Changing Lanes - 2. Mission to Idaho

“Yeah, my passport is current and so’s Jansen’s, but why?” Keith asked with a mix of exasperation and puzzlement. His boss, George, who ran the agency, had an annoying habit of yanking the dancer’s chains, and the sly grin on George’s face clued Keith in that he could be doing so yet again.

George rocked back in his chair, letting his eyes linger on Keith’s bare torso. The kid, he thought for the hundredth time, was hot, even for an exotic dancer. George chuckled, enjoying his fun, though in this case he had a legitimate reason for his questions. He eyed Keith’s bare chest again, and then looked into his eyes as he smiled. “We’ve had an inquiry for a private booking. One of the requirements is a valid passport. Beyond that, I’m not at liberty to say. I’m thinking of you and Jansen for this gig; you’ve got a hot act and you work well with him. There’ll be an audition in a day or two, and if the client books you, you’ll be heading overseas.”

Keith shook his head adamantly, “No way are we going to some foreign country to perform at a party. I’ve heard too many bad stories about the kind of crap that goes on, and we don’t do kinky stuff.”

George smiled, enjoying Keith’s discomfort. His fears were reasonable, but not under the circumstances. George had told the truth; he'd been asked to keep the client’s name out of this, and the fact that it suited his purposes for winding Keith up was so much the better. “All I can say is, it’s a very respectable client, and it’s for a stag party. No kink; he specified your surfer act and said he’d seen the photos on our website. This is for a bachelor party, for two guys. The client is not one of them.” George waited until Keith’s expression, as he’d expected, changed to curiosity, and then he added, “You’ll meet the client at the audition; if you have any qualms after doing so, you can back out, no questions asked. I have a hunch you’ll be fine with it, especially given the destination and the pay. Part of what the client is offering is to foot the bill for the two of you to stay a week at the location, but you’ll only be performing once. It’s a sweet deal for both you and your boyfriend.” George didn’t actually know the location, he’d only been told that it was a resort island, but he wanted Keith to take the deal so he omitted that detail.

After thinking for a moment, Keith agreed. “Okay, we’ll do the audition. When is it?”

Smiling, George chose his words carefully to avoid mentioning that he’d already made the appointment, “I was thinking tomorrow afternoon at three. We don’t open the club until four, so you’ll have the main room, no problems.” Keith nodded his agreement, and then turned and left the room, returning to his bartender post. George watched him leave, admiring the kid’s tan, muscular back and long, sun-streaked blond hair. Keith looked every bit the surfer he was, and Jansen looked enough like him to be his twin. They were, as a result, one of the top acts at the club. George didn’t bother asking Jansen’s opinion on the deal; he’d learned from past dealings that Keith always spoke for Jansen on business matters, so George always went directly to Keith.

* * *

Striding towards JT’s front porch, General Bradson half expected an objection, though he had no intention of accepting one should it occur. Without pausing, he bounded up the steps and opened the front door, stepping inside while JT trailed behind.

JT caught up while the general stood in the foyer. Glancing at the decor, seeking but not finding any family photos, General Bradson wondered if his visit was in vain. JT gave the General a withering glare before shouting, “Jane, we’ve got company,” letting his voice drip with contempt as he pronounced the last word.

Jane, a dour looking woman with piercing blue eyes that belied her age, walked into the foyer, wearing an apron over her dress and a confused expression on her face. Giving the General a puzzled look, she waited for an introduction.

After waiting an awkward length of time, JT huffed, “This is General Bradson, he’s from the government, and he barged in insisting on talking to us both without so much as a by-your-leave.”

Used to her husband’s moods and choosing to ignore his present snit, Jane smiled. “Well, General, won’t you have a seat? Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Our goddamn dinner is going cold.” JT grumbled, still glaring at the General while wishing that his wife wasn’t so damnably civil.

“No, it isn’t. It’s still in the stove,” Jane said amiably while ushering General Bradson to an overstuffed recliner.

