A minute later, Terri and Bishop were in the
Bat Cave, breathing hard from the sprint. Bishop immediately moved to switch rifles and began loading magazines for the new weapon into the pouches on his vest. Terri covered the door until he was ready. Bishop turned to his wife as he made for the opening, “Stay here.”
“Hold on just a second there, mister
, you’re hurt. There’s blood everywhere.”
Terri moved to check Bishop’s wound, but he waved her off.
“Stay here, Terri,
please
. These guys aren’t some amateur bunch of bank robbers, or thug criminals. These guys are pros. I’ve got to get back out there.”
“I know, and I’m going with you. But if that wound gets infected, you’re in a lot of trouble. We can take three minutes to clean and bandage it.”
Bishop exhaled, exasperated. “Terri, I think they’re falling back to regroup, and then they’ll be back. If I don’t get out there, we’ll be trapped inside this cave until who knows when. I can move faster without you.”
With her hands on her hips, Terri made it clear she wasn’t letting Bishop out of her sight.
The pounding in his head was becoming worse, and the blood was beginning to dry, adding to the discomfort. Pulling the chair around so he could watch the door, Bishop sat with the rifle across his lap.
Terri took a clean cloth and dipped it in the bucket of water they kept in the cave. She gingerly dabbed the head wound, trying not to hurt her husband. Bishop sat stoically, eyes never leaving the entrance. “Hurry,” he said.
Giving up on gentle cleaning, Terri picked up the bucket and warned, “There’s too much blood to clean the wound that way. Tilt your head and close your eyes.”
Terri poured a steady stream of water over Bishop’s injury. She had to repeat the pour, wipe, pour process until the bucket was empty. Sitting the bucket on the floor, she
stood up to check the wound and gasped.
“What?”
“Bishop, the top half of your ear is gone, baby. I’m sorry … but it’s just gone.”
Bishop’s hand immediately went to his head, feeling his ear. His touch caused a painful wince, and he gave up trying to assess the damage.
“Just pour some of the powdered antibiotic on it—I’ve got to get moving.”
Terri dug in the kit and found the small packets of medicine. She poured as much of the brownish granules as possible into the gash created by the bullet, a shot that had missed killing her husband by less than half an inch. Next was a bandage, which she wrapped around and around his head, taping off the loose end. Finally, she found the bottle of painkillers and made him swallow a full dose.
Bishop stood, stepping immediately for the door. His second stride was stopped by Terri moving in front of him and putting both of her hands on his chest. “Bishop, please wait. Let’s take just a minute to talk this over.”
“I’m all ear.”
Terri snickered, more from relief that her husband was back to his normal cornball humor, than the play on words.
“Bishop, I’m going with you. If I stay here, they could get behind you and kill me anyway. If I’m with you, I might be able to help. I
should mention that I just bailed your ass out, in case that thump on the head has damaged your memory.”
Bishop had to admit
, she had a point. If she came along, he’d be worried. If she stayed here, he’d be worried. His head was pounding so badly now, he didn’t have the mental energy to argue with her.
“Okay, you’re with me. But, please do what I ask you to do
—nothing more and nothing less.”
Terri picked up her rifle and stuck two full mags in the back pockets of her jeans. Despite the blood and sweat, Terri reached up and brushed Bishop’s hair. “I love you, and don’t worry about that wound. I still think you’re
ear-
resistible.”
Bishop’s Ranch
January 1, 2016
Hugging the canyon walls, Bishop moved to the point of last contact with the intruders. It didn’t take him long to find their trail. The blood spots, boot prints, and other disturbances to the earth were easy to follow. Bishop turned to Terri, and warned, “We need to be extra, extra careful here. They don’t seem to be concerned about anybody following them. It’s almost as if they want us to find them. That’s a sure sign someone is setting an ambush.”
When they reached the area where Bishop had been shot, he paused and bent to pick up a spent cartridge. Examining the brass, he announced, “This is a 5.56 NATO round, the same caliber issued to the military. I can’t be for sure, but I don’t think this is a military round.”
“How can you tell?”
“Most military ammunition is made in only a few different plants. Each manufacturing facility places its own unique stamp on the base of each round. Lake City, Radford
. . . they all have a distinctive mark. This case is different. The other thing odd about it is that military grade ammo uses a box primer. This is more like a civilian primer. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“So you don’t think they were military?”
“It’s hard to tell. I’ve heard stories about the different Special Forces units making their own rounds. I’ve also heard of their evaluating small lots of ammo, so these might be test rounds. Two of their weapons were not military issue.”
Bishop moved from one disturbed area to another, checking the ground and picking up spent brass. As Terri watched, Bishop leaned against a rock
, apparently dizzy. “You okay, Bishop?”
