Mando Bk. 03: General Badass Ch. 11

Chapter 10: A Glow Worm Named Danny

D anny's point of view

Three months to the election and my lack of participation on the campaign trail has the staff in a panic. I ignore them and do the very minimum to keep our headquarters mollified.

The campaign manager and my marketing/PR firm create a daily TV show hosted by analysts called, On Capitol Hill. I answer questions and leave the analyst to analyze, forecast, and speculate. They discuss and explain the answers in typical talk show style. The purpose is to have my face and name in front of the American viewers daily. They book me on talk shows, write articles and press releases, and host a Meet the Candidates one-hour program.

They feed sales pitches to the network camouflaged as news, and have important talk shows and political analysts discussing each program, including the anti-terrorist actions, stabilizing the Middle East, the consumer loan and additional tax benefits.

I still visit all the districts, which I hate, but some steps are mandatory. Without two hundred fifty-seven Electoral College votes I'm yesterday's news.

As Election Day approaches, talk show hosts and feature writers for newspapers ask questions and either provide answers, or have a special guest or "expert"do the honors.

Why isn't the incumbent campaigning as much as the other candidates? Why did she enter the race if she will not run? The questions are endless.

The staged answers stick to one theme: Her accomplishments state her platform and show what she can do because of what she has done and is doing. The opponents make promises but she has a track record. Look at what she has accomplished in eight months.

They list the most important items, the biggie being the giant step toward peace in the Middle East, low-interest rate loans for consumers, and my no-nonsense approach to the government.

Close, but no caviar. That line works for educated citizens who understand the issues. Unfortunately, they represent less than twenty-five percent of the vote. The opponents go for the trade unions, special interest groups, unhappy public servants like governors, senators and congress members and ethnic communities. They leave the female vote for me assuming only the liberal votes from equal rights organizations will swing my way. Good call.

***

Six weeks before the election a horrible crisis presents itself. Certain factions like terrorists and unhappy government officials in the Middle East, decide it's in their best interest to remove me from office. They gain support from Capitol hill from those with sore toes, unpaid favors made by the former president, displeased senators, congress members, and special interest groups whose political influence is dwindling.

I'm immune to bribes. I don't need money; I don't care if I am re-elected or not. I am ruthless and never back down and rarely compromise. That insensitive approach impacts international relations and national ones. I'm behind in the polls.

The opposition digs for smut and finds it. But much, much worse, some well-meaning talk show host counters the dirt by pointing out all my military accomplishments and specialized training.

Terrorists and Mobs wonder at the correlation between the President and Hawk's involvement in anti-terrorist activities. Nothing is conclusive, but they don't need proof. It would be convenient if we are the same person, but even if not, we're both a burr up their butt.

Terrorist organizations and certain organized crime groups conclude they will improve their position by planting me in a cornfield, incorporating me in a concrete footer for a skyscraper, or taking me on a diving expedition with added weight but no air.

What bothers my staff is that I don't deny the allegations. At a news conference, a reporter asks: "Madam President, are you now or were you ever the Hawk?"

I laugh. "I may be a buzzard, but have a long way to fly before I enter the ranks of hawks."

Some tried to nail me to the wall. "But Madam President, did you rescue those children in the school last year?"

I shake my head. "I wish I could do something like that, but as the folks on the hill will verify, I would never challenge a machine gun with nothing but water balloons and a paintball gun."

My chief of staff demands that I deny the allegations.

"Teddy, listen to me; the public loves the Hawk. Why miss the chance at being loved with it?" I look at him with innocent eyes.

"Because, Madam President, the Hawk's major enemy is the world's largest terrorist group." His face is firm. "They've been searching for the Hawk, or hawks, with the diligence of a saber tooth tiger with OCD. You won't be alive for the election if you don't set the record straight."

I regard him with sadness. "Too late, Teddy. If they can't prove I'm the goat, I'll be the scapegoat. I'm in their cross hairs no matter what."

***

My enemies are on the prowl. I suspect they will either create events requiring rescue to pull me out into the open too, or wait until one comes up and be ready to take me out as the Hawk, or assassinate me as the President. I'm so depressed that only a ride on Gino's cock will lift my spirits. I smile. See? It's working already just thinking about it.

I'm doing a TV series, coffee with the President, in which I teach various aspects of government that the average citizen doesn't understand, and educate them. At no time do I ask for a vote. I just stay visible and in their face. But folks who watch those programs represent the minority of voters. Grassroots folks have limited interest in understanding macro or micro government issues, but massive voting power.