Taking a seat, the General waited for Jane to also sit down. JT remained standing, so the General turned to face Jane before saying, “Ma’am, thank you for your hospitality. I won’t be long, but there are some things you need to know. As you already know from the press reports, your husband’s former business partner, Jerry Clump, was the ringleader of a plot to blackmail the United States. As such, I think it is safe to say that anything Mr. Clump may have told you is highly suspect. While going over the interview reports, and based on a few things we’ve learned via other sources, I’m here to tell you that he was misleading you. He was using your sons' equipment containers–“

“Our late sons, as far as we’re concerned,” snapped JT.

Giving her husband a withering glare, one not unnoticed by the General, Jane said to her guest, “Please continue, General.”

Nodding, General Bradson picked up as if the interruption had never happened. “Mr. Clump was using your sons' equipment containers to transport the bombs. His main selling point, in order to get that shipping contract, was his connection to the two of you. He promised your sons that he’d try to feel the two of you out and see if there was any hope for at least some communication.”

Jane did not move, and made no effort to reply. Instead, her face, though her expression remained frozen in place, drained of what little color it held. The general glanced down, and noticed that her hands, which had been resting, crossed in her lap, were turning white around her knuckles. For the first time, General Bradson had hope that he wasn’t on a wild goose chase.

A long silence followed, which was finally broken by JT’s harsh words. “If that’s what you came here to say, you’re wasting your time, I’m telling you, they’re dead to–“

“JT, shut up!” Jane snapped in an acid voice, startling everyone in the room, but most especially her husband. She then said in a soft voice, “Are you sure, General? He told us that they wanted nothing to do with us, under any circumstances.”

General Bradson ignored JT’s continued glare and told Jane, “I’m sure, Ma’am. I know your sons and they told me this directly. They don’t know I’m here, by the way, but I did a little digging in your interviews regarding Mr. Clump’s claims, and felt I had to let you know that you’ve been lied to. How you act on that information is up to you, but you have a right to know.”

JT opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again in response to an angry glare from his wife. Ignoring her fuming husband, Jane stood up, and as General Bradson got up from his chair she said in a neutral tone, “Thank you for coming, General. Could you please give me a way to get in touch with you?”

Handing Jane a business card, General Bradson watched as she slipped it into her apron pocket. “Enjoy your supper, Ma’am, and thank you for hearing me out.” With a nod of his head, and a reach through force of long habit for a cap that no longer sat on his head and never would again, General Bradson walked towards the door. JT, still seething, wordlessly opened it and stood aside.

The General descended the porch steps and walked towards his car when the sound of the door slamming behind him, followed by footsteps clanking on the wooden porch, let him know that the encounter was not at an end. Coming to a halt, he turned around to see JT rushing down the steps. JT came to a halt and said, a little too loudly, “How dare you intrude on a private matter. Isn’t it enough that I have to know what my son turned into without being reminded of it by government busybodies? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be ashamed of your own sons? I don’t need you or your ilk reminding me of it! I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again, now get your officious ass off my goddamn land!”

His own temper starting to simmer, General Bradson replied in an even voice, “I was leaving until you came out for this conversation, but since you bring up the subject, no, I don’t know what it’s like to be ashamed of my own son. I have one son, and he happens to be gay–“

“So that’s why you’re a pansy-lover,” JT snarled, edging closer, not recognizing the changes in the General’s demeanor.

For a few lingering seconds, only the sound of the wind intruded upon the silence. Edging forward, General Bradson glared into JT’s eyes. His voice dropped a level, to a low and dangerous tone which if anything understated his rage. “My son was serving his country, fighting to give even scum like you the right to say what you just did.”

Standing his ground, JT said in a tone dripping with mock sympathy, “It must be difficult for a man of your high and mighty rank to have a son like that.”

The remaining though fast-ebbing logical portion of General Bradson’s mind made one last futile interjection; the thought that confrontation would hinder the cause for which he’d traveled so far. Rage, though, won the mental battle. The pain was still too fresh, the sense of loss too new to long allow for rational thought, and the General reached out, seizing JT by the collar. Exerting just a small amount of physical force which stood in stark contrast to fury in his eyes, General Bradson lowered his voice to a deadly near-whisper, “You may do many things, JT,” the General said, using the man’s given name in contempt, “but you will not, not now and not ever, insult my son. I’ve killed better men than you, and if you ever insult my son again…” The General’s words trailed off as reason renewed its influence as the vented rage subsided. Releasing JT, the General spun on his heel and stalked to his car.

