Peacekeepers (3 page)

* * * * *

Guido called me. I called Colonel Lopez. Lopez called his CIA pals, who passed Guido’s news on to the Director of the CIA. The director took the matter to the President. For once, shit rolled uphill.

“Mr. President, are you still joining Mr. Steinbrenner for tonight’s game?” asked the CIA Director.

“Yes,” said President Miller. “We will be cheering the Yankees from the owner’s box suite. Finally I get to have some fun in this thankless job.”

“We have a situation on the New Colorado Frontier,” advised the director. “We need an East Coast fix on tonight’s game. For national security reasons the Yankees must lose to the Angels.”

“You have some explaining to do mister,” replied the President. “Steinbrenner is not going to be happy.”

* * * * *

“What!” shouted Steinbrenner. “Throw the game? This isn’t Chicago or Boston. I
own
the Yankees. We wear pinstripes. That means something. It means we are a cut above the rest of that rabble. You expect me to lower myself to the level of those gutter-dwelling gambling scum that live on the fringes of society in the cheap seats? The Yankees have been owned by my family for generations! I’ll tell you what. I’m voting Democrat in the next election! And you can forget about any campaign contributions, too!”

“Vote Democrat?” asked the President, horrified. “You wouldn’t.”

“What do I care about nukes out on New Colorado?’ asked Steinbrenner. “Do they have a baseball team? No! The spiders and scorpions can both blow themselves up, for all I care. This is a matter of the integrity of the game. I will not soil the Yankees by throwing a game.”

“You have no choice,” said the CIA Director. “For national security reasons, we can order you to throw the game. Bad things will happen if you don’t.”

“What does he mean by that?” asked Steinbrenner. “Oh, never mind. I get the picture. You can call off your attack dog. I’ll call Coach Wolke, but he’s not going to take this well.”

Steinbrenner went down the clubhouse to talk personally with Coach Wolke. President Miller settled into his chair in the owner’s box. He gave a nod to one of the secret service agents, who immediately passed on a coded message. “PODUS says tonight will be a heavenly night,” whispered the agent into his headset. “There are Angels in the outfield. Go all in.” A bookie at the other end recorded and placed the wagers.

* * * * *

Interest and gambling on tonight’s Yankees-Angels baseball game was unusually high. Guido set up a big-screen TV at the border so guards still on duty from both sides could watch. Colonel Lopez was up, and wheel chaired to where he could see the game on a big screen, too. Even the Spider Commander had canceled his original bet on the Yankees and was all-in on the Angels. Rumors get around. The only one who didn’t have a clue was Mountain Storm. He monitored the game intently from his hilltop stronghold, wearing a Yankees hoodie sweatshirt.

In a surprise move, Yankees Coach Wolke started a rookie pitcher, Mickey Cruz, who had only seen limited action in the bullpen. Coach Don Wolke, a genius at evaluating and developing new talent, must have seen something special in Cruz. The kid pitched no-hit ball for the first five innings before leaving the game with a pulled muscle. Cruz gamely argued he could continue, but according to Coach Wolke, it would have been foolish to risk aggravating an injury for such a bright pitching prospect. Coach Wolke masterfully brought in seven pitchers, all throwing no-hit ball, giving the Yankees to a 2-0 lead into the ninth inning. Coach Wolke gathered his players for a pep talk and final secret instructions. They charged confidently out onto the field. However, in a total meltdown of concentration, the Yankees committed five errors in the top of the ninth to lose the game in a heartbreaking 3-2 decision.

* * * * *

Guido took possession of the four cruise missiles and the tactical nuke. Mountain Storm was visibly shaken by the loss. Guido tried to comfort him. “Better luck next time,” advised Guido. “You gave it your best shot. The Yankees should have won that game. It’s just not fair.”

“Life is not fair,” cried Mountain Storm, still not believing his beloved Yankees’ meltdown. “You’re exactly right,” said Guido. “If life was fair, Elvis would still be alive, and all those impersonators would be dead.” “Who?” asked Mountain Storm. “Guido, I need a big favor. I’m in a real bind.” “Sorry, but I can’t extend you any more credit,” said Guido. “You don’t have any more nukes do you?” “You do not need to know that,” replied Mountain Storm. “What I need is for the Legion to bomb my base up in the hills. I have one cruise missile left. I will set it up and let you bomb it. Then I will spread the debris around to make it look like the Legion destroyed all five of my missiles. Don’t worry, I will have all my militia safely out before the attack.”

“I don’t get it,” said Guido.

“I need to cover up my gambling loses,” explained Mountain Storm. “If the Empire finds out what I did, they will not give me any more missiles. In fact, they will probably kill me.”

“Because you are a friend, I will help you,” said Guido. “I will call in an air strike from the Space Weapons Platform T. Roosevelt. You have one day to clear out.”

“Thank you, Guido,” said Mountain Storm. “You are a real pal.”

