65 Below by Basil Sands Page B

he took the card from her hand and studied it in the light. He wrote down her name and badge number on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. Anyone could get a badge and uniform made up, and maybe even steal a police cruiser. The pipeline was one of the nation’s most valuable assets. Terrorism was not just something they heard about on TV. It was a real threat to these guards. They double-checked everything and everyone. He handed the card back and pointed into the gated compound.
    “Over there is the watch room. Bannock is on duty at the cameras right now. I’ll phone ahead and let him know you’re coming.”
    “Thank you, sir,” she said.
    The officer stepped back to the guard shack, and the electric motor of the chain-linked gate slowly pulled the barrier open. Once it was wide enough, Lonnie snaked her cruiser through a couple more concrete barriers squatting silently inside the fence. She made her way over fifty yards of open area to the small, corrugated metal building the gate guard had pointed out.
    Trooper Wyatt opened the door and rose from her cruiser into the cold evening air. Her left hand habitually adjusted the flashlight and nightstick in her utility belt as she straightened. Lonnie’s right hand rested briefly on the butt of her pistol as she scanned the surrounding area. Starting from the guardhouse to the left and behind her, her eyes ran over everything she could see until they came to rest on the door of the building nearby. She turned from the vehicle and pressed the record button on the small digital recorder kept in the right breast pocket of her parka. She always recorded investigative interviews.
    As she pushed the car door shut, a figure appeared in the entry of the building. Bright light from inside silhouetted the shape in dark shadow. The man appeared massive and intimidating. As he stepped forward onto the landing, his features came into view . At first they were hard, tough looking but suddenly softened and Lonnie could see a smile come across the big man’s face as she approached. He was in his early forties, stood about six feet tall, and sported a military style crew cut and a very muscular physique. His arms bulged at the seams of the blue uniform shirt. The protective vest the security officer wore strained against his thick pectorals. Lonnie thought the guy must spend every spare minute of his time lifting weights.
    “Well, now,” said the officer in a flirtatious voice, holding the door open for her, “if I’m going to be interrogated by a trooper, you are probably the one who will get all the information out of me.” He chuckled at his own words.
    “Are you Bannock?” Trooper Wyatt asked.
    “Officer Charlie Bannock, Doyon Security Services, at your service, ma’am,” he said with a flourish of his hand, ushering her into the lighted building. “And you are?”
    “Trooper Wyatt,” she replied in a flat cold voice.
    When Lonnie first started her career in the Troopers, she had been told that her looks might be a difficulty for her. Her instructors warned that she would be constantly flirted with and harassed. Initially it had bothered her, even intimidated her, when suspects and officers alike would hit on her. They often assumed her too pretty to be strong. She eventually learned that her appearance could also be a powerful asset.
    By any standard of beauty in almost any country or society, Lonnie Wyatt was stunning. She learned to use her appearance to her advantage when necessary to coerce a suspect or informant to give every bit of information they had to her. With a simple angle of her eyes and tilt of the head, she could soften her expression to the point where most men were hypnotized by her gaze. Some men were stronger, and others were just jerks who didn’t take her seriously until she had to use physical force. Physical force was something at which she was also quite adept. Lonnie was a 4th degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do and 3rd degree in Hap Ki