CHAPTER 11

It was strange and seemed almost a contradiction to the level of activity around the station. There was an air of urgency, a flurry of activity, and a very real sense of panic. Through the mayhem walked Kent. He had a coffee cup in his hand, was not covered in weapons, ammunition, and definitely no body armor. He was dressed more for a day at the beach as opposed to a battle. The difference went far deeper than that. Kent almost looked bored as she strolled past what could euphemistically be called a barnyard full of chickens with their heads cut off.

Kent ignored the snide remarks of his co-workers and casually walked down the hall of the barracks to the very last door. It was wide open with Barbara inside. She was frantically tossing some of Shannon’s clothing in a bag. Shannon was protesting the choice of attire and did not seem to mind the fact that her mother was carrying a shotgun.

Barbara snapped at her, “you are going with Harvey and that is final! He and Idhitri should be safe. She’s with the UN.” When Shannon tried to protest, again, her mother pointed out, “Shannon do you want me to ask you what you were really doing in that bunker?”

Shannon almost said something and then reconsidered. She then noticed Kent standing at the door and, in particular, his attire. The teen commented, “little under dressed are we?”

“Shannon my dear,” Kent stepped inside, “could you be a love and give us the room for a moment.”

When Shannon did as asked, Barbara had to toss the girl her bag as she left. It was one last feeble attempt to thwart her mother’s wishes and it predictably failed. Then Barbara quickly got to her next task and told Kent, “I don’t have time right now.”

Kent stayed put and asked, “one quick question Barbara, who found the explosives?”

Barbara pulled a box of shells out of her desk drawer and began sliding them in the magazine of her shotgun, “Kent, I am standing here loading a shotgun. Do you really want to piss me off right now?”

For a second, it almost seemed as if Kent might leave. Barbara noticed that he was definitely thinking hard on his next move. That was a very rare event and it told Barbara volumes about why he was here. She emptied the extra ammo into a pocket of her vest, racked a round into the chamber of her weapon, and then told Kent, “spill it.”

Kent shrugged and sounded as if what he said were of no real concern, “there might be one relevant fact about this situation that you are currently not aware of.”

After Barbara heard this relevant fact she felt her hands tightening around the grip of the shotgun. It took her a minute to be calm enough to actually speak. When she did she sounded very accusatory, “and you kept this from me?”

Kent stayed his usual self, “till now, I didn’t see how it would have been beneficial to anyone.”

“Damn it Kent,” Barbara told him. She was still using that furiously accusing tone, “we’re going to have words about this later. You’re just damn lucky I’m too busy right now.”

“That is the point Barbara,” Kent replied calmly.

She snorted out a yip that sounded like something that might have been very profane. Then Barbara apparently reconsidered her words and asked, “you think he’s behind this, don’t you?”

Kent nodded, “it was his specialty, to a point.”

Barbara gave that some thought and then asked, “what about Hochstetter?”

“Of all the people on this island,” Kent pointed out, “our German Major friend would stand to gain even more from this than Horst. That would certainly give him motive.”

Barbara quickly asked, “so you think he’s playing Barton?”

“I would think Barbara,” Kent replied, “the question you are really asking yourself, right now, is Mister Barton playing you?”

As if on cue, Jake came walking in the room and he quickly asked, “did I hear my name?”

Kent was the one who replied, “of course you did Mister Barton. You are always a rather lively topic of conversation.”

“Thank god for small joys,” quipped Jake. He then looked to Barbara with more seriousness, “the bunker is safe enough for now.”

Very suspiciously, Barbara asked him, “so it wasn’t explosives after all?”

“Oh no,” Jake told her, “there was some high grade shit in that case, along with detonators and some other assorted pieces of mayhem. Norm is thinking it’s Christmas right now. None of it’s configured though. The explosives in there can only be detonated by an electric charge and all of it is still in it’s static rap. So nobody was ever in any real danger. Course none of that is really the central issue here.”

Barbara slung her weapon and, as she did, told Barton, “my child was right next to that case. I beg to differ.”

Jake acted as if Barbara had not even mentioned that. He simply went on, “the main question I got is one I should have asked when I first got here. Who the hell is Chuck and I mean who is he really. Don’t give me this crap about him being your mechanic cause I know more about those engines than he does.”

Kent found the question quite amusing. He excused himself from the room and as he left he noted to Jake, “Mister Barton, I do believe I gave your powers of observation more credit than they deserved.”

Once the guy was gone, Jake looked back to Barbara and asked, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Barbara crossed her arms and looked on Jake as if he were really, truly, stupid. Then she asked, “what’s Chuck’s last name?”

Jake had to think before he started to answer, “easy enough, it’s, O’…. Shit.” Jake blinked and stumbled, “he’s?”

“What he is Barton,” Barbara was not really in the mood for this right now, “is Shannon’s uncle. Just like my late husband, Chuck didn’t fit in with the Canadian Mob all that well. He and Ian were very close and I took him in to get him away from Conner and that crowd. Is your curiosity appeased? Not to mention poking your nose in my personal business.”

Jake did not back down, “it’s not your personal business anymore Barbara. What you don’t know, yet, is that the stuff in that crate is all the same parts that was used to blow up Herr Hauptman Brenner. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bomb was made from that very case.”

Barbara’s eyes narrowed, “that can’t be right Barton. Chuck just doesn’t have that in him. He’s as gentle a soul as I’ve…”

Jake put up his hands, “and I’ve seen him work on mechanical things and I don’t think he could build a bomb without blowing himself up in the process. None of that matters right now cause that crate got in that bunker somehow and if Chuck didn’t put it there then who did? Then the bigger question is why?”

Barbara felt her stomach turning over. This day was really too much. She took a deep breath and then asked what seemed a hopeless and unanswerable question, “my god. How are we going to get out of this one.”

Trying to comfort her, Jake replied in a very sympathetic sounding way, “same way we have everything else Barbara. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

That only served to infuriate Barbara who was practically shooting flames from her eyes as she replied, “not much of a comfort Barton. Not when I still haven’t decided if this mess isn’t your fault to begin with.”

Jake played it amusingly by asking, “uh, which one? We’ve had our fair share, here lately.”

That brought a near scream, “all of them!”

Garcia turned the corner just in time to catch the last comment. He had been running but, then he came to a halt as if somebody had just pulled on an imaginary rope. He wanted to start back pedaling but Barbara practically ordered him to stop, “you’re back. Did you get them?”

Before Garcia answered he looked around the room, even checked behind the door, and then he asked, “is it safe in here?” That caused Barbara to snap at him so he then quickly told her, “yeah but, I think we got something you guys need to see. I mean right now.”

Jake groaned, “oh this day just keeps getting better.”

As Barbara stomped out she said, “I don’t know, the planet is about to be destroyed. I fail to see how it could possibly be any worse.”

That left Jake standing alone and thinking, really fearing, her final words. Then he yelled out, “you know, in my line of work we learned never to say that!” As he followed them he mumbled to himself, “never break rule number twenty-two of the Special Forces code. Jesus, I hate when that happens.”