Date: Tue, 3 Dec 1996 16:45:06 -0700 (MST) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: Coup D'etat - Chapter 15 Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII One thing: upon a little research, I found that I was wrong about the year of the riot. I've made corrections in this part. ---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 15: Between a Rock and a Hard Place *It's impossible!* Sam thought as he laid in Cheryl Dover's bed that night. *I can't buy 10,000 shares of a stock without doing something illegal. On the other hand, I can prevent Cheryl's family from falling apart.* Sam always trusted his instincts. Based on what he had been observing in Cheryl's family, it wasn't the "Leave It to Beaver" family everyone pretended it was. Cheryl was a full-time student working her way through college. She had another year of classes to take before she graduated and Sam was only too glad to take extensive notes for her at her night classes after work. In between classes, he thought about what Al said he was there to do, which neither he nor Al believed. The more Sam thought about it, the more unlikely it became. When Sam returned to Cheryl's home, however, a real possibility came up. Christina Dover and Alex Dover, Cheryl's parents, were having a very violent argument. Christina had learned Alex, a legal counsel, was having an affair with his secretary. How she learned wasn't very clear. What was clear was that she was furious and she threatened to kill him. Sam had heard a determination in her voice that frightened him. Her words weren't empty. Sam sighed. He really needed Al to tell him if his suspicions were correct. After alll, he didn't have a crystal ball.. He couldn't see into the future. But Al could see into the past with Ziggy, a past which was, to Sam, the future. Without Al, Sam was almost completely lost just as, without Sancho, Don Quixote would hurt himself chasing windmills. Putting his own problems out of his mind temporarily, Sam tried to get some sleep. His sleep, however, was uneasy. He had far too many things on his mind to rest well. So, when morning came, Sam reluctantly showered and dressed, thinking that there should be a law against high-heel pump and readying himself for another day of work at the bank. Christina Dover was in the kitchen, making breakfast, when Sam came down. Sam felt strange wearing a blue dress with matching pumps, both which matched with his (and Cheryl's) bright blue eyes and with the make-up on his face. "Good morning, Mom," he greeted Christina as he entered the kitchen. He had long ago gotten used to calling people who weren't his parents by the socially accepted colloquialisms. "Good morning, Cheryl," Christina answered. "Would you like some eggs?" Sam looked at Christina. He was about to turn down her offer but she looked as if she might completely break down at any rejection. "Sure. Sounds good," he replied. He got out a plate and accepted a large serving from her. It was way too much cholesterol for breakfast but he didn't think he'd need to eat everything on hihs plate. This wasn't John and Thelma Beckett's house, after all. "Did you sleep well?" Christina asked, sitting at the kitchen table with him. She held her head at a slight angle, causing the sun to catch her brown hair which had just started graying. It gave Sam a large clue as to how Cheryl would look at forty-six years old. "I was about to ask you the same question," Sam told her. He took a bite of his eggs. They had no spice in them at all. Sam shook a little pepper on them. Christina laughed nervously. "Why wouldn't I?" "Because of the argument last night," Sam told her, looking into her eyes and watching for a reaction. "Cheryl, couples have arguments," Christina answered, diverting her eyes from Sam's. "They happen to everyone. You'll understand later. When you're married." Sam sighed. "Mom, I'm twenty-four. It's not like I've never had a gir... boyfriend. I've had a few arguments. But last night was different with you and Dad. It was serious." Christina swallowed hard. "Well, it's none of your concern. Your father and I can solve our own problems." "It _is_ my concern," Sam insisted. "It has to be." "And I say it isn't," Christina emphasized. "Now, if you don't get going, you're going to be late for work." Sam sighed. This was going to take a while. But just how long did he have? He stood up and told Christina good-bye, leaving his plate of eggs unfinished on the kitchen table. *"Just get do what needs to be done." Easier said than done*, Sam thought as he gave money to eager customers. *Especially if you really don't know what needs to be done.