The Final Day (After, #3)(100)

Scales stood in place, not coming forward, John falling in by his side.

A few more steps and Bentley showed just enough restraint not to send the man he was hanging on to sprawling to the pavement, but he did shove him forward so he nearly lost his balance.

His dignity obviously insulted, the pudgy-featured man drew himself up, tucked his shirt back in—which had been disheveled by Bentley’s rough handling—looked down at his left sleeve, which was splattered with blood, and shot an angry glance at Bentley, who remained by his side.

The medic was already up by Bentley’s side.

“It can wait,” Bentley snapped. The medic looked over at the civilian.

“That’s my blood on him,” the sergeant said sharply.

“Just who the hell are you?” the civilian cried, voice a bit quivery, but Scales ignored him.

“Sergeant Major Bentley, are you hit?”

“I’ll be all right, sir; it can wait.”

Scales glanced to the medic.

“Don’t see anything arterial, sir; I guess it can wait a few minutes.”

“Fine, then.”

The civilian cleared his throat to try to interrupt, but Scales continued to ignore him.

“Report, Sergeant—what was that shooting about?”

“This man here had a bodyguard who decided to take issue with my presence. He fired first.”

There was a pause.

“So I killed him.”

He said so as if it were just a typical day’s work, and Scales nodded.

“A lot of others around—you’ll see in a minute. I had to aim for the center of his body. Didn’t want any stray shots to get someone else.”

“He murdered my man—”

Again Scales cut him off. “Let the medic tend to your wound, Sergeant, and thank God you are safe.” At last, he turned back to the civilian. “You are damn lucky my sergeant was able to walk back; otherwise, it would have gone very badly for you and a lot of others. Do you read me?”

That caught the man off guard.

“Now you can talk. Who are you, and what is your position?” As he spoke, he took a step forward, hands balled up and resting on his hips. John had seen this more than once when his friend wished to convey a very strong “don’t mess with me” attitude.

The civilian nervously cleared his throat. “I’m Richard Pelligrino, head administrator of this facility.”

“And this facility is…?”

“Site R.”

“I already know that,” Bob snapped. “What is it now?”

Pelligrino hesitated, looking around at all those who were gazing at him. “Who the hell are you to come barging in here like this, slaughtering my security team?”

“You are answering the questions, not I, and you’d better answer me now, Mr. Pelligrino. I’ve got over two hundred troopers outside who are very pissed off. I’ve got a full battalion airlifting here within the hour. I have the assets. Maybe you know who I am, my command, and what I can bring to bear. Do you realize that, Mr. Pelligrino?”

Pelligrino’s gaze drifted to Scales’s name tag. He hesitated and then looked back up at him. “Why are you here? This position is not part of your command.”

“It is part of my command now and you are answering the questions. Therefore, my question. Who are you, and why are you here?” His voice rose as he snapped out the last few words.

“Like I said—” he began.

“‘Like I said, sir,’” Sergeant Bentley interjected sharply, still standing by Pelligrino’s side while a medic was cutting open his sleeve to examine his wound.

Pelligrino cast a sidelong glance at the sergeant, who was still holding on to his .45 with his good hand and then back to Scales. “Like I said”—he paused for a few seconds—“sir. I am the head administrator for Site R.”

“And Site R is…?”

Pelligrino hesitated, which provoked Sergeant Bentley to pivot slightly. The .45 was still down at his side, but the threat was apparent.

“Answer General Scales completely,” Bentley directed, articulating each word slowly and clearly. “We already know this is Site R. What is this place for now, today, Mr. Pelligrino? And no more game playing.”

“It is a designated civilian emergency relocation center,” Pelligrino finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper as if conveying a great secret.

“Sir,” Bentley again interjected.

“Sir,” Pelligrino whispered, head slightly lowered.

“Then let’s take a look at this emergency relocation center, shall we?”

“You can’t!” Pelligrino cried. “This facility has the highest level of security requirements, which I doubt you are qualified for. I am ordering you to turn around, leave now, and we can just call what happened a tragic mistake that I won’t report.”

Bob looked at him with absolute contempt. “My security clearances existed long before you most likely crawled out of your frat house at some Ivy League hole. I’ve put up with shits like you for over forty years, but not this day. If you want to debate it further, look around you. These men with me have as much security clearance as I do after the hell they’ve been through for the last two and a half years and every right to see what is down at the end of that road.”