover on an empty stomach.”

Dexter Rodgers (Just call me Dex, ma’am) and Fritz Lieb greeted me on the porch. I was amused by the irony, of two perfect strangers welcoming me back. Since I was on David’s arm, Red pressed his way inside, and my head flooded with images of the interior. The view of a spotlessly clean kitchen, combined with the chemical smell of bleach, hit me like a fist to the stomach as I stepped into the dining room.

I’m not sure if I stumbled, or just froze, but David briskly picked me up and carried me straight to the living room and settled me on the couch. “You, okay?” His concern was evident in the raspy growl of his tone.

I was trying to sort through the confusion. Red was giving me a visual of the five men circling me, worry etched into each of their faces. “I’m sorry. The smell hit me. Bleach and some industrial cleaner.” I watched the stress fade from each face, as they connected the concussion with the strong smell.

David ran a caressing hand over my cheek, “No need to apologize Teresa, we were worried it was the shock of being back in the house.”

“Well, this may sound weird, but I’ve had two days to process the attack and make some sick sense out of the whole thing. Since I don’t have a visual recording running a loop in my head, I think it may be easier to deal with than you’d expect. My thoughts have been focused on the asshole… the same one I put in the hospital. Go blind girl!” I joked, attempting to add some levity. My reward was some half-smiles. Good enough. “The first time I step into the kitchen, without Red beside me, I may feel some anxiety. We’ll deal with it if and when it happens. But, for now, I’m okay.”

“Fair enough,” David said, clearly relieved.

“Ken? Can I place an order for coffee, bacon, eggs, potatoes and pancakes?”

“You got it! Everyone, place your orders,” he said as he broke away to the safety of his kitchen domain. The four remaining men, all shouted out their preferences, and Ken started pulling out pots and pans.

Since I was starting to regain a little of my composure, I studied the two men that were going to be staying with us for a while. Which brought up a question, “So where are Fritz and Dex sleeping?”

“We had a second bed brought in for the downstairs spare room. Both guys will bunk in there, although they will probably sleep at different times. If Bas crashes here, we figure we can put him in the spare room upstairs, on the other side of the office,” David explained.

“Did Ken get the upstairs room ready for Bas? I don’t think there are even sheets on that bed. We haven’t had anyone use that room since before my accident.”

“No worries,” Bas answered. “Ken gave it a quick dust and vacuum, and I took care of the bedding. I have some shaving kit stuff in the spare bathroom that I moved up from downstairs. That okay with you?”

“Of course, Bastian. You’re our family. I’m happy to have the room set up for you to use,” I replied, being completely sincere, while making a mental note to mute bedroom activities as necessary.

Watching his face through Red’s eyes, I saw he was pleased to be considered family. I was glad that the two strangers hadn’t been split so that one took the upstairs and the other took the downstairs. A second bed in the lower room was a great solution.

The four men drifted away from me, chatting to fill time while breakfast was being prepared. Dexter Rodgers was a slender, but fit, black man who stood an inch or so shorter than Fritz. Comparing them to Bas’ height I would guess them to be at five-nine and five-ten respectively. Dex had short-cropped hair and dark eyes. He was somewhat non-descript, although he had an economy of movement that hinted at martial arts training and an awareness of his body. I put his age somewhere in the mid-to-late thirties. Fritz appeared a few years older, maybe early forties. He had thick dark hair, I would guess it to be brown, rather than black. I had no idea what color his eyes were (darn that color blindness!) but my guess was light brown. He was battling an extra twenty pounds, which I probably wouldn’t have noticed, if not for the fact the three men surrounding him were in top physical shape. I had no doubt, if he spent any amount of time here, he’d be putting in time at the gym downstairs. Bas and David’s competiveness could be catchy!

“Dex, Fritz, do either of you have any training in ASL, American sign language?” I asked. I may as well find out from the start how careful I needed to be when communicating with Red.

“Not me.” And “No.” They answered simultaneously.

“I’m not sure what David or Bas have told you so far about Team Red, but we use a quasi-militarized version of ASL to talk amongst ourselves. If you’re going to be part of the mission down in San Francisco, we may need to teach you some of the basic signs.”

I signed
Lights out
, to Red. If we weren’t prepared to tell our Wild Horses about the mind vision yet, any demonstration would be more convincing if I kept it to just mind speaking.

Bas took the cue just as Red severed our connection. “Has Colonel Spencer explained anything about the mission objective in San Fran, or has he explained about our Team’s skill sets?”

Dex answered, “We were given a file detailing the problem with gun running. We also received invitations to the Black and White ball. Our boss has arranged a couple female operatives to come as our dates for the event. As for Team Red, it was all pretty mysterious with insinuations of national security.”

“I believe the Colonel’s exact words were, ‘you have to see it to believe it’,” Fritz added.

“The easiest way to explain is to flat out tell you, then we can go about finding a satisfactory way to prove it,” David decided.

“Red and I share a mental communication; it’s one way. I hear his thoughts, but he can’t hear mine,” I started.

