Read Online Certain Jeopardy by Jeff Struecker, Alton Gansky - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeff Struecker, Alton Gansky
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boy replied with equal volume.
“Brats.”
He replaced the headphones and continued listening to the activity on the other side of the wall.
CHAPTER 11
J.J. BARTLEY LEANED BACK in his chair in the Atlanta airport waiting area and watched his team leader scowl. Moyer wore a light-blue shirt, a dark-blue tie, charcoal-colored suit pants, and dress shoes and looked more uncomfortable than J.J. had ever seen him. J.J. wore a similar set of clothes, except his shirt was white and his tie yellow. The shoes needed walking in to loosen the leather at the heel and to scuff the slick sole. He only owned one suit, which he wore to weddings and funerals. There had been no time to return home and retrieve it. The off-the-rack garment he wore would have to do.
“You okay, Boss … Eric?”
“I’m fine, why?”
“You look pretty uncomfortable. Suit getting to you?”
“Nah, it’s not the suit.”
“Ah.”
Moyer furrowed his brow. “What’s that mean?”
“What?”
“That all-knowing, smart-alecky ‘Ah.’”
“Not a thing. It’s just that I have a friend who hates to fly. Any time he has to get on a plane he squirms, sweats, and spends a lot of time in the head. Flying upsets his, um, digestion.”
“J.J., how did we get here?”
“We flew in on a commuter.”
“Did I look afraid on that flight?”
“No, but—”
“We’ve done several …” Moyer looked around the waiting area, and J.J. did the same. The place was empty. Their flight didn’t leave for two hours, so they had settled on a less crowded waiting area fifty yards down the terminal. “We’ve done several missions together. You’ve seen me fly on helos and military transport craft. You’ve seen me do HALO jumps. What makes you think a ride in a Boeing 737 is going to put any sweat on my brow?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t like commercial craft. I’m not saying you’re afraid to fly, just that you remind me of my friend. Still, you look uncomfortable.”
“It’s not the suit, and it’s not the flight.”
“You sick? I mean, you’ve hit the latrine several times since we landed.”
“That was two hours ago, J.J. A man’s got the right to use the bathroom when he wants.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
“Good. What say we drop the subject?”
“Will do.”
“Good. Watch our luggage.”
“Where you going … never mind. See you when you get back.”
* * *
MOYER FELT BAD ABOU T giving J.J. such a hard time. The man had just been asking about his welfare. J.J. was observant; he had been trained to be that way. Still, being pressed by a junior member grated his nerves.
J.J. had been right about one thing: Moyer had been using the restroom more than usual. His stomach twisted as if he had eaten a three-week-old sandwich. As much as that bothered him, it wasn’t nearly as disturbing as seeing blood in the toilet.
CHAPTER 12
“WHEN IS HE COMI NG home?” Gina sat at the dinner table with her mother. Stacy had set the table for three, but only two of the family sat around the oak dining set.
“I don’t know, sweetie.” Stacy set a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. “You know that Daddy takes these trips from time to time and we never know how long he’ll be gone. Maybe this will be only for a few days.”
“I hope so. I miss him when he’s gone.”
“He misses you, too.” Stacy looked at her daughter: straight brown hair with blonde highlights hanging past the shoulder, blue eyes that at times seemed brighter than possible, thin frame, and an infectious smile. At twelve years she was still at that wonderful age where parent and child enjoyed each other’s company. Her father often claimed that he lost his free will the day Gina was born. Stacy believed it—and so did Gina. She could play her father like Beethoven played the piano.
Gina was the light in the family, but Stacy wondered how she would change as twelve became thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and— heaven help
“Brats.”
He replaced the headphones and continued listening to the activity on the other side of the wall.
CHAPTER 11
J.J. BARTLEY LEANED BACK in his chair in the Atlanta airport waiting area and watched his team leader scowl. Moyer wore a light-blue shirt, a dark-blue tie, charcoal-colored suit pants, and dress shoes and looked more uncomfortable than J.J. had ever seen him. J.J. wore a similar set of clothes, except his shirt was white and his tie yellow. The shoes needed walking in to loosen the leather at the heel and to scuff the slick sole. He only owned one suit, which he wore to weddings and funerals. There had been no time to return home and retrieve it. The off-the-rack garment he wore would have to do.
“You okay, Boss … Eric?”
“I’m fine, why?”
“You look pretty uncomfortable. Suit getting to you?”
“Nah, it’s not the suit.”
“Ah.”
Moyer furrowed his brow. “What’s that mean?”
“What?”
“That all-knowing, smart-alecky ‘Ah.’”
“Not a thing. It’s just that I have a friend who hates to fly. Any time he has to get on a plane he squirms, sweats, and spends a lot of time in the head. Flying upsets his, um, digestion.”
“J.J., how did we get here?”
“We flew in on a commuter.”
“Did I look afraid on that flight?”
“No, but—”
“We’ve done several …” Moyer looked around the waiting area, and J.J. did the same. The place was empty. Their flight didn’t leave for two hours, so they had settled on a less crowded waiting area fifty yards down the terminal. “We’ve done several missions together. You’ve seen me fly on helos and military transport craft. You’ve seen me do HALO jumps. What makes you think a ride in a Boeing 737 is going to put any sweat on my brow?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t like commercial craft. I’m not saying you’re afraid to fly, just that you remind me of my friend. Still, you look uncomfortable.”
“It’s not the suit, and it’s not the flight.”
“You sick? I mean, you’ve hit the latrine several times since we landed.”
“That was two hours ago, J.J. A man’s got the right to use the bathroom when he wants.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
“Good. What say we drop the subject?”
“Will do.”
“Good. Watch our luggage.”
“Where you going … never mind. See you when you get back.”
* * *
MOYER FELT BAD ABOU T giving J.J. such a hard time. The man had just been asking about his welfare. J.J. was observant; he had been trained to be that way. Still, being pressed by a junior member grated his nerves.
J.J. had been right about one thing: Moyer had been using the restroom more than usual. His stomach twisted as if he had eaten a three-week-old sandwich. As much as that bothered him, it wasn’t nearly as disturbing as seeing blood in the toilet.
CHAPTER 12
“WHEN IS HE COMI NG home?” Gina sat at the dinner table with her mother. Stacy had set the table for three, but only two of the family sat around the oak dining set.
“I don’t know, sweetie.” Stacy set a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. “You know that Daddy takes these trips from time to time and we never know how long he’ll be gone. Maybe this will be only for a few days.”
“I hope so. I miss him when he’s gone.”
“He misses you, too.” Stacy looked at her daughter: straight brown hair with blonde highlights hanging past the shoulder, blue eyes that at times seemed brighter than possible, thin frame, and an infectious smile. At twelve years she was still at that wonderful age where parent and child enjoyed each other’s company. Her father often claimed that he lost his free will the day Gina was born. Stacy believed it—and so did Gina. She could play her father like Beethoven played the piano.
Gina was the light in the family, but Stacy wondered how she would change as twelve became thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and— heaven help
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