You have noooooo idea how EXCITED I am about this chapter! I've been waiting for this moment for aaaages. And what makes it better? It practically wrote itself! So go ahead and read it!
Chapter 7
Fifth Floor Office, Rangeman Building, Trenton, New Jersey
The large, black man sat behind the desk he'd called his own for the last almost seventeen years, slowly working his way through the mountain of paperwork that arrived in his inbox each day. His back ached the long hours spent hunched over the pages, the special support cushion tucked between his back and the chair doing nothing to relieve the strain. With one last pen stroke, he closed the current file folder he was working on and set it in the outbox before leaning back in the chair, stretching so that the chair tilted backwards in an attempt to ease the discomfort caused by extended periods in the same position. It was looking like he was going to need to make another appointment with his chiropractor.
It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed a day without having to stare at paperwork and in recent years it had only seemed to multiply. Over time, more and more separate forms had needed to be introduced as they hired new staff and the common sense of do this, fill out this form slowly died out. Sure, the rookies were okay at their jobs, but they had trouble deciphering their paperwork, which unfortunately, was where Tank came in, making sure everything was filled out properly and filed in the right area.
He glanced at the clock beside the computer monitor noting the late hour; it was already well after six in the evening. No wonder he was aching so much, he'd been sitting there for almost an extra hour. Sighing, he pushed back from the desk and made to stand, levering himself from the cushy office chair slowly and carefully so as not to aggravate the pain he was already enduring. He'd just made it to the door that lead to the communications floor at large when the phone on his desk began to ring.
"Rangeman," he said by way of greeting, stifling a yawn as he leaned against the desk.
"Good evening," came an unfamiliar female voice through the ear piece. Tank was certain he had never heard the voice before as he would have remembered such a sweet drawling Australian accent. "I'm trying to get in contact with a Mr. Thumbkin," she explained.
Tank's entire body froze, even his organs halting in their processes at the sound of that name. He certainly hadn't been expecting it, especially after so long. Thumbkin had been the code word Ranger had put in place upon discovering that his wife was pregnant. If the word was inserted into a message of conversation Tank would know that Ranger was in trouble and was unable to ensure the safety of Stephanie and the baby. His instructions were to get them to a safe house has quickly as possible and stay there with them until Ranger contacted him with another code word to let him know that the danger had passed and the coast was clear. But that was – he did some quick calculations – about eighteen years ago. And then, of course, there was the tragedy...
"Sir?" the woman prompted impatiently, pulling Tank out of his wandering thoughts. "Is Mr. Thumbkin available?"
"Yes, speaking," he confirmed quickly.
"Brilliant," she said. "I'm supposed to ask for a code phrase to confirm that I have the real Mr. Thumbkin," she explained. "So if you could give me that now we'll get right down to business."
"Brilliant crystal blue,
Chaos curling all around.
Always, I'll protect."
Even after all this time, Tank had trouble not rolling his eyes as he recited the Haiku. He'd never gotten the point of poetry. A bunch of metaphors and other figurative language mashed together in an indecipherable list of short statements. And this one didn't even rhyme! But he understood the reason for forming the code phrase in such a way. No one would ever expect it of such burly, physical men.
"Perfect," The woman confirmed over the faint sound of rustling paper. "My name is Emily Strong and I work for Safe and Sound, the company that provides security for the home of one Mr. Carlos Ricardo Garcia. From the extensive file of conditions and instructions Mr. Garcia has provided us with I am lead to believe that you are a close personal friend of himself and his wife. Is this correct?"
Frustrated by the woman's wordiness and apparent inability to cut to the chase, Tank ground out a single word response: "Yes."
"I assume, then that you are familiar with the Garcia's children, since he lists you as their emergency contact should they be beyond reach without prior warning for a period of forty-eight hours.
He grunted his agreement, feeling that she was waiting for a response of some kind.
"Well, sir," she continued. "It is my duty to inform you that Mr. And Mrs. Garcia have now been out of contact for somewhere between thirty-six and fifty hours. We have gained custody of the children and are currently working with local police to locate their parents. In the meantime, my file states that I should contact you. The children are to be released into your care at the earliest possible convenience to you."
Tank was nodding through her entire, extended speech, having already inferred a great deal of the situation from the very fact that he had received this phone call. He was agreeing merely to get her to move on and give him the information he needed – the where's and how's of the pick up – when his mind caught on one essential word she had used several times throughout.
"Sorry," he interjected as she took a breath to start up again. "Did you say chil-dren?"
"Of course," she replied easily. "Stephen Carlos and Regina Guadalupe Garcia. Is there a problem?"
"It's just been a while," he answered, trying to wrap his head around this information. Not only had Steph and Ranger apparently not died in that car explosion seventeen years ago with their eleven month old son, but they had had another baby. A daughter. Unbidden, warmth washed through his chest and he couldn't help but smile. "Where are they now?" he asked, feeling an energy he hadn't felt in years rush through him in anticipation. "I'll be there as soon as is humanly possible."
Tank listened carefully as Emily rattled off the address for the security company in Colorado, quickly jotting it down on the notepad he kept by the phone before thanking the woman for her call and hanging up.
He stared at the names he'd scribbled down at the bottom of the page in amazement. Stephen Carlos and Regina Guadelupe. The knowledge that they weren't dead, but instead had added to their family sent an oddly thrilling tingle down his spine and he snatched up the phone again.
"Grab your emergency duffle bag and meet me in the main conference room at Rangeman," Tank commanded Lester when he picked up on the fourth ring. "Call Hal and Cal and get them to do the same."
"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.