* Stop the 1990 L.A. Riot by buying stock in America Online? It didn't make sense. And Al had not yet shown up to tell him what he was really there to do. So, Sam decided to act on his own theory. He didn't have classes to go to that night so Sam returned home immediately after work. There, sitting in the living room and watching the evening news, was Alex Dover. He had changed out of his daily business suit and was now wearing a long-sleeve flannel shirt and a pair of dark blue Levi's. "Hi, Dad," Sam said, entering the living room after having changed into a pair of Gitano jeans and a loose-fitting Beatles t-shirt. "Hey!" Alex exclaimed. "How's my little girl? How was work?" "Okay," Sam answered with a forced smile. He went over and sat on the foot-rest that sat just beside Alex's chair. "Dad, we have to talk." "What's wrong, honey?" Alex asked. "Is it Gary? Has he been moving too fast for you?" He sounded ready to take action. "Gary?" Sam questioned. Then he realized what Alex was saying. *Must be Cheryl's boyfriend.* "Oh. No, it's not Gary. It's you and Mom." "Well, what is it, honey?" Alex asked, looking wary. "I heard your argument last night," Sam started. Alex groaned. "Jeez! Not you too!" "Dad, this is serious," Sam told him. "And unless you and Mom make up, someone's going to get hurt." Alex shook his head. "Listen. Your mom is just going to have to live with the facts of life." Sam glared at him in astonishment. "The facts of life?!" "Cheryl, I don't need a lecture from you about my conduct concerning my wife," Alex told him firmly. Sam huffed. "Well, you need one from someone," he muttered sarcastically. "What?!" Alex exclaimed. "It's 1987, Dad! The double standard isn't acceptable anymore, especially if you're marrried!" "This coming from a person who doesn't know to wait until the wedding day!" Alex yelled at the ceiling. "At least I'm not cheating on Gary," Sam retaliated quietly, hoping it was the truth. Alex glared at him. "I don't want to hear another word from you. Do you hear me?" Sam sighed. "Dad, just talk to Mom. Listen to her side of the story. Tell her yours. Discuss this rationally." "I said not another word," Alex finalized, turning up the volume of the television to drown out any argument Sam might make. Sam realized it was pointless to press the matter at the moment. It would probably only make the situation worse. But unless Al came back and gave him something else to work on, it was the best he could do. "Where are you, Al?" Sam muttered as he left the living room and went to the kitchen to get something to eat. ************************ "I'm sorry, Miss Calavicci, but there is very little we can do," said the captain sitting on the other side of the desk in an office at Holloman's Air Force Base. "The most we can do to find Admiral and Captain Calavicci is put an all-points-bulletin on them. I understand they've been missing for four days now but it sounds to me like they went on a romantic getaway together." "Without telling us?" Trudy pointed out. She glared at the captain. "If you can't take me seriously, I sure Senator McBride will." She started to stand up to leave, motioning her sister Christy, who was sitting next to her, to do the same. "Ladies, I didn't mean to entail any disrespect," the captain told them. "Please, let me see what I can do to help." Trudy and Christy looked at each other for a moment before sitting down again. "Thank you," the captain said. "Now, I'm sure you took this up with the local police first." "We did," Christy told him. "They don't have anything yet. They suggested we come to you." "Where was the Admiral's last known whereabouts?" "The last we saw of them, they were going here," Trudy told him. "Our father had to work. He's the Naval Observer of Operations on some project here. Mother had to make an inspection of the medical facilities of the project." The captain frowned slightly. "I see," he said slowly, jotting a note on a notepad in front of him. "We'll see what we can do." Christy hesitated. "That's it?" The captain sighed. "Miss Calavicci, there is really little else we can do right now. We'll look around and see what we can find out." Christy looked indignant. But before she could say anything, Trudy stood up and shook the captain's hand. "Anything you can do would be greatly appreciated, Captain. Let us know if there's anything you need to know." The captain smiled. "The Admiral is well known to this base. I'm sure we have all the information we need." "Thank you, Captain," Trudy said, quickly leading Christy out of the room. "What did you stop me for?" Christy demanded. "The guy was being a jerk!" "We don't have time for your temper, Christy," Trudy told her. "Let them do their job. Everything is going to be okay." Christy sighed. "I hope so." She hugged her sister. *********************** Beth was shaking. She hadn't been so scared