JT stood motionless, his lower lip quivering in time to his pounding heart. The General’s words were not what had so shaken him; it was the man’s eyes. Looking into them, he’d seen rage, though to that he was at least somewhat accustomed. It was the other thing that he had seen in those two burning spheres which instilled in him a deep and abiding fear: he’d seen Death itself, undiluted.

* * *

Alone in his suite, Eric tapped furiously at the computer’s keys late into the night, searching for a small and secluded resort in Isla De La Palma. He bookmarked a few candidates, wishing yet again that he was not tied down by the studio schedule. Looking at the web pages, he knew that they were a poor means of selecting a location; going in person would be so much better.

Using a travel agent was one option, but a few phone calls had failed to turn up one that had actually been to the island, let alone someone intimately familiar with the various accommodations and facilities. Instinct’s people usually handled such details, but Eric was unaware that Helen knew of his island plans. However, he did know that Instinct’s staff would keep Helen fully informed, so he’d decided to handle it himself, vastly underestimating the difficulty of the task. Eric rocked back in his chair, staring at the screen, hoping that inspiration would strike. No ideas came to mind, so he resumed making notes about the various resorts he’d found and then picked up the phone and began making calls.

Two hours latter, Eric sat back in his chair, glancing at his notes. He still felt like he was operating in the dark. There just wasn’t, he decided, a good substitute for checking a place out in person, not for something as critical as a stag party.

With that in mind, he checked the recording schedule and found a possible hole; for two days it looked like his bass could be mixed in from pre-recorded tracks. Eric didn’t like the idea on some levels; he knew he’d have to find a way to lay down those tracks in secret, and then find some excuse for disappearing for two days. As he pondered the decision a new thought occurred; an idea that would solve at least some of his concerns. A slow and satisfied smile played across his face as he considered it, ‘Yeah, that just might work,’ he thought.

* * *

Sitting in her lavish office at her imposing oversized desk, Helen sorted through her waiting e-mail. Finding the one from Jim, she read it with a mixture of disappointment and relief. She had known all along that he wasn’t cut out for head of security, but she’d been over-ruled by Instinct, and out of gratitude more than merit they had given him the additional job. Jim was ideal in his original role, but his lack of skill in the essential tasks such as coordinating with local security providers had been instantly apparent. Finally settling upon relief as her primary emotion, Helen feigned regret as she replied and assured Jim that his old job as head of informal security was his for as long as he wanted it.

That left Helen with a problem; Instinct needed a new head of security: someone with good management skills, but also themselves skilled at providing protection. Such people, she knew, were few and far between. She steeled herself for a long and tiring search, resolving to find the very best.

* * *

The mileposts clicked by, one after the other, as General Bradson drove south through Utah. The scenery along Interstate 15 was spectacular, but the General paid it no heed. His mind was awash with recriminations, mainly at himself for losing his temper, and also, cutting deeper still, for all the things he’d never told his son and now might never have the chance.

The knock on his door had come just one week before. He’d answered it, to find a nervous young captain, plainly anxious to be anywhere else. General Bradson had known, in that moment, that something was badly wrong. The captain had taken several minutes to utter the words ‘missing in action’ and reveal that he knew nothing more. With that phrase, the General had found himself in a situation he’d long feared, as any father might. A few phone calls to pull a few strings and call in a few favors had garnered him a folder, and with it came a bitter understanding. His son had been on a reconnaissance mission. That much was obvious; the rest had required considerable digging.

The official stonewalling from Washington did not fit with a conventional mission, and the folder confirmed the General’s suspicions; his son had been sent on a scouting mission to an oil platform at the head of the Persian Gulf, in an area disputed by Kuwait and Iran. There, something, no one was fully sure what, had gone badly wrong. A sudden firefight had broken out in the early hours of the morning, and the five-man recon squad had been forced to separate. Three men had made it back across the border in their inflatable launch; two were missing, and one of them was the general’s son, Brian. The Iranians would not confirm his death or capture; they were far more interested in wringing an admission of responsibility – and thus a de facto acknowledgement of their sovereignty in the disputed area – for the alleged incursion, plus a few purely imaginary incidents, out of Washington. Washington, for its part, seemed to be dragging its feet and doing what it did best: nothing.

