“Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 160 SOAR.” Finelly’s face was almost as broad as his shoulders, and he had the ruddy, rawboned look of a farmer’s son.
“Sergeant Eugene Derwitz, Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 160 SOAR,” said the second, a smaller-framed man with dark eyes and a hooked nose. The way he truncated his Rs spoke of somewhere on the Jersey Shore.
McDaniels nodded to both men. “Keep doing what you’re doing, troops. Any problems taking orders from a couple of ground pounders for a while?”
Finelly shook his head. “Negative on that, sir. If you’re Special Forces, then this is your show.” Derwitz offered nothing further, so McDaniels presumed Finelly spoke for both of them.
“All right. Keep bringing over stuff to form a barricade. When you’re done, one of you relieve First Sergeant Gartrell at the door. The other will inventory his ammo and gear. Once that man is finished, he’ll stand overwatch while the other man does his own inventory. Count every bullet, every MRE, every NVG battery you have. And fill your canteens. We don’t know how long the water will hold out.”
The soldiers murmured their assent and set off to gather more furnishings to use as barricades. McDaniels looked back at Gartrell.
“When they’re done, come join me in the pantry. We’ll need to plan our next step, and we should get that done sooner rather than later.” He nodded toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan’s Upper East Side. “It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t think things are going to get any better.”
CHAPTER 5
“How long will we be here for?” Regina Safire asked. Her dark eyes had taken on what McDaniels supposed was their usual predatory cast, and they followed the tall black Special Forces officer as he stepped into the pantry and slowly removed his Kevlar helmet. McDaniels made her to be about thirty-five years old, a few years younger than he was. He knew she had been a medical doctor before joining her father’s company as a medical consultant, but he didn’t know what her specialty was. He hoped her bedside manner was a bit more refined than what she was presenting now.
Just the same, beneath the hard exterior, there was a certain softness that was visible whenever she looked at her father. She was a Daddy’s Girl, as incredible as it might seem. She was also very attractive, McDaniels thought. Her dark hair and tanned face were complemented by what seemed to be a trim body beneath her sturdy jeans and long-sleeved work shirt. Her denim jacket lay across the top of a nearby Xerox copier.
“Major?” she prompted.
McDaniels set his helmet on the counter next to the sink and allowed his radio headset to hang around his neck. He looked at the Safires for a moment, then focused on the woman. He held out his hand.
“I’m Cordell McDaniels. I’m afraid we were never properly introduced.”
She looked at him for a long moment, as if his sudden politeness was something alien, untrustworthy. Then she finally extended her own manicured hand and shook his.
“Regina Safire. But I’m sure you know that already?”
McDaniels nodded. “But an introduction is never something you should waste.” He looked at Safire, who sat on a pile of copying paper boxes next to two softly-humming vending machines. He didn’t meet McDaniels’ eyes; instead, he kept his gaze rooted on the industrial-looking white-tiled floor.
“Doctor Safire?”
Safire looked up at him. In the pantry’s harsh overhead light, he suddenly looked like Andy Warhol, only not quite as swishy. “I already know who you are, major. There’s no need to waste time with pleasantries. Are they coming for us?”
“Is who coming for us?”
Safire frowned. “The military, of course.”
McDaniels turned to the sink. There was a Keurig coffee machine next to it, the kind that used the single-dose K-cups that McDaniels was so fond of. He opened one of the overhead cabinets and found several boxes of
“Sergeant Eugene Derwitz, Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 160 SOAR,” said the second, a smaller-framed man with dark eyes and a hooked nose. The way he truncated his Rs spoke of somewhere on the Jersey Shore.
McDaniels nodded to both men. “Keep doing what you’re doing, troops. Any problems taking orders from a couple of ground pounders for a while?”
Finelly shook his head. “Negative on that, sir. If you’re Special Forces, then this is your show.” Derwitz offered nothing further, so McDaniels presumed Finelly spoke for both of them.
“All right. Keep bringing over stuff to form a barricade. When you’re done, one of you relieve First Sergeant Gartrell at the door. The other will inventory his ammo and gear. Once that man is finished, he’ll stand overwatch while the other man does his own inventory. Count every bullet, every MRE, every NVG battery you have. And fill your canteens. We don’t know how long the water will hold out.”
The soldiers murmured their assent and set off to gather more furnishings to use as barricades. McDaniels looked back at Gartrell.
“When they’re done, come join me in the pantry. We’ll need to plan our next step, and we should get that done sooner rather than later.” He nodded toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan’s Upper East Side. “It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t think things are going to get any better.”
CHAPTER 5
“How long will we be here for?” Regina Safire asked. Her dark eyes had taken on what McDaniels supposed was their usual predatory cast, and they followed the tall black Special Forces officer as he stepped into the pantry and slowly removed his Kevlar helmet. McDaniels made her to be about thirty-five years old, a few years younger than he was. He knew she had been a medical doctor before joining her father’s company as a medical consultant, but he didn’t know what her specialty was. He hoped her bedside manner was a bit more refined than what she was presenting now.
Just the same, beneath the hard exterior, there was a certain softness that was visible whenever she looked at her father. She was a Daddy’s Girl, as incredible as it might seem. She was also very attractive, McDaniels thought. Her dark hair and tanned face were complemented by what seemed to be a trim body beneath her sturdy jeans and long-sleeved work shirt. Her denim jacket lay across the top of a nearby Xerox copier.
“Major?” she prompted.
McDaniels set his helmet on the counter next to the sink and allowed his radio headset to hang around his neck. He looked at the Safires for a moment, then focused on the woman. He held out his hand.
“I’m Cordell McDaniels. I’m afraid we were never properly introduced.”
She looked at him for a long moment, as if his sudden politeness was something alien, untrustworthy. Then she finally extended her own manicured hand and shook his.
“Regina Safire. But I’m sure you know that already?”
McDaniels nodded. “But an introduction is never something you should waste.” He looked at Safire, who sat on a pile of copying paper boxes next to two softly-humming vending machines. He didn’t meet McDaniels’ eyes; instead, he kept his gaze rooted on the industrial-looking white-tiled floor.
“Doctor Safire?”
Safire looked up at him. In the pantry’s harsh overhead light, he suddenly looked like Andy Warhol, only not quite as swishy. “I already know who you are, major. There’s no need to waste time with pleasantries. Are they coming for us?”
“Is who coming for us?”
Safire frowned. “The military, of course.”
McDaniels turned to the sink. There was a Keurig coffee machine next to it, the kind that used the single-dose K-cups that McDaniels was so fond of. He opened one of the overhead cabinets and found several boxes of
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