At the end of the twelfth broadcast, a call comes in on my FBI phone. "Mando, there's a bank robbery in progress with thirty-seven potential hostages that need out. Can you help?" The baiting has begun.

"Where?" I need to know if my suspicions are correct.

"Standard Charter Bank at Faith and Queens," He replies. That's all the confirmation I need. I shake my head and then remember he can't see me.

"No, that's a setup. You guys handle that one."

"Why do you believe it is a setup?" He sounds confused.

"The bank should force Hawks' involvement. Therefore it won't."

Two more forced events go unanswered. When Kammy calls, she's biting at the bullet to solo, but I veto all three.

Since we aren't rising to the bait, the mob will send an assassin to a real event. Those sneaky organized criminals will end my campaign by shooting to kill. Fuck!

The FBI phone buzzes. "Mando, turn on the TV on channel five."

I turn it on to see a familiar scene. A bomb scare in a school. "Why aren't the children on the fifth floor being evacuated?"

"That's the problem. The bomb is right below them protected by locked and bolted doors. They can't get out."

Anger boils inside me. How many more lives will those bastards endanger? I try to remain calm but it's a double struggle.

"The police can cut the bolt and open the door, can't they?"

"No, because opening the door set's off a pound of Centex."

"The bomb squad, then."

"The bomb configuration is on the inside. They can see it, but can't get inside without triggering the bomb. Triggering that bomb triggers the ones below it, and the building with all the kids is history."

"What exactly can Mando do?" I ask.

"Go in another window?" He suggests.

"The fire department has ladder trucks. Who claims this one and what do they want?

"You. If you don't show, over eighty kids will die."

"That's quite a threat. But again, sir, what can be done? If the bombs below are rigged to the windows above it, the kids are history. The intent may be to blow the kids up with the Hawk. There may not be an answer."

"Maybe, but are you willing to risk the kids' lives on it?" I know he's angry with me and I can't blame him. I hate this. I hate what those monsters are doing.

"If there is no solution, they're dead anyway. Send me a close up of all the bombs."

"We'll take photos and text them to you. Stand by."

My anger mushrooms. Kill over eighty innocent kids to get to me? That question derails my train of thought. I don't think so. That's terrorist tactics. The mob doesn't kill innocent kids.

I study the photos and sigh from relief. I call Don. "Get these photos to the bomb squad. Tell them to examine the explosives in the bombs on the ceiling of the fourth floor."

"Why?"

"They're dummies. That plastic explosive looks more like modeling clay than plastique, but the bomb on the fifth floor's door is authentic. It's live. The firemen can remove the kids from the fire escape or window if they tape the front door first, so it doesn't shake when the kids walk across the floor or bump the window frames upon exit."

"Call you back if we need you."

That phone call never comes. Later, in a news video clip I watch the bomb squad captain show the fake bombs, foam taped doors and escaping kids, saying,. "Whoever did this is sick or has a hidden motive we aren't privy to." No shit.

"Whew, Kammy. That would have been fatal," I say out loud, without realizing she wasn't paying attention.

Kammy shifts in the patio chair and sets her teacup on the ceramic table beside her with both hands. "HUH?"

"Here, study the photo of the wall with the plastic explosives tied to the door, study the building across the street."

She studies the photo. "What? I see nothing unusual."

I point to a three inch perfectly round hole in a window. "That's a gun porthole for a rifle. A sniper is across the street waiting for yours truly or Kammy truly."

"Damn! Was it a fake situation?"

"More like contrived. The door bomb was real." I frown.

Five days later another situation comes in that is just twenty-five minutes away. I give in for Kammy to go solo. As I feared, gunmen are close by. I fly the chopper and Kammy goes to rescue a bus full of special needs children being held hostage by a crazed dope addict.

I am watching her through binoculars when light reflects off a roof five blocks away.

Damn! If that's a shooter he won't stay on the roof because of the helicopter he saw land. He'll go down to hide and wait. Oh, Kammy!

She snuffs the man and saves the hostages and is on her way back. No problem. She has her earpiece in and is wearing a tracker "Kammy. You've got company. Return a different way."

No Reply.

"Kammy? Kammy? Do you copy?" Fear gripping my heart in its deadly fist.

