Sword of God - By Chris Kuzneski Page 0,2

Jones was watching them from an adjacent room, running a background check on Harrington while Payne handled the small talk. The fact that the colonel was able to sort things out so quickly said a lot about the man. Somehow it proved his worth.

So did the credentials that appeared on Jones's computer screen. Harrington was a graduate of West Point and earned his silver eagle the old-fashioned way: by going to war and being a hero. In fact, the more Jones read, the more surprised he was that he'd never met him before. His resume read like a Tom Clancy novel. Only six hundred pages shorter.

A moment later, Jones entered the room with the look of a busted schoolboy, a combination of shame and embarrassment that would have been much more apparent if his flushed cheeks showed through his black skin. He was tempted to offer an apology but realized it wasn't necessary. He was simply running security on an officer he had never met. It was protocol.

"So, did I check out? Did I pass your little test?" Harrington pulled his bifocals from the inner pocket of his overcoat and slipped them on. "Or do you want my fingerprints, too?"

Jones was tempted to flip him off and say, Yeah, let's start with the middle finger.

But Payne didn't give him a chance. "So, Colonel, what can we help you with?"

"Who said anything about helping me? Do I look like I need your help?"

Payne and Jones exchanged glances. They were confused by Harrington's tone.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Payne said, "but you just buzzed my building with your chopper and demanded to speak with me ASAP. My guess is you're either here for help or you're out delivering Christmas cookies. And if that's the case, you're three days late."

Jones stared at Harrington. "You have cookies? Do you have any with green sprinkles?"

The colonel ignored their banter—he had been warned about Payne and Jones's antics—and flipped through his folder instead. It was filled with maps, photographs, and reports. All of them stamped CLASSIFIED in red letters. "Gentlemen, let me be blunt. I don't want to be here, talking to non-army personnel. I think it's a total waste of time, both mine and yours. However, the Pentagon felt you might offer something to my investigation, although I can't figure out what." With a disapproving eye, he glanced around the room. "It's obvious you've gone soft."

"Soft?" Payne echoed.

"Yes, soft. You and your fancy-ass leather chairs and your Radio Shack surveillance equipment. How long have you been out of the service? Four years? The entire infrastructure of the military has changed in that time. How in the hell can you possibly help me?"

Somehow Payne managed to keep a straight face. He pondered things for a moment, trying to read between the lines of the colonel's rant. No one in his right mind would show up with this much attitude unless he was trying to pick a fight. And the only purpose that would serve is if Harrington wanted to end this conversation before it got started. And that didn't make sense. If Harrington wanted to have a fifteen-second chat, he could've done that by phone. The fact that he flew here from Washington meant something else was going on. Something less obvious.

Suddenly Payne figured it out. At least he hoped he had.

"Colonel, I have to admit I was this close to throwing you out of my fancy-ass chair. Then it dawned on me, there's no way the Pentagon would've sent a total prick like you without giving me some kind of warning. Therefore, I'm going to assume that you're acting like an ass in order to test us, maybe trying to see if we've lost any discipline during the past few years. If that's the case, I gotta commend you. Because you've got that asshole thing down pat."

Payne hoped he had guessed right, but if not, so what? He was retired and had enough money to live for the rest of his life. What did it matter if he told off some jackass from D.C.?

Still, the room grew uncomfortable while Payne waited for a reaction.

Finally, he got the one he was hoping for: Colonel Harrington broke into a smile.

"Forgive my rudeness," Harrington explained, "but I had to know what I was dealing with. There's no way I was going to entrust you with this information if I didn't think you could handle some heat. Because, trust me, there's going to be some major heat on this