since Al went on his first tour of duty in Vietnam. She was so worried. Where was Al? Burke didn't hurt him, did he? "Beth?" a soft voice put into Beth's thoughts. Beth looked to her right to see Verbina Beeks walk into Al's quarters. "Are you okay?" "Where's Al?" she asked Verbina instantly. "I was about to ask you the same thing," Verbina told her. "Is there something wrong?" Beth collapsed on the bed, a foreboding look in her face. "I've been looking for him all day. And Burke insists that Al is quite all right," she finished sarcastically. "But you don't believe him," Verbina concluded. Beth huffed. "I have many reasons not to believe Burke. If he hurt Al...." Verbina touched Beth's shoulder reasssuringly. "I'm sure wherever Al is, he's fine. To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about him myself. But I don't think quit is in Al's vocabulary." She gave her a pleasant smile. Beth smiled in return. "No, it isn't." The smile faded. "But I don't think it's in Burke's vocabulary either." ************************* Al waited. He was good at that. Besides, there was very little else he could do. He had already tested every possible way he could think of to get out of the storage room. Each time, he failed. Burke had thought of everything. It was obvious that his locking Al in the storage room was premeditated. But how did he know Al would take Beth to the storage room to talk in private? Al hadn't even known until an hour before he met her in the cafeteria and he certainly hadn't voiced his plans to anyone (or anything, for that matter). "Know your enemy before you go to war with him." someone had once said. Al had always thought that was sound advice. He tried to follow that advice with every crisis that came his way. Unfortunately, it didn't work very well when it came to trying to combat the man who had given that advice. Burke was far ahead of the game in knowing his enemy than Al was. Burke had successfully sealed Al in the storage room, having shut down all the power to the room. There was no emergency exit or emergency door release inside the room. After all, in an emergency, it was demmed necessary to get _into_ a weapons storage room, not _out_ of one. But as a prison, it wasn't really that bad. It may be dark and quiet with nothing to call a bed but at least it was dry and clean. Al had been captive in worse places. Al shivered involuntarily. *One more thing about this storage room*, Al thought. *It's cold.* No power meant no heat. He stood up and started an eight-step pace, a habit he had picked up years before from his years as a P.O.W. in Vietnam. After a few minutes, he stopped and looked at his watch, which glowed slightly in the dark. 1451 hours. That meant that Al had been in the room for twelve hour. And he had a feeling he'd be in there for quite a few more. "Terrific," he muttered aloud just for the sound of his own voice. He looked around the room again, using his watch as a small flashlight. There had to be a way out of that storage room. He looked up. The only way out, other than the sealed door, was the a venting shaft. Unfortunately, it was only large enough for a small cat and Al had already discounted that as a feasible means of escape. Again, the question of how Burke knew about Al's plans came into Al's mind. "Know your enemy...." It was obvious that Burke had studied up on Al, learned as much as he could about him, and used what he knew to theorize on what Al was going to do. *Beth's and my conversation*, Al thought. *He must have had it recorded. But how could he have gotten anything out of it? Unless....* Al realized that the only way Burke could have gotten anything from the recording was if he had already known Beth's true identity before seeing her with Al in the storage room. With that knowledge, it wouldn't take much to theorize Al's plans. Al was worried about Beth. Ever since he was locked in, he worried. What was Burke going to do with her? *Nothing*, Al answered himself. *He may be insane but he's still a gentleman. At least, he is with the ladies*, Al added as he touched his throat, which was still sore from Burke's kick. He probably had a terrible bruise there. Al stretched his neck and surrendered to his tiring body. He needed sleep. He had completely worn himself out trying to find a means of escape and he was certain that some sleep would help to clear his mind so that he might notice a means that he hadn't noticed before. He sat down on the hard floor and rolled back into a prone position. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to sleep. ---------------------------------------------- Poor Al! Yes, I know we're extremely cruel to him! But don't worry. We won't leave him hanging. Chapter 16 coming soon. Rob and Kat Freymuth