"I'll explain when we're all gathered," Tank responded shortly and hung up in true Rangeman style – without saying goodbye. Next he called Bobby with the same instructions before dialling the leader of the active team. Bear. As the years had dragged on, Tank and the original Rangemen had been forced to slowly relinquish more and more of the physical responsibilities to the newer, younger members of the team. While they still got involved in the occasional, less physically demanding jobs, they now acted for the most part, as coaches for the group of men in their late twenties and early thirties who did most of the leg work. This group was now known as Core Two – Core One being Tank and the rest of the original team Ranger had put together.
Bear answered on the first ring, just like always, with a short, "Speak." He wasn't exactly the most verbally, pleasing person to talk to, but he got the job done, reminding Tank of a younger, more enthusiastic version of himself.
"Core One is going out of town," Tank informed him crisply. "I'm trusting you to take care of business back home."
"With all due respect, Sir," Bear said, covering up a derisive snort. "Your band of bumbling misfits is hardly equipped to get any kind of job done. I ask that you consider relinquishing this mission to the more able bodied Core Two."
Tank should have known the man would pull something like this, he'd been angling to get Core One permanently disbanded and retired ever since being promoted to his current leadership role. "Look, boy, this mission has origins that date back to when you were still in school. Core One is better equipped now than Core Two could be in a week. We'll be taking this ourselves."
"Then I insist you allow me to assist," he responded at once.
"And who would I leave in charge here if you're with me?" Tank prompted.
After a moment's consideration, Bear suggested. "Zero in administration and Sanchez is more than capable of heading up Core Two in my absence."
Since time was of the essence, Tank conceded temporary defeat. "Meet me in the main conference room ASAP. I'll decide then."
Lester, Bobby, Hal, Cal and Bear were gathered around the conference table half an hour later, their duffle bags stacked in an orderly pile by the exit for a clean get away should the situation call for it. It had been a while since the four 'oldies' had been called to assemble so abruptly and as such were anxious for Tank to arrive so they could find out what the hell was going on.
"Do you know anything about this?" Lester asked of Bear who was seated directly across from him.
"No more than you," he replied in that grizzly tone he always seemed to get when talking to members of Core One. "It's an old case, though, so maybe you know more than me."
"We didn't know it was an old case," Bobby pointed out.
"What else do you know?" Cal asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he leaned both elbows on the table.
"It's out of town," Bear shrugged, but I gather you already assumed as much, given the need for luggage.
"That's it?" Lester prompted.
"Scouts Honour," he said sarcastically giving them the finger where one would usually hold up the three fingers for a scout's salute.
"How dare you sully the scouting tradition with your blatant disrespect," Hal fumed, both hands flat on the table as he hauled himself to his feet.
"Settle down, Hal," Tank commanded breezing through the door and dumping his own pre-packed duffle on the pile. "I'm sure your surgeon would love to do another knee reconstruction for you, but I need you ready for action right now, not three months time."
"I could have taken him," Hal muttered bitterly, sinking back down into his chair. "There's more to me than a bung knee, you know."
"Of course there is," Bobby agreed. "You're the old man with the cane."
"Dude, I'm younger than you," Hal pointed out. "And I hardly ever need the cane anymore."
"Dude, no one says dude anymore," Lester retorted.
"You just did," Cal said.
"I was making a point," he defended. "Of just how ridiculous it sounds."
"Enough!" Tank exclaimed. "We need to focus."
Bear shook his head, a smirk attempting to bloom on his face. "I think you need me to come, Tank," he commented. "These idiots will be too busy arguing with each other to get anything done."
Tank sent him a look that could only be interpreted as Shut up or get out before addressing the group. "Tonight, I received a call from a security company in Colorado," he began.
"We're going on a field trip?" Cal asked excitedly.
"Indeed we are," Tank confirmed. "And if you'd all stop interrupting for a few moments I'll give you the low down." He paused, making sure that no one was going to speak. "We will be going to Colorado to take into our care two teenagers. Stephen Carlos Garcia and his younger sister Regina Guadelupe Garcia."
The men nodded their understanding in unison as Tank watched the four members of his team for signs of recognition. He didn't want to simply come out and announce that Ranger and Steph were alive. He wanted to see realisation dawn on their faces as they noted the similarity between Stephen Carlos Garcia and the small boy they'd all been enthralled with years ago by the name of Carlos Esteban Manoso. The pause dragged on and Bear began drumming his fingers against the table top impatiently. Tank's attention went from blank face to blank face, and these weren't the normal not-gonna-show-emotion blank faces, they were the no-idea-why-you've-paused-so-long blank faces.
"Stephen Carlos," Tank repeated. "His middle name is Carlos, his first name is eh... Stephen?"
Nothing. Not a single morsel of recognition for any of them.
"He's about seventeen or eighteen now," he added. "He was born in Trenton about eighteen years ago?" When the men remained impassive, he dropped his hands to his sides in frustration. "Nothing? Steph and Ranger are still alive as far as I can tell and we need to go take care of their kids and try to find them!"
"No way!" Hal exclaimed, lurching to his feet.
"I thought they died in that explosion," Cal said
Lester gave him a deadpan look. "Did you really believe that, Cal?"
Bobby waved his hands over the middle of the table, grabbing everyone's attention. "Wait a second guys," he said. "We're missing a vital point here." He pointed to Tank, squinting his eyes just a little. "Are you telling me that all these years there's been a RangeGirl out there that we didn't know about?"
"That is exactly what I am saying, Bobby," Tank said, relief filling his senses. "And right now she and her brother need us."
"Then what are we waiting for?!" Lester exclaimed. "Let's go get 'em!"
Back to Reggie and Steve next chapter. But don't forget to review.
