so Otto eagerly sought out his biographies.
Jonathan gave Otto Noam Chomsky and Howard Zinn to read. It only reinforced his opinion that his father was out to lunch.
Otto’s mother left when he was fourteen upon learning that the professor had been carrying on an affair with an undergrad. Otto credited Babs with instilling in him a love of the Church, or if not the Church, God. She’d let her faith lapse during the Jonathan years in the face of his aggressive and pedantic atheism. Once divorced, she began attending church again and Otto joined her. At first it was just to piss off the professor. But he gradually came to accept not only the need for faith, but faith itself. Who was he to second-guess the Founding Fathers?
Otto joined at the beginning of Desert Storm. The Army assigned him to the Army Engineers, who in turn taught him all they could about investigating explosive devices and the results, which included arson investigation. The CIA recruited him after he figured out he was too crazy to be in the regular Army.
He touched the crucifix tat above his heart. He thought about what he’d seen in Libya. He thought about what he’d seen on the mountain.
“Of course I’ll come,” he said. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“Steve comes too.”
***
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“In From the Cool”
Stella waited while Otto battened the hatches. He spread an enormous tarp over his monster truck and tied it down to iron rings set in the rock. He came back in, grabbed the pistol off the end table and took it back to his gun safe. He fiddled with the model truck. Stella got up to refill her tea. She watched Otto strip off his shirt through the open bedroom door and noticed a tattoo on his left bicep too far to read.
She returned to the living room, sat down, and picked up a copy of American History from the walnut slab coffee table. Otto came out of the bedroom with a bulging black leather valise, which he set by the door. Stella looked around. There was no security system. Odd for a man who’d built a tank trap.
He disappeared into the spare bedroom and emerged moments later with a nine mm Ruger in a shoulder rig.
“Do you have a permit for that?” Stella said.
“Of course,” he replied. Stella wondered if whoever had granted the permit had access to Otto’s medical records. She doubted it. Those things were supposed to be classified.
It was three by the time they left the mountain, Steve filling the back seat. They would not reach Denver before six at the earliest. There was no point going to the FBI building where the agent in charge had prepared an ops center.
The old Cherokee jounced and rocked down the rutted trail. They pulled aside twice to let vehicles pass going upslope. Steve hung out the window.
“What have you been doing?” Otto said. “What’s going on?”
“Have you heard of the Below the Beltline Sniper?”
“Nope.”
“I’m defending him.”
“Whom did he snipe?”
“My client is alleged to have killed seven people. He is currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation.”
“Wow.” Otto knew enough not to ask for details. “What else is going on?”
“The President is concerned that these spontaneous combustions are a new form of terrorism.”
Otto looked out at the ponderosa and aspen, wind-blow pine crawling from nooks and crannies. “It takes a lot of energy to incinerate a human body. If I had to measure it in units I’d say it would take eight to ten thousand Btus. You couldn’t carry enough batteries. Where’s that energy coming from?”
“The Army has been conducting experiments with microwaves. They’re working on a weapons variation that would cook human flesh from up to a mile away. You’ll be working under Director Yee.”
Otto had heard the name. That’s all.
At the bottom of the rustic trail Stella waited while Otto checked his mail and unlocked the gate, returning to the vehicle with a stack of magazines and letters. He flipped through them on his
Jonathan gave Otto Noam Chomsky and Howard Zinn to read. It only reinforced his opinion that his father was out to lunch.
Otto’s mother left when he was fourteen upon learning that the professor had been carrying on an affair with an undergrad. Otto credited Babs with instilling in him a love of the Church, or if not the Church, God. She’d let her faith lapse during the Jonathan years in the face of his aggressive and pedantic atheism. Once divorced, she began attending church again and Otto joined her. At first it was just to piss off the professor. But he gradually came to accept not only the need for faith, but faith itself. Who was he to second-guess the Founding Fathers?
Otto joined at the beginning of Desert Storm. The Army assigned him to the Army Engineers, who in turn taught him all they could about investigating explosive devices and the results, which included arson investigation. The CIA recruited him after he figured out he was too crazy to be in the regular Army.
He touched the crucifix tat above his heart. He thought about what he’d seen in Libya. He thought about what he’d seen on the mountain.
“Of course I’ll come,” he said. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“Steve comes too.”
***
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“In From the Cool”
Stella waited while Otto battened the hatches. He spread an enormous tarp over his monster truck and tied it down to iron rings set in the rock. He came back in, grabbed the pistol off the end table and took it back to his gun safe. He fiddled with the model truck. Stella got up to refill her tea. She watched Otto strip off his shirt through the open bedroom door and noticed a tattoo on his left bicep too far to read.
She returned to the living room, sat down, and picked up a copy of American History from the walnut slab coffee table. Otto came out of the bedroom with a bulging black leather valise, which he set by the door. Stella looked around. There was no security system. Odd for a man who’d built a tank trap.
He disappeared into the spare bedroom and emerged moments later with a nine mm Ruger in a shoulder rig.
“Do you have a permit for that?” Stella said.
“Of course,” he replied. Stella wondered if whoever had granted the permit had access to Otto’s medical records. She doubted it. Those things were supposed to be classified.
It was three by the time they left the mountain, Steve filling the back seat. They would not reach Denver before six at the earliest. There was no point going to the FBI building where the agent in charge had prepared an ops center.
The old Cherokee jounced and rocked down the rutted trail. They pulled aside twice to let vehicles pass going upslope. Steve hung out the window.
“What have you been doing?” Otto said. “What’s going on?”
“Have you heard of the Below the Beltline Sniper?”
“Nope.”
“I’m defending him.”
“Whom did he snipe?”
“My client is alleged to have killed seven people. He is currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation.”
“Wow.” Otto knew enough not to ask for details. “What else is going on?”
“The President is concerned that these spontaneous combustions are a new form of terrorism.”
Otto looked out at the ponderosa and aspen, wind-blow pine crawling from nooks and crannies. “It takes a lot of energy to incinerate a human body. If I had to measure it in units I’d say it would take eight to ten thousand Btus. You couldn’t carry enough batteries. Where’s that energy coming from?”
“The Army has been conducting experiments with microwaves. They’re working on a weapons variation that would cook human flesh from up to a mile away. You’ll be working under Director Yee.”
Otto had heard the name. That’s all.
At the bottom of the rustic trail Stella waited while Otto checked his mail and unlocked the gate, returning to the vehicle with a stack of magazines and letters. He flipped through them on his
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