“The dog also has above average intelligence. Among other benefits, is the fact that he is learning our modified sign language quickly,” David expanded. “He can’t spell or read, and at this point, and he can only count to five. It seems dogs have an issue with the concepts of time and quantity. In case you don’t already know, dogs are color blind, so if you show him anything, he can’t distinguish red or greens. You need to keep that in mind as one of his limitations.”

Bas added his two cents to the discussion, “Speaking of limitations, while Red’s intelligent, he is still a dog. He enjoys playing fetch, chasing cats – in fact he has a vendetta against the cat next door.

“More specifically, regarding our mission, one of the benefits to the mind connection is that, if you say something in front of him, he can pass that information onto Teresa. We hope to discover Javier Morales’ partner by placing Red in a position to overhear a conversation between him and his associates.”

“Let me tell you, hearing the mental ramblings of a one year old German shepherd is like listening to the unfiltered opinions of a preteen. He says whatever is on his mind,” I warned.

We all shut up, and waited. I was so tempted to ask Red for a visual, as I was sure the looks on the men’s faces were priceless. But, in the interests of fair play, I waited patiently for their first question or comment.

“From the looks on your faces, I’m sure you know how outrageous that sounds?” Fritz ventured.

“Oh, yeah,” I concurred.

“I will also make the assumption you are confident in being able to prove what you say. You have obviously convinced the Colonel, who is no pushover,” Fritz continued.

“Yep,” I said. “We have a usual set of tests we do. Most often, we have you point items out that the dog will identify. We also have had people whisper stuff in Red’s ear. You can ask him to do things for you. We have been testing how far away he and I can communicate, and I think we are up to almost a hundred feet now.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Bas said, affronted. “When did you guys figure that out?”

“The day before the attack. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell David yet. We were going to ask you guys to check the distance with the laser measure.”

“No problem, we can do that later this morning, if you’d like,” David volunteered.

“Where is the laser right now, David?”

Bas spoke up, “It’s in the glove compartment of my SUV. I used it the other day.”

“Red, do you know what a glove compartment is?” I asked.

“Sure, it’s the drawer in the car that you put dog biscuits in.”

I chuckled softly, an involuntary smile landing on my still tender face. Trust him to know the food storage compartment. “Yep, that’s it.” To the guys in the house, I directed. “Everyone toss your keys on the coffee table. Doesn’t matter if they are house keys, or car keys.” 

Confident my guys would lead the way, to Red I started on instructions. “Red, do you know which one of these men is Dex?”

“The man with the dark skin.”

“Yes, that’s right, I’d like you to pick Bas’ car key out of the keys on the table. Then give them to Dex and escort him to Bastian’s vehicle. Take Dex to the door closest to the glove compartment, so that he can get the laser out. Carry the laser back, and give it to the person Dex tells you to when he’s outside, okay?”

“Can I unlock the car? Pleeeeeeeeeze?”
I heard him doing tight little spins on the carpet.
“I like to make the beeping noise.”

“The car only beeps when you lock it,” I explained.

“Ahh,” David guessed, “he wants to work the key fob? I taught him which button to press to lock it, but not to unlock it.”

“How in hell did you teach him that, David? With his nails?” I had to imagine he wouldn’t have the delicacy to do it with a tooth.

“Yeah, we were bonding one afternoon while you and Janey were out. He snagged the keys, and kept trying to press buttons with his paws. I pressed buttons to find out which one got a reaction. He likes the car alarm too, by the way. But we compromised on locks. He knows he has to press twice to get the beep. He even knows which button to use. Grab my keys and come here, bud, let me show you what button unlocks the car.”

I heard a jangle that indicated Red had selected a set of keys.
“Whoo hoo! Next step, he can teach me to drive.”

“I guarantee that’s not happening,” I promised.

“What does the troublemaker want now?” David asked

“He thinks the next step will be a driver’s license,” I replied.

“Not happening.” Nice to know David and I agreed on the important stuff. “Okay Red, remember this is the button that you use to lock the car? That picture is a lock. You know, like the padlock on the shed?

The dog huffed,
“Ah, you mean the padlock on the fake door so people don’t realize the shed is really the end of the escape tunnel?”

“That’s the one,” I affirmed, not going into detail considering the mixed company. I wasn’t sure if they would be privy to the tunnel egress out of the basement.

“Okay,” David continued, taking my acknowledgement as Red’s agreement. “See how this shape is the same as the lock?  This is a picture of the padlock when it opens. So that is the open lock. Make sense?”

“Do I look like a yellow lab?”
Red remarked indignantly.

“He understands. He is also going to get some discrimination and sensitivity training if he doesn’t stop making blond jokes,” I threatened.

“Yellow lab, again?” Bas asked with a grin in his voice.

“Don’t you start, I have a pretty good idea where he’s getting his material from,” I mock-scolded.

“Just like the lock button, you need to press the button two times to make all the doors unlock.” I heard the clacking noise as David tossed his keys on the coffee table. For my benefit, he said, “There’s three sets of keys on the table. Dex, slight change in plan because Red wants to unlock and lock the car. Just work it out with him on how you get the laser back and who Red gives it to. You’ve heard that you can speak to him and explain things. He should be able to understand.  If he doesn’t, he’s still within range of Teresa, and he’ll let her know he needs help.”