Congressional brimstone.
Gibby was a tall, ramshackle man with rimless glasses and thinning hair. There was a wine-colored birthmark on his high forehead, near the right temple, which Jade had always fancied as a blot on the escutcheon. His suit didn't fit too well, as if he'd had some luck with one of the crash diets he was always trying.
Gibby showed his long teeth in a grimace of annoyance, waiting for Jade . . . who approached him slowly, thinking of a cardinal rule of The Company, from which he had retired after a blot or two of his own: We never explain and we never apologize.
In addition to the pilot there were two other men in the helicopter. One had to be a security officer assigned to Gibson. The other was wearing a ranger uniform. Jade took a deep breath and let half of it out.
"Rimmy, hold!" he hollered. His left hand closed on the butt of the saddle gun holstered behind his left leg, and as Rimfire stood his ground steady as a courthouse monument, muscles clenched, Jade drew and jumped and somersaulted neatly in the meadow grass, flipping himself over the Marlin .44 magnum rifle. He came up lever cocking it, aiming at John Guy Gibson's stomach.
Gibby looked pasty behind his birthmark. He took a fast step back, stepped on a round rock, and almost fell.
"Matthew, God's sake! What do you think you're doing?"
"Takes a lot to get you out from behind your desk, Gibby. How long were you rattling around up there looking for me? It may be that I won't like your reasons."
"I told them. Told them you were impossible! I'm already on record I'm totally against this!"
"Against what?"
Gibby pointed a shaking finger at the shale ridge.
"We saw you come down that hill. The pilot told us how reckless it was. You're still taking wild chances, trying to get yourself killed at every opportunity."
"You calling me a misfit again, Gibby?" Jade said with a thin-lipped smile. He had the pleasure of seeing Gibby's complexion turn a shade paler in the slanting sun. But he wasn't particularly in the mood for comedy. He glanced at the men in the helicopter. They looked worried, and should have been.
Jade straightened, pointed the rifle away from the CIA man.
"I've always known what I was doing, Gibby. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be standing here now scaring the shit out of you."
Gibby looked irritably at his watch. "Never mind. This is no time for old grievances–"
"I kind of thought that's why you're up here."
"I'm here," Gibby said unhappily, running a hand through his windblown hair, "because the president wants to see you."
"This must be my lucky day," Jade said. "Except I know damn well it isn't. What about?"
"He'll explain. But there's no time–"
"Where is Boomer? In Washington?"
"No, the Coast. He–"
"Uh-uh. Forget it."
Gibby shaded his eyes and stared, perplexed, at Jade.
"He told me you'd say that."
"Did he tell you I get seasick on a waterbed?"
"Everybody knows that," Gibby said impatiently. "It's part of your jacket." He couldn't resist a sneer. "I thought you would have licked that problem by now, with your devotion to Eastern disciplines."
"I had Hopi shaman teachers. But we all need our weaknesses to remind us we're human, Gibby."
"The president told me if you were going to be stubborn, then I should remind you he carries an overdue bill in his pocket. He wants you to remember–" Gibby's tongue pressed between his teeth as he tried to get the message straight. "'Many long legs."
For a few moments, Jade looked puzzled. Then he sat down cross-legged in the grass, holding his rifle by the barrel. He laughed and laughed.
"Okay," he said, wiping a tear trickle from one eye. "Have that spare ranger you brought along take my horses down to the ranch. And let's go see what Boomer has on his mind."
Chapter 5
THE MARITIME WHITE HOUSE
Channel Islands National
Monument, California
May 6
The sea off the cliffs of Anacapa was placid, as a Navy helicopter carrying Jade, John Guy Gibson, and his security man
Gibby was a tall, ramshackle man with rimless glasses and thinning hair. There was a wine-colored birthmark on his high forehead, near the right temple, which Jade had always fancied as a blot on the escutcheon. His suit didn't fit too well, as if he'd had some luck with one of the crash diets he was always trying.
Gibby showed his long teeth in a grimace of annoyance, waiting for Jade . . . who approached him slowly, thinking of a cardinal rule of The Company, from which he had retired after a blot or two of his own: We never explain and we never apologize.
In addition to the pilot there were two other men in the helicopter. One had to be a security officer assigned to Gibson. The other was wearing a ranger uniform. Jade took a deep breath and let half of it out.
"Rimmy, hold!" he hollered. His left hand closed on the butt of the saddle gun holstered behind his left leg, and as Rimfire stood his ground steady as a courthouse monument, muscles clenched, Jade drew and jumped and somersaulted neatly in the meadow grass, flipping himself over the Marlin .44 magnum rifle. He came up lever cocking it, aiming at John Guy Gibson's stomach.
Gibby looked pasty behind his birthmark. He took a fast step back, stepped on a round rock, and almost fell.
"Matthew, God's sake! What do you think you're doing?"
"Takes a lot to get you out from behind your desk, Gibby. How long were you rattling around up there looking for me? It may be that I won't like your reasons."
"I told them. Told them you were impossible! I'm already on record I'm totally against this!"
"Against what?"
Gibby pointed a shaking finger at the shale ridge.
"We saw you come down that hill. The pilot told us how reckless it was. You're still taking wild chances, trying to get yourself killed at every opportunity."
"You calling me a misfit again, Gibby?" Jade said with a thin-lipped smile. He had the pleasure of seeing Gibby's complexion turn a shade paler in the slanting sun. But he wasn't particularly in the mood for comedy. He glanced at the men in the helicopter. They looked worried, and should have been.
Jade straightened, pointed the rifle away from the CIA man.
"I've always known what I was doing, Gibby. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be standing here now scaring the shit out of you."
Gibby looked irritably at his watch. "Never mind. This is no time for old grievances–"
"I kind of thought that's why you're up here."
"I'm here," Gibby said unhappily, running a hand through his windblown hair, "because the president wants to see you."
"This must be my lucky day," Jade said. "Except I know damn well it isn't. What about?"
"He'll explain. But there's no time–"
"Where is Boomer? In Washington?"
"No, the Coast. He–"
"Uh-uh. Forget it."
Gibby shaded his eyes and stared, perplexed, at Jade.
"He told me you'd say that."
"Did he tell you I get seasick on a waterbed?"
"Everybody knows that," Gibby said impatiently. "It's part of your jacket." He couldn't resist a sneer. "I thought you would have licked that problem by now, with your devotion to Eastern disciplines."
"I had Hopi shaman teachers. But we all need our weaknesses to remind us we're human, Gibby."
"The president told me if you were going to be stubborn, then I should remind you he carries an overdue bill in his pocket. He wants you to remember–" Gibby's tongue pressed between his teeth as he tried to get the message straight. "'Many long legs."
For a few moments, Jade looked puzzled. Then he sat down cross-legged in the grass, holding his rifle by the barrel. He laughed and laughed.
"Okay," he said, wiping a tear trickle from one eye. "Have that spare ranger you brought along take my horses down to the ranch. And let's go see what Boomer has on his mind."
Chapter 5
THE MARITIME WHITE HOUSE
Channel Islands National
Monument, California
May 6
The sea off the cliffs of Anacapa was placid, as a Navy helicopter carrying Jade, John Guy Gibson, and his security man
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