The endless waiting was driving him crazy. Eager for any respite, General Bradson had decided to take a drive to Idaho. Something, anything, to keep busy. However, in that empty vehicle under the lonely Utah sky, he had to admit to himself that he may have made the situation in Idaho worse, and his own mind was far from clear. Every passing minute with no resolution put his son’s life in greater danger and time, he knew, was running out. With that thought came others, and a rudimentary idea, born of desperation, began to take form. The General’s career was over, but he still had many friends and connections. He didn’t know if they would be enough, but he would soon find out.

With his newly conceived plans in the back of his mind, he returned his thoughts to the here and now; he had to let Helen and Instinct know what had happened in Idaho. He reached for his phone, and then paused, deciding that some things are best done in person.

By noon the following day, after an uncomfortable and noisy overnight stay in Mesquite, Nevada, General Bradson arrived at Helen’s office, and asked the receptionist if he could speak with her. The receptionist eased back her horn-rimed glasses and stared at the General, scowling slightly. He wasn’t on the list so she almost refused, but a memory of him appearing with Instinct at a press conference prompted a partial change of heart. A quick check with Helen on the intercom led to a sudden change of demeanor and the receptionist said with a warm smile, “Go right in, sir.”

Helen stood up at her desk as her guest walked in. “Well, hello, General. This is a pleasant surprise,” she said, meaning every word. She knew of his sudden retirement, and had guessed the reason why; he’d made the right choices, and in doing so had somehow trodden on a few toes. A few reports in the press had confirmed those suspicions.

“Please, call me Walter. I’m retired now,” the General said with a smile as he took the proffered seat.

“You’ll always be a general to me,” Helen replied sincerely. She held the man in high esteem, and with that thought came another. “How are you doing, General? Is retirement treating you well?”

General Bradson leaned back in his chair. “Well enough, I suppose. However, I needed to see you. I’ll be blunt; I’m a meddlesome cuss at times, and I stuck my nose in where it had no business being. I read in some of the interview reports that the Carlisle boys’ parents had been misled, and I figured I’d do a good deed and straighten them out, let ‘em know that their sons were open to burying the hatchet. I’m sorry to say that it didn’t go well. Their father is one ornery, mule-headed son of a bitch, and he succeeded in getting my temper riled. I blew up at him and probably made things worse. I’m deeply sorry, Helen, I really am.”

“I’ve met him a few times, when the band was starting out,” Helen said, surprised but not displeased by the revelations. “I’ve had little hope that they’d come around. Maybe the mother, but from what I recall he keeps her pretty well under his thumb.”

Shaking his head, the General replied, “That wasn’t my impression. At one point, she looked as if she was considering handing him his head. She also asked for my card. If there’s any hope at all – it’s with her, but don’t hold your breath.”

Drumming her fingers on her desk, Helen thought for a moment before replying with a shrug, “The boys and I have pretty much given up hope when it comes to those two. You didn’t hurt a thing, General, and I thank you for trying.” With that matter taken care of, Helen resumed her original, purposeful tack, “So tell me, General, how is retirement? I’m sure a man like you could have a job most anywhere for the asking. Are you looking, or are you pursuing other interests, such as golf?” Helen appeared to be casually interested, but she watched intently for the General’s reaction.

With a sigh and a shrug, General Bradson answered, “I’m doing okay, I suppose. I’m still at loose ends; I don’t want a corporate job where I’m there due to my title and not what I can do. I’m getting by on my retirement pay and savings so there’s no urgency, but I suppose I’ll have to start shopping around sooner or later.”

Smiling, Helen nodded. “Actually, General, I have a reason for asking. Instinct needs a new Security Chief. The hours can be long while we’re on tour, but it’s a varied and challenging job. With your knowledge, experience, and contacts, I feel you’d be a perfect fit. You’ve been involved with us enough to have a good idea of what it entails, except for the pay.” Helen scrawled a number on her memo pad, and with a flourish she tore the top sheet off and handed it to the General. She then added, “Of course, any offers I make must be approved by the band, but I doubt that will be an issue in your case.”

