Chapter 2
MacPhearson let the stairwell door slam shut behind her as she left the General's office, pausing for a moment to pull on her cap before heading towards the barracks. At a distance to any casual observer, the slender woman could have passed for a man, especially when wearing her flight suit. She refused to cut her hair short which forced her to find other ways to keep it tucked out of sight and out of her way according to military standards. She usually braided it, looping it around her head and pinning it in place or wrapped it around in a bun. Wearing hair styles such as those accented her sharp cheekbones and gray-blue eyes that were more deeply set than some. Her skin had a dusky reddish hue causing her to often be mistaken as having Latino heritage.
She headed towards the barracks, swiping her badge to gain access through a side door. It wasn't much to look at but it was where home had been for several years. She had a rank high enough and the seniority to have her own apartment on base, but by staying in the barracks she saved the money that would have gone for housing. She didn't need much space anyway since she didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions to be stored.
Heading towards the stand-alone locker in her quadrant within the women's dorm, she was thankful for the lack of personnel in the vicinity. Most were currently on assignment, working or off doing other things in the early afternoon before they covered the evening shift. Reaching for the combo lock, she spun the dial and quickly flicked it to the numbers needed so the tumblers lined up for its release. Pulling the lock off, she opened the metal door, looking for the blue duffle bag that sat on the bottom, empty and waiting as always. Reaching down, she grabbed it and set it on the end of the bed, spreading it open. She pulled two sets of camos and one formal uniform off their hangers, folding them carefully before putting them inside the bag,
At the end of her bunk sat her foot locker and she quickly removed the combo-lock from the latch then pushed open the lid. The few sets of non-military clothing she owned, mainly jeans and sweatshirts went in next, leaving one set out. She quickly changed her cloths then withdrew a pair of boots from the footlocker that she wedged her feet into. Placing her dress uniform in a plastic bag, she shoved the bundle into the duffle, knowing she would need to find some place to launder it before she returned to base. She worked quickly to finish her packing, tossing in her shower kit and laptop case. Underwear, socks and shoes were stowed in pockets and the small spaces left in the bag until it was full. With one last inspection of both lockers, she zipped the bag shut and secured it with the extra closure straps around it.
Reaching into her foot locker, she pulled out her traveling bedroll, setting it with the rest of her gear. She paused for a moment to look at the now empty locker. Most of the other women that lived in this wing of the barracks had footlockers full of gear on top of what was usually overflowing from their upright lockers. Years ago, she'd learned to keep her belongings to the bare minimum. It made it easier to move from one place to another or pack quickly to leave the base and she never had to worry about her belongings being messed with when she wasn't around. She had a small storage unit in California where she kept a few items that she wanted to keep around for when she got out of the Air Force. What was stored there was of no use to her at the moment but would be useful to her when she found a place of her own.
With a quick check of the vicinity, she bent down and ran a hand between the wall and the back of the standing locker. Her finger tips gripped the tape that held a plastic bag secure to the back of it and pulled it free. Checking inside the bag to make sure everything was as she left it, she took inventory of her passport, military papers, her conceal and carry permit, multi-class pilot license, spare cash and two credit cards. She knelt down and stuck her hand under the bottom of the locker, feeling for a second bag that she pulled loose that held her wallet and a single key on a cord.
Some called her paranoid about her personal possessions but she remembered what it was like to live in the slums in any number of large cities. She'd learned to keep things hidden otherwise it would be stolen. A person was wise to travel with the minimum amount of gear so not to attract unwanted attention. Clothing and supplies could be easily replaced but there were some things that couldn't. The less she had of those things, the better.
She reached into her standing locker and pulled the 9mm Beretta secured in a shoulder holster off the back hook. She shrugged it on over her sweatshirt, then reached back into the locker and pulled out her leather flight jacket, shrugging it on and zipping it up before she took down her motorcycle helmet and gloves off the top shelf. Closing her lockers, she replaced the locks then gathered up her bag and bedroll. She slung them over her shoulder and gathered up her helmet before leaning down to slide her free hand under the corner of the mattress. She found her cell phone and pulled it out, flipping it open so she could turn it on as she left the barracks, heading towards the parking lot.
She hadn't expected any messages and was caught by surprise as the phone chimed, indicating she had a voice mail. She flipped the phone closed, shoving it into her jacket pocket. She'd check it later wherever she stopped for the night, but instinct was telling her it was time to go before her window of opportunity to leave without an incident, closed. The parking lot was fairly empty as she made her way out to the motorcycle covered with a tarp that protected it from the elements. Setting her gear down, she unhooked the straps that held the tarp down then pulled it off. Using several straps she pulled from the canvas bag of camping gear left strapped to the motorcycle, she secured her duffle and bed roll. Once she was satisfied that nothing would shift or fall off, she folded the tarp up then laid it over the pile of gear before strapping everything down with the two tarp straps.
Pulling on her helmet, she straddled the bike and fished out the key. The old Harley roared to life, the engine growling as it rumbled in the cool afternoon air. She revved the engine a few times then flipped the kick stand up as she put the bike into gear and headed out to the front gate. Stopped to give her leave papers to the Sergeant in Charge, he gave her a proper salute with the flick of his hand and she was on her way out the gate and onto to the highway, heading for the desert.
The evening stars out in the desert were brilliant this far away from the light pollution of the cities. MacPhearson lay on her bedroll, staring up at them as her mind continued working over the Generals 'advice', like she had during the six-hour ride from base. When the temperature in the desert started to drop and the shadows grew long as evening descended, she'd found a small area to pull off the beaten path. The place had seen travelers before as indicated by the ring of charred stones for a fire pit and several stones pushed into place around it for sitting. After finding enough dry brush to start up a small fire, she laid out her bedroll as close to the fire as was safe and pulled out her cell phone to listen to her voicemail.
"Hello. This is Mr. Cliner," came an older mans' voice, "It's March 21st, the time is 9:45 a.m. Pacific Standard Time. I would like a chance to speak with you if at all possible. What I have to tell you is confidential and I do not wish to release details until I can verify you are truly Cheyenne MacPhearson. If you could call me at 602-222-9674 and arrange a time when we can meet, I would greatly appreciate it. I look forward to hearing from you and I hope what I have to tell you will be worth your while." There was a click and the voicemail ended. She stared at the phone for a moment in disbelief then listened to the voice mail a second time before she snapped the phone shut, thinking about the message.
She continued to mull it over, wondering what it was he had to tell her that was so confidential she had to be there in person to hear it. Pulling out an MRE from the camp bag, she assembled something resembling supper that consisted of a paste like substance that was supposed to be tuna fish, spread on crackers and a can of peaches. After she'd cleaned up her mess, she dug around in her jacket pockets until she found a small spiral bound notebook with a pencil stub stuck in the wire. Opening the note pad, she scribbled down the number, the name and the date Mr. Cliner had called. He'd called yesterday so hopefully when she contacted him tomorrow, he wouldn't have gotten too impatient for her to return his call.
She stowed her gear for the night as the flames licked at the remaining dried sagebrush she'd tossed on the fire a few minutes before. Watching it burn down to hot embers, she worked to clear her mind before climbing into the bedroll that she'd moved to lay up against the fire warmed stones and forced herself into a light sleep until real sleep took her half an hour later.
TBC -