loaded pistol and a military police vehicle”?
...and finally came to the logical conclusion that the Army — and more specifically, the base and MP commanders — probably wouldn’t want that kind of publicity getting out. They’d want to clean up an Army mess out of the public eye where it wouldn’t negatively impact future promotions and new duty assignments.
Or, at least, that’s what I’d do , Cellars told himself.
But even so, he realized that he probably shouldn’t go in the radio station looking like some kind of storm trooper on a mission; thinking that if he did, someone might call the cops anyway … and he wasn’t sure if that would turn out to be a good thing, or not.
Finally deciding there was no point in taking unnecessary chances, Cellars got out of the Humvee, closed the front driver’s-side door, pulled open the rear door … and then took a few moments to remove the MP brassard from his jacket sleeve, and detach the holstered pack set radio from his belt.
He put the brassard and radio in the concealed storage container under the Humvee’s left rear seat, along with his gun belt, The Mini Stun Baton®, the j-Connector and his two-syringe drug kit, closed the door, slid the Baretta pistol inside the waistband of his pants at the small of his back, and dropped the extra magazines in each of his jacket pockets.
There, he thought, looking at his reflection in the Humvee’s driver’s-side window, that’s better.
Then, taking in a final deep breath, he walked across the parking lot and around the KMAD building to the minimalist front entrance, pulled open the frosted glass door, and walked in.
* * *
The first thing that Cellars heard when he stepped into the somberly-lit lobby was the very familiar sound of Eleanor Patterson’s amplified voice coming out of a ceiling-mounted speaker.
He hesitated, wanting to hear what she was saying, but the receptionist on the opposite side of what appeared to be a solid piece of bullet-proof glass looked up from her fashion magazine with a pleasant smile on her face. She was young — Cellars guessed twenty at the most — casually dressed, and devoid of any obvious makeup or jewelry.
The kind of kid who starts out a career by proving herself on the graveyard shift, so maybe she won’t be in any hurry to look foolish by calling the cops too soon, he thought hopefully.
“May I help you, sir?” the young receptionist asked, speaking into the microphone on her desk.
“I … uh … was hoping to be able to talk with your guest, uh, Eleanor Patterson, when she gets off the air.”
“And you are?”
“Major Colin Cellars.” He started to add ‘U.S. Army,’ but then realized that was probably obvious.
“May I see your ID, please?”
“Yes, certainly.”
Cellars pulled the folded ID card out of his shirt pocket and then dropped it into the shallow stainless steel tray that suddenly extended out from beneath the window.
The young woman retrieved the tray, retrieved the ID card, examined it and then Cellars’ face carefully, then dropped it back into the tray and extended it back to Cellars.
“You’re welcome to wait for Mrs. Patterson in our green room, Major,” the young woman’s voice echoed out of the lobby’s external speakers. “There should be fresh coffee and maybe even a donut or two left. But I should warn you that you’re likely to be in there for quite some time. Mrs. Patterson is Mr. Bellringer’s only guest tonight, and the Sky Search Show does run until four A.M.”
Cellars blinked, having no idea what time it was … but then realized there was a large clock mounted on the wall behind the receptionist that read 11:20.
Four and a half
...and finally came to the logical conclusion that the Army — and more specifically, the base and MP commanders — probably wouldn’t want that kind of publicity getting out. They’d want to clean up an Army mess out of the public eye where it wouldn’t negatively impact future promotions and new duty assignments.
Or, at least, that’s what I’d do , Cellars told himself.
But even so, he realized that he probably shouldn’t go in the radio station looking like some kind of storm trooper on a mission; thinking that if he did, someone might call the cops anyway … and he wasn’t sure if that would turn out to be a good thing, or not.
Finally deciding there was no point in taking unnecessary chances, Cellars got out of the Humvee, closed the front driver’s-side door, pulled open the rear door … and then took a few moments to remove the MP brassard from his jacket sleeve, and detach the holstered pack set radio from his belt.
He put the brassard and radio in the concealed storage container under the Humvee’s left rear seat, along with his gun belt, The Mini Stun Baton®, the j-Connector and his two-syringe drug kit, closed the door, slid the Baretta pistol inside the waistband of his pants at the small of his back, and dropped the extra magazines in each of his jacket pockets.
There, he thought, looking at his reflection in the Humvee’s driver’s-side window, that’s better.
Then, taking in a final deep breath, he walked across the parking lot and around the KMAD building to the minimalist front entrance, pulled open the frosted glass door, and walked in.
* * *
The first thing that Cellars heard when he stepped into the somberly-lit lobby was the very familiar sound of Eleanor Patterson’s amplified voice coming out of a ceiling-mounted speaker.
He hesitated, wanting to hear what she was saying, but the receptionist on the opposite side of what appeared to be a solid piece of bullet-proof glass looked up from her fashion magazine with a pleasant smile on her face. She was young — Cellars guessed twenty at the most — casually dressed, and devoid of any obvious makeup or jewelry.
The kind of kid who starts out a career by proving herself on the graveyard shift, so maybe she won’t be in any hurry to look foolish by calling the cops too soon, he thought hopefully.
“May I help you, sir?” the young receptionist asked, speaking into the microphone on her desk.
“I … uh … was hoping to be able to talk with your guest, uh, Eleanor Patterson, when she gets off the air.”
“And you are?”
“Major Colin Cellars.” He started to add ‘U.S. Army,’ but then realized that was probably obvious.
“May I see your ID, please?”
“Yes, certainly.”
Cellars pulled the folded ID card out of his shirt pocket and then dropped it into the shallow stainless steel tray that suddenly extended out from beneath the window.
The young woman retrieved the tray, retrieved the ID card, examined it and then Cellars’ face carefully, then dropped it back into the tray and extended it back to Cellars.
“You’re welcome to wait for Mrs. Patterson in our green room, Major,” the young woman’s voice echoed out of the lobby’s external speakers. “There should be fresh coffee and maybe even a donut or two left. But I should warn you that you’re likely to be in there for quite some time. Mrs. Patterson is Mr. Bellringer’s only guest tonight, and the Sky Search Show does run until four A.M.”
Cellars blinked, having no idea what time it was … but then realized there was a large clock mounted on the wall behind the receptionist that read 11:20.
Four and a half
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