“Yeah, I’m cool. My head is thumping like a brass band is all. Let’s
keep moving.”
The couple resumed following the trail, slowly picking their way through the boulder field, heading toward the edge of the canyon.
Something didn’t feel right about the desert. Bishop couldn’t quite put his finger on it . . . was it a sound . . . a vibration?
Out of nowhere, three
ATVs zoomed across the open terrain in front of the couple, each machine carrying one of the attackers. Bishop raised his rifle to fire, but the speeding vehicles never provided a clear shot. One of the men slowed his ride and looked over his shoulder directly at the astounded couple. The man flipped Bishop a middle finger, and then gassed his unit, heading into the desert.
Bishop glanced at Terri, “Gee, I hope that bumpy ride doesn’t hurt the guy with the wounded leg.”
Terri chuckled at Bishop’s remark. “Those things scared the beejeebers out of me, Bishop.”
Since there was no need to track down the intruders, the couple casually headed back to the
Bat Cave. After unloading their gear, Terri wanted to look at Bishop’s wound again.
“We need to go to Meraton, Bishop. This needs sti
tches and probably a stronger antibiotic than what we have here. Let’s go to town and let the doc look you over.”
“You just want to go shopping.”
Terri rolled her eyes at Bishop’s logic. She went to the stack of stainless steel lockboxes and lifted one, testing its weight. Hefting it to eye level, she held it so her husband could see his reflection.
Bishop winched, wondering if the slight distortion in the metal made things worse. He looked like hell warmed over. Small abrasions covered his face, each about the size and shape of a fingernail clipping, many of them surrounded by the discoloration of a newly forming bruise.
Rock chips
, he thought.
One shouldn’t partake in gunfights around solid rock.
Terri adjusted her stance and Bishop’s view. The new image made Bishop inhale sharply. There was a two-inch gash cutting through his scalp, starting just above his forehead and ending at his ear. With the chunks of dried blood and mangled flesh, it was difficult to tell how much of his ear was left. Terri was right, the wound needed sewing up. It was bleeding again already.
“Okay, you win. We’ll go shopping.”
Terri just tilted her head and smiled at Bishop’s stubbornness. “I know you’ll want to take some stuff
to the market, so don’t blame everything on me. Can you get ready while I go to the camper and pack up some things in there?”
“Yeah
, it will take me a few minutes to gather everything. Can you get me a change of clothes while you’re packing?”
“No problem.” She paused before going to the camper. With a twinkle in her eye, Terri added, “You won’t mind if I take along a few extra things
, will you?”
Bishop had his back turned and didn’t read her expression. “What kind of things?”
Terri replied, “Oh, nothing major, just some odds and ends I’ve had
ear
marked to trade.”
Before he could turn, Terri was scampering out of the
Bat Cave, giggling like a schoolgirl all the way to the camper.
West Virginia
January 1, 2016
The leadership committee of
the Independents projected an assortment of facial expressions ranging from patient to apathetic. Moreland stood from his seat at the head of the conference table and concluded his presentation. “Ladies and gentlemen, in summary, this is why I’ve called this emergency meeting. We have a decision to make. It’s quite simple really. Should I accept the presidency or continue to lead our movement? I want to hear your thoughts.”
The first person to Moreland’s right was
a retired four-star general, former chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Clearing his throat, the military man began to voice his position. “Sir, my belief is that you should become the president and immediately defuse the situation in Louisiana. While I fully understand that you will have to compromise the Independents’ core beliefs in order to effectively rule, the country needs leadership right now, not political positioning.”
Moreland nodded, “Thank you,
General.”
The ne
xt was a retired Supreme Court justice. “Senator, I’m afraid I have to take the opposite position. I don’t believe you will be given the chance to govern. As soon as the establishment realizes you were the leader of our movement, they will fight you every step of the way. You may be effective while martial law is in effect, but after that you will be stonewalled time and time again.”
Moreland rubbed his chin, “Do you believe this would be due to
my being the leader of the Independents, or because of the assassination of the president?”
The retired justice responded, “The attempt on the former
president’s life would be a difficult hurdle to overcome. Political spin, proper management of the press, and good public relations could smooth over the actions of the Independents up until that point. Ordering the death of any world leader, ours or anyone else’s, is unforgivable.”
Moreland
scanned the room, noting the heads nodding in agreement. “But you all know I didn’t order any such attempt on the president. I want to believe the truth will eventually win out.”
