#83
It was 45 minutes, before the all black Yukon with the tinted windows pulled into the parking lot and went cruising down the rows looking for the tall blond Marshall with the broken down trailer. The Yukon and the unhappy lot patrolman arrived at the same time.
The old retired patrolman was using his best authoritative voice, " I have a complaint of someone in this outfit showing a weapon for intimidation purposes," he said pompously. "No weapons allowed on these premises. You'll have to surrender your weapon," he stared hard at Mark. "We don't allow that kind of behavior here." The man was going to say more, when he observed the entourage walking toward him, cowboy hats and jackets flapping over holstered weapons. He shut up.
Bert Beltran was all business as he spoke low to the lot patrol, and the man folded up his bravado and quietly walked away. "Linderman..." Bert stuck out his hand for a shake, "I want you to know you have been exonerated, reinstated and awarded back pay. Now come help us deal with a certain prince that insists he be allowed to deal with you. How in the world did you get mixed up with such royalty anyhow?"
"You're late," Mark growled right back. "I haven't made up my mind to rejoin the Marshall's Service, and how I know the prince is none of your damn business." It was short and sweet, right to the point.
"I told Hugh that this wouldn't work," Bert addressed the street lamp off to his left, in a low voice. "Hugh McBain,.....this is Mark Linderman," Bert said in a louder voice, drawing the small group of Marshall's standing about 10 feet away, into close proximity to Mark.
Mark had seen McBain before on one of his early visits to headquarters. The deeply tanned and snow white headed officer had a good reputation; but after Mark's shabby treatment at the hands of the service, Mark wasn't impressed and his stiff "hello" alerted the commander that he had a large job in front of him.
"Linderman," the pleasant Texas drawl was meant to be friendly and draw the other officer into a almost private conversation.
"Commander McBain," Mark was giving no ground with his clipped greeting. Mark's stiff, ramrod straight stance and flat, dead on stare told everyone he wasn't happy.
Hugh McBain read the situation correctly, he would have been blind to have missed the radiating anger Mark was projecting. "Sir," McBain used his smoothest voice, "may I speak with you for a few minutes; the crew here will stand guard on your valuables while we go to the restaurant."
Mark gave a short nod and looked over to where Karl was standing. "I vill stays," the handyman assured his boss. Karl would have liked very much to attend the meeting, but this was not the time or the place.
Mark walked silently and rapidly to the restaurant, pausing only long enough to hold the door open in deference to his boss and his commander's status.
Seated with coffee, Hugh watched the man who had been a good Marshall. "I suspect you have some questions?" the experienced lawman spoke only after the waitress left.
"Questions needing honest answers. The first time I hear a bunch of double talk and BS, I'm gone." Mark hadn't let go of his mad.
Bert was biting his lip and watching his boss out of the corner of his eye. Not many people spoke that way to McBain and remained employed.
"Why did TJ consistently give me bad reviews?" Mark went right for the hard questions. "Why was his poor ratings of me allowed to stand without being reviewed by a higher authority?"
"TJ was a double and triple agent," McBain looked Mark in the eye. "We have discovered he had ties to the agency your Father worked for, and also a certain undesirable element headed by your brothers and Uncle."
Mark sat back, silent and digesting that bit of information. "I'm assuming you investigated me enough to know that I did not meet my real Father until a short time ago, and my brothers until this fall." he finally said.
McBain nodded in affirmative. "I've got to hand it to Wilson Donaldson. He crafted a web of deceit around you and your Father that we have had a difficult time unraveling. When you applied and joined the Service, we were told to keep you busy but not to allow you any jobs that might interfere with 'shadow agency' business. They wanted you under control." McBain's light blue eyes stared straight into Mark's stormy eyes.
"I'm afraid," he sighed, "that we were all hoodwinked by your charming friend TJ. It seems nothing he did was without an ulterior motive. He played the ends against the middle and the ends against themselves." Hugh paused to take a sip of coffee. Linderman looked terrible. Gaunt and still sickly looking from his radiation exposure, the man was filled with righteous anger, and rightly so.
"Had we not been instructed to keep you under control, we would have never allowed TJ to turn in such false reports. Both Wilson and Wade routinely sent us false reports on you, your political leanings and the bollixed up mess that your Father in law caused. Pete Hanson had been branded a traitor, a terrorist and ruthless. We were all stunned when you found the gold and promptly divided it as it should have been distributed. That sent Bert looking for other instances when you had been maligned. He found plenty of times that you had followed the law to the letter, and TJ had reported it as his victory, dismissing your involvement. I can only say we are sorry and offer you my hand in apology." Hugh stuck out his right hand, and waited, his eyes never leaving Mark's face.
Mark reached up and grasped the tough as leather hand of his superior. The hand shake was rock solid and the same as an oath between the two men. Bert stuck out his hand and Mark grasped it in the same manner. "Do you know that TJ left a stoolie in the Marshall's Service that even tried to take credit when you returned the jeweled eye to the old Asian religious leader.? He obviously forgot that there was a picture of you in the paper," Bert humorously said. "We busted him immediately."
"I don't believe anyone has given you their thanks for averting the invasion," McBain said quietly, "But I am giving you mine. We actually didn't know you were the famous 'sandbox sniper' until a gunnery Sargent let it slip."
The side of Mark's mouth quirked at the mention of Scotty. "He never could keep his mouth shut," he told McBain.
"If we had the funds," Hugh took another sip of coffee, "I would retro grade your pay back to the time you should have been promoted. But we don't and I'm sorry for that." he explained tiredly. "we do have a looming problem that we need your help to soothe over. There is a prince demanding to talk with you, and frankly we would like to know why."
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