Eyeing the number, and regretting that he could not accept, General Bradson nodded approvingly. “This is quite generous, and it’s a job I would enjoy. I’m afraid I must decline. I have a few things that I need to do. If the job is still open when I’m done, I’d love to apply, but that may be months down the road.” Seeking to change the subject and avoid any awkward questions, he asked, “So how is America’s most famous gay couple doing? Coming out and announcing their engagement on live national TV was one hell of a gutsy move.”

Picking up on the attempted redirection, Helen replied, “Brandon and Chase are doing fine. So far so good on the reactions; our sales and bookings are holding. I think we’ll be okay. I hope you and your son will be able to attend their wedding, you are both very much invited.” Helen’s keen eye noticed the General flinch, almost imperceptibly, and the only thing she could think, based on what she’d asked and the timing of the General’s reaction, was that it had something to do with his son. With genuine concern, she asked, “How is your son, General? Well, I hope?”

General Bradson froze for a moment. He had many professional acquaintances, but no close friends, not since the end of his career. He very much felt the need to have a friendly ear, someone who could understand some of what he was going through. He also felt he owed Helen a better explanation than the one he’d given. Taking a deep breath, the General made his decision and said, “This isn’t public knowledge and must remain that way, but that’s why I had to decline your offer. Brian’s been captured…” With evident concern, the General told Helen what little he knew but did not share his tentative plans.

With genuine sympathy, Helen asked, “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Nodding, the General replied, “There might be. At some point, I might need some press attention. I think I can generate it myself if needed but if not, a word from you or Instinct might save the day. I can’t say more, I’m sorry.”

“You can count on us, General. As for the job, I’ll need to talk with the boys, but I can probably hold it open.”

Rising to his feet, General Bradson smiled as he gave the offer serious thought. He was well aware that if he did find it necessary to take action to save his son, there was the possibility he might well be unable to accept due to being incarcerated. However, the prospect appealed to him. He knew he couldn’t explain why he might not be able to fill the position, so he replied, “In that case, I’ll gratefully accept, with the provision that you can change your minds at any time with no hard feelings on my part. Thank you Helen, and I’m sorry things didn’t work out better in Idaho.”

Dismissing the General’s concern with a friendly wave of her hand, though suddenly realizing that he’d traveled all the way to Idaho to make the attempt, Helen said, “Thank you for trying. Please keep us posted, as much as you can, about your son.”

* * *

Eric walked through the connecting door to Brandon and Chase’s suite, finding the room empty. He glanced to his left, finding the bedroom door open and that room similarly unoccupied. A soft mutter of conversation caught his ear, and Eric turned towards the balcony door. Taking a few steps forward, he heard the whirr of the hot tub and grinned as he pulled the sliding glass door open and bounded out into the glaring sun.

Spying Brandon and Chase sitting on one side of the tub, Eric kicked off his shoes, fished out his wallet from his shorts pocket, and tossed it on a table. Grinning at Brandon and Chase, he eased himself into the hot, swirling waters and then asked with a smirk, “Mind if I join you?”

Brandon leaned back and laughed. “I think you’re supposed to ask that before you get in,” he said, while Chase gave a laugh of his own and splashed some water in his brother’s general direction. Brandon looked at Eric and asked, “So what’s up, bro? You’re lucky we’re not naked in here.”

Shrugging, Eric replied with a chuckle, “I figured you probably were, but why would I care? Anyway, just wanted to come over and soak a while.” That much was true enough, but Eric had additional subjects in mind and asked, “So what’s the big secret of how you two got engaged? Every time I ask, you both keep changing the subject.”

“Damn, sure is strange weather we’re having,” Chase said deadpan, launching into a game they both had come to love.

Nodding solemnly, Brandon replied with a straight face, “Yeah, maybe it’s earthquake weather?”

Letting out a disgruntled snort, Eric slid a little deeper into the water as he said, “Come on, just tell me. You know this is driving me fucking nuts…”

“We know,” Brandon and Chase replied in perfect unison, struggling unsuccessfully to avoid cracking up. Chase then added with a pointed glare, though his smile belied his serious tone, “Maybe we can make a deal. Tell us what you’re plotting for our party and wedding.” Chase was under no illusions that Eric would be forthcoming, but yanking his brother’s chain was reason enough.