"Chief, I did it! I'm coming home." I want to let myself feel the relief, but the danger is not over yet.

"Kammy. A sniper is waiting. Come back a different way!"

"Yippee! That was too cool! I'm a real Hawk now!" She isn't listening.

Panic is spreading through my chest. "Kammy! Answer me! Change your course. Do you copy?"

No reply.

I scream. "Kammy! Answer me!"

No reply. Fuck! Her com-system is fucked up.

I grab my gun and GPS and take the fire escape stairs two at a time. There's not enough time to head her off, so I run like the devil is on my ass to get close enough to warn her or shoot her assassin.

Too late. A block ahead of me she runs head-on into a volley of machine gun fire.

The impact throws her against the opposite wall. She goes down but gets up quick enough to stagger down another alley to escape the shooter. Those shots are fatal. They're too many bullets for her armor to handle.

The shooter emerges from the shadows and stalks her. He's concentrating so much on his prey he doesn't see me freeze in place. He's too quick for a clear shot, so I wait until he's in the next alley before advancing with the speed and urgency of thousands of gallons of water pumped onto the roaring fire consuming a fleabag hotel..

I come to a screeching halt when I hear his voice around the corner talking on the phone. "I just killed me a Hawk, amigo. Know what kind? A twenty-five million dollar hawk at least. Maybe twice that. The fucker is dead as hell. Smaller than I expected though."

I peer around the corner cautiously. The arrogant fool is showing his back to me instead of a wall. Kammy is in a heap, not moving. He kicks her gun away from her. Smart. But the greedy braggadocios killer is calling in his kill before he seals the kill with a head shot. He's scrunching the phone between his ear and his shoulder leaving his hands free to reload. The assault rifle is in one hand, and the other is flipping the banana clip to a full magazine. What an idiot. A pro doesn't track prey after that many rounds without going to a full mag.

I pump three full metal jacket hollow points into his skull. "If you'd kept your day job, ass hole, you'd still be alive." I scoop Kammy into my arms and haul ass. Going up the fire escape is tough with her added weight I imagine, but I neither notice nor remember.

I yank open the helicopter's door, put my friend on the floor and examine her. "Shit! That machine gun ate through your armor. I'm taking it off." I rip the armor off, take one look at the ragged hole in her abdomen and call my husband.

"Gino, Kammy is critically wounded. It could be fatal. I'm twenty minutes from your office are you there?" My heart is pounding against the rib cage. I'm terrified but I have to stay strong for Kammy.

"No, but I can get there before you do."

"On my way."

I forget to communicate with the air traffic control tower and almost get turned around and sent home. The registration is to a blind corporation which bothers the air traffic control. I could be a drug runner for all he knows. For them, anonymity is not good. But my sob story about a medical emergency works. Gino isn't there when I land. I crawl back to Kammy. She's not responding. "Stay with me, Kammy. STAY WITH ME!" Her pulse is fading fast. She's slipping away. I open the side door and swing my feet over the edge so I can cradle her in my arms.

"I am so sorry I don't have the healing power Gino does. Hold on, he's on his way." I rock her and smother her hair in kisses. Her pulse is so light I can barely feel it.

"Oh Kammy, I've tried too hard to develop my Chi like Gino, but I'm not there yet, and I'm letting you down. I'm so sorry." I'm sobbing so hard I can't talk. I'm holding her tight against my chest and rocking from side to side when I hear the death rattle in her lungs as she struggles for one more breath. I panic.

My chest, my life, and my hope are exploding. I hold her tighter than ever. "God damn it, Kammy, get your ass back here!"

Her body goes limp.

"Kammy, do as I say! Heal yourself damn it! Let your Chi mend you. Heal you. Save you. DO IT NOW!" I'm not giving up. A light pulse comes back. She's still with me. I sob in desperation. "Oh, where are you Gino? We need you!"

Devastation grinds its teeth in my spirit and empties my soul. "Oh, Kammy honey; you were so excited to go alone. Know what? You saved all those children. I'm so proud of you. Gino will be too. You have always been there for me and looked after me. I am here baby but not here enough."