The wise man from the Supreme Court smil
ed at Moreland. “Just a few years ago some newly uncovered facts came to light about the assassination of President Lincoln. Consider. . . a modern day controversy erupted due to a book that claimed new information about a slaying that occurred 150 years ago. Over 40 years after the assassination of President Kennedy, a vast majority of Americans believe they still don’t know the whole story. There is less information available about what happened at Fort Bliss a few days ago than either of those events. What makes you believe a simple claim by this council would have any political impact? Why should this situation be any different than previous assassinations?”
Moreland sighed, “You have a point, sir. Perhaps I’m being too naïve.”
“Senator, I’ve spent over 50 years deciding legal cases. Over 2,000 times I’ve sat while the two sides presented their evidence, and then I’ve made a judgment based on what was presented. In this case . . . the case of who ordered the attempt on the Commander in Chief’s life, I would have to find the Independents guilty based on what I’ve heard so far. I have a feeling the American people will come to the same conclusion.”
Again, several of the council members agreed.
Moreland returned to his chair. “If our innocence can be proven, if an investigation uncovers additional facts that point to another culprit, would this sway the council’s opinion?”
Several side conversations broke out, mumbling and whispering around the
group. Moreland let it go, remaining quiet at the head of the table.
The justice spoke again
, “Senator, I believe it would. If we could remove the stigma of ordering that attempt on the president’s life, then any other objection to your presidency could be overcome.”
Another hour of discussions flowed around the table. It took a few heated debates and creative solutions, but a consensus was finally reached. If
the Independents could clear the movement’s name of any assassination attempt, then Moreland should accept the presidency.
After a few rounds of handshakes, the meeting adjourned
, and Moreland headed directly for his study for a sniffer of brandy. Wayne joined him after making sure the council members were all safely on their way.
Moreland’s aid
e started the conversation. “Announcing that most of the council members would have cabinet positions in your administration was a stroke of brilliance, sir. You would have a ready-made executive branch that was politically aligned to our movement. Very wise.”
Moreland nodded, “Thank you, Wayne. I hope this entire exercise isn’t for naught. Tell me more about this woman who was with
the president before his death.”
“We know very little about her, sir. As of the latest information available to me, no one is even sure of her whereabouts.”
Moreland’s face twisted into a frown. “As I understand it, she told General Westfield and a Secret Service agent her story, correct?”
“Yes, sir. That is what I understand as well.”
Setting the brandy down on his desk, Moreland rose and looked Wayne square in the eye. “We have the opportunity to make a difference here. We can change the destiny of the entire country. I want you to verify what that witness heard. I want General Westfield to find this woman.”
Wayne nodded his understanding.
Moreland continued, “Let our friends from Washington know I’ve decided to accept the presidency. I want the four senior senators from the other party to arrange transportation to Fort Bliss. We will fly there ourselves in a few days. If we find the woman, she can testify and clear our name. If we don’t, then we’ll have to pray that General Westfield’s recounting will be good enough for the opposition.”
Wayne shook his head
. “Sir, I don’t think this is a wise course of action. It’s not in the spirit of what the council agreed on.”
Moreland waved off Wayne’s protest, his voice firm. “This country can’t wait any longer, Wayne. We’ve got to move
- and move right now. Perhaps I’m crossing the line with this gamble, but I feel strongly that it’s necessary. What do we lose if those senators don’t buy Westfield’s story? Then the Independents will continue, and we will have civil war. I will sleep better at night knowing we tried.”
Wayne’s expression showed he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t protest any further. “Yes, sir
. . . I’ll get things moving in the direction of Fort Bliss and let the base commander know to expect a lot of visitors.”
Meraton, Texas
January 1, 2016
The trip to Meraton was uneventful, the couple arriving as the market was in full swing. Circumventing Main Street and its myriad of stalls, tables, shoppers
, and vendors, Bishop maneuvered the pickup through the side streets and parked behind The Manor.
Betty was nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t unusual this time of day. Terri suggested they use the back street and visit Pete while they waited to be checked into a room.
“Are you ashamed to be seen in the market with me?” Bishop teased.
“Well, honey, you are covered in blood, sweet
, and grime. You look like death warmed over. I think it would be
ear-responsible
to risk frightening small children in the market.”
Bishop grunted, “Ear we go again.”
Pete’s Place was only a block away. The couple arrived to find the local watering hole’s door locked and posted with a sign, “Be Back in 30 minutes.”
Bishop read the sign and furrowed his brow, “Terri, you don’t think Pete and Betty are
. . . well . . . you know . . . an item?”
Terri smiled at her husband’s phrasing, “Could be
, Bishop. They’re both consenting adults. Maybe they are off enjoying a little midday romance. More power to ’em.”
“Midday romance? You mean a nooner?”
“Bishop! Not everyone’s a perv like you. They might simply be enjoying a walk in the park.”