“What, me, plot? Would I ever do such a thing as that?” Eric asked, with an angelic look on his face which earned him a cascade of water from Brandon and Chase.

Looking at his brother, and knowing all too well that Eric was up to something, Chase replied, “Yeah you would, you always do. So if you want to know about us, spill it bro, what are you planning?”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Eric gave in, just a little. “Okay, damn it, even though I think it’s fucking perverted, you guys are getting a joint stag party. Helen read me the riot act about it, so I have to keep it sane,” Eric said with a disgusted and heartfelt expression. “Yeah, it will be a party, I guess, but nothing crazy.”

Arching an eyebrow in his boyfriend’s direction, Brandon received a reluctant nod. “Chase and I got engaged about a week after the attack on us back in Telluride,” Brandon said, pretending that he’d answered the question.

Sending a splash of water in Brandon’s direction, Eric grumped, “I know that, what I want to know is what happened?” Brandon and Chase’s laughter indicated that they were just winding him up, so Eric grabbed Chase’s foot and said with a wicked grin, “Too bad you’re so ticklish.”

Chase giggled as Eric began to tickle his foot. Leaping to his boyfriend’s defense with a laugh and a roar, Brandon dived at Eric as the water-wrestling match launched into full gear. Outnumbered, Eric soon found himself pinned in Brandon’s strong arms while Chase turned the tables and grabbed Eric’s foot.

“Okay, Okay, I give. Come on guys, just tell me, please?” Eric said as he relaxed into Brandon’s grip.

Letting Eric go and resuming his place beside Chase, Brandon glanced at his boyfriend and asked, “Think he’s suffered enough?”

Shaking his head, Chase replied, “No, but we might as well tell him or he’ll just keep bugging us.” Brandon nodded, so Chase gave Eric a grin and said, “We were in the kitchen. We were still pretty shell-shocked from everything that had happened. I was making a sandwich, thinking how close we’d all come to dying. It’s a miracle we all survived. I decided that you never know how much time you have, so why not make the most of it. That’s when I popped the question.”

Brandon gave a short laugh and added, “You left off the best part.”

Blushing slightly, Chase continued, “I was done spreading the mayonnaise on the sandwich, so I asked Brand, ‘Pass me the mustard, let’s get married, and pass me the bologna too.’

Eric stared in silence for a moment, his jaw dropping open and then closing again. Finally he reared back, wracked by gales of laughter. Moments later, clutching his aching side, Eric gasped, “No fucking way. If it was anybody else, I’d say you were shitting me. Dude, that’s got to be the weirdest proposal ever!”

“I was halfway through handing him the bologna when I realized what he’d just asked,” Brandon said with a laugh of his own. “I dropped it all over the floor. I stared at Chase, not sure I’d heard right, until I looked in his eyes. I knew, right then, that there could only be one answer.”

“Yeah, he said, ‘I dropped the bologna’,” Chase quipped before cracking up.

* * *

Grinning, Brandon nodded his head, “Yeah I did, and then I said ‘Yes!’ So that’s how we got engaged. Happy now?”

Still wracked by laughter, Eric gasped, “Dudes, that’s just perfect. You know I’ve got to tell Jon and Helen, right?”

Chase shook his head, “Not much point, they already know. We were all just enjoying your curiosity too much to tell ya.”

“Assholes,” Eric wheezed, knowing that he’d been had. “You got me.” Glancing at his watch, Eric rushed to climb out of the hot tub. “I gotta go get changed, I’ve got an appointment. Thanks for finally telling me.” Trailing water, Eric grabbed his shoes and wallet and dashed into the suite.

Chase returned his arm to its place across Brandon’s shoulders and asked, “Do you believe him, about keeping the party sane?”

“Nope. Do you?” Brandon asked, snuggling against Chase’s side.

Chase had no doubt that his brother’s heart was in the right place. He also had no doubts when it came to Eric’s utter love of mischief. “Hell no,” Chase replied, leaning in to kiss Brandon.