My sobs rack my body to a nine on a seismic scale. All I want is for Kammy to live. Nothing else. I want her whole and well. That's all. To hear her laugh and giggle when Gino and I tickle her. To see her face glow with pride when she throws one knife after the other in a tight cluster in the cut-out target's heart. To watch her do her happy dance when she is consistent with the saw blades tosses. To hear her whoop and holler when she runs the obstacle course almost as fast as I do. I want our threesome. And those Chinese dishes that only she can make. I WANT MY KAMMY ALIVE!!! I WANT MY KAMMY. I. WANT. MY. KAMMY. ALIVE!

Grief consumes me with a vengeance. I don't hear Gino slam the door of the rooftop open with such force the knob buries itself in the wood jam. I'm a wounded caterpillar in a cocoon. Hurting. Dying inside. Shriveling away into hopelessness.

Words push their way into my dark world. "Well bless my soul!" It sounds like Gino When I open my eyes, he's standing in front of me grinning and scratching his head.

My demanding and accusing screams eek out in a whimper. "Where were you? What took you so long?" I snap my eyes open, fully alert. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! HEAL HER! BRING HER BACK! DO SOMETHING DAMMIT! DO SOMETHING. PLEASE!"

He massages my head, rubbing gently. A hard wave of sobbing takes over.

"Oh, Gino We needed you. Kammy needed you." I look up and come unglued. He looks happy. He's grinning! Of all times to grin! I drum viciously on his stomach with my fist. "WHAT'S SO FUNNY? SO YOU THINK LOSING OUR KAMMY IS FUNNY, YOU BASTARD?" I hug and rock Kammy. I am shattered. Why is he laughing? I'm confused. Lost in a moment where nothing makes sense. Kammy is dead. My Kammy. Our Kammy. She's dead. Oh, God. No, no, no! Please no.

Movement in my arms startles me. "What's all the yelling about? Did I do it? Did I save those children? What happened to me?"

My gasp is so harsh it rips my lungs on the way out. I lean back and push Kammy forward to look at her. Am I dreaming? Am I refusing to accept facts? She is dead. Don't I believe it? Don't I know it?

Why is her face gaining color? Why are her eyes open? Is she talking or? I press two fingers on her juggler's vein. Her pulse is strong. I don't understand. When my gaze drops to her wound I yelp. Gino, when did you do this? Can you heal through long distances now?"

My wailing contralto voice reaches a crescendo. Relief releases my tears. Before I wailed and sobbed in grief, but now from relief. Ecstasy and euphoria flood through my veins and brain with prickling and tingling sensations. I rock Kammy like a baby and squall.

Kammy stares at my hands. She studies my face. Her expression is odd and curious. She's as baffled as I am. "Danny, you're glowing."

"What?" I don't understand.

"You are glowing. Look at your hands against my clothes."

My hand touches the black fabric and jerks back. I don't understand. I'm so confused. "Gino I didn't feel you touch me. When did you? I must have really zoned out."

He circles his arms around us and hugs so long I lose myself in his embrace. "Gino?"

He stands. Tears drench his happy, glowing face and he's too choked up to utter one word. He hugs us again, kissing the top of one head and then the other.

"Girls, I'm sorry. I was in such a rush that a policeman stopped me for speeding." He kisses me on the lips first and then Kammy. "I was frantic running up the stairs, but skidded to a stop in my tracks when I saw you, Danny."

I still don't understand. "Why? I know I was distraught. Now I'm just confused. Why were you staring at me? And damn you,why were you grinning?" I give his chest a solid thump to emphasize each word. "Did." THUMP! "We." THUMP! "Look." THUMP! "Funny." THUMP! "To." THUMP! "You?" THUMP!

He's laughing again. And grinning. The Jerk!

"Tell her Kammy."

She is still in my lap. "Because, sunshine, you were glowing fluorescent. You looked so much like Madonna I thought I had died and gone to the great beyond."

"You're not making any sense, Kammy, me looking like Madonna and all. What are you talking about? And what's so goddamn funny?"

She lifts my hand so I can see it. "I'm talking about this glow. Look!"

I see the glow, but I'm not trackng. My brain is parked on a blank page. "What's going on Gino?"

Kammy is bubbling with excitement. Where did that energy come from? She died five minutes ago.

"The healing energy flooded out of you into me, and you glowed like a hundred million dollar lottery winner eating glow worms." She kisses my cheek. "You rock, Boss Bird!"

I'm not getting it. "I'm glowing b-because, b-because Gino touched me when he healed you I guess. Right, Gino?"

Gino taps the arm I still have around Kammy. "Slide over Boss Bird, and I'll tell you a story. I'll explain."