“Yeah that’s me,” said Guido. “Remember, in the future, gamble responsibly.”

* * * * *

AP News Release:

Captain Joey R. Czerinski, spokesperson for the USGF Foreign Legion in Scorpion City, Planet of New Colorado, announced that last night Legion air strikes hit a terrorist training camp run by the notorious militia leader Mountain Storm. Using advanced satellite surveillance, the Legion spotted five cruise missiles about to be launched from the hilltop terrorist stronghold. The Space Weapons Platform T. Roosevelt dropped numerous large smart bombs on the terrorists, destroying all five cruise missiles and inflicting heavy casualties. The attack was in accordance with Legion policy to attack terrorists wherever and whenever they may be found. Mountain Storm is believed responsible for last week’s attack on Walmart. The Legion has already contacted Arthropodan authorities, demanding the arrest and extradition of Mountain Storm. The local Arthropodan military commander issued a curt formal protest, accusing the Legion of adventurism and of violating the Empire’s territorial sovereignty. The spider commander also questioned whether legionnaires should be used as peacekeepers.

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Chapter 4

My day started out good. When I opened my email, I found I had been awarded a Presidential Citation for my peacekeeping work out on the Frontier. Another Legion Medal of Merit would be arriving in the mail, too. I was able to savor the good news for about an hour before bad news plopped itself at my Legion Headquarters doorstep.

“There are two investigators from the USGF Attorney General’s Office here to see you,” advised Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne. The big spider legionnaire seemed unusually cheerful. That was always a bad sign because Wayne was only happy when there was killing to be done. I suspected he had alien issues our psych people couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with.

“The Attorney General’s Office?” I asked. “What do they want?”

“I think you did not pay your taxes,” advised Corporal Wayne. “I overheard them talking about Leavenworth Prison being full of tax evaders and perverts like you.”

“This is not good,” I said. “The IRS is like the Mafia. They think they can take whatever they want. Can you kill them for me? I’ll promote you to sergeant.”

“Yes, sir,” said Corporal Wayne, drawing his large jagged combat knife. “Do you want it done slow and painful, or quick and merciful?”

“I was just joking,” I said. “I think. We’ll talk later.” “I was kidding, too,” said Corporal Wayne, disappointed. “I didn’t think spiders joked,” I commented. “This one does,” said Corporal Wayne. “It just goes to show I have been around you human pestilence way too long. Have you approved my vacation leave yet?”

“No,” I answered. “Tell the Feds I am out of my office on top-secret field maneuvers, and can’t be reached for days.” “I already told them you were here,” explained Corporal Wayne. “Sorry, sir.” “Spider snitch,” I grumbled. “You can be replaced.” “Good,” said Corporal Wayne, as he opened the door for the Feds. “I do not like it here in Scorpion City surrounded by all those slithering scorpions. Did you know they are cannibals?” Wayne turned back before exiting and hissed, “Your visitors are waiting. Are you sure you do not want me to kill them?”

I motioned Wayne out the door. A moment later the two investigators bustled in. “Captain Czerinski,” said the taller one. “I am Special Agent Morrison, and this is Special Agent Smith. We are here at the behest of a special prosecutor investigating whether President Miller conspired to fix a Yankees baseball game. Impeachment proceedings are imminent.”

“The President is not a crook,” I said. “What are you, Democrats?”

“The President denies the accusations,” advised Agent Morrison. “But mounting evidence indicates otherwise. We have information the conspiracy has its roots right here on New Colorado. Do you have any knowledge of this?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Captain Czerinski, withholding information or lying to federal agents constitutes obstruction of justice, and is a felony,” warned Agent Morrison. “Do not try our patience.”

“There are national security issues involved,” I argued. “Lives could be at risk.”

“Substantial wagers were placed on the California Kingdom Angels to beat the New York Yankees, and there is evidence the game was fixed,” stated Agent Smith, slamming his fist on my desk. “That constitutes criminal conspiracy at the highest level, not national security. Did you bet on the Yankees-Angels game, too?”

“Gambling information is kept confidential here on New Colorado,” I replied.

“Do you want to go to jail for obstruction of justice?” threatened Agent Morrison. “We have information indicating you have made a lot of large financial transactions recently.”

“You have been snooping into my finances?” I asked. “Did you get a search warrant?”

“A certain ATM tipped us off,” answered Agent Smith. “We don’t need a search warrant. ATMs are duty-bound to report suspicious criminal activity. We have probable cause to arrest you right now, but we have much bigger fish to fry. Come clean, or you will go to jail for years!”

“Are you offering me a deal?” I asked.

“Do you need a deal?” asked Agent Morrison. “Are you feeling guilty about something in particular? What do you know of wagering on fixed sporting events? How many times has this happened?”

“I think I should talk to an attorney before continuing this conversation.”

“You do not need a lawyer,” advised Agent Morrison. “All we want you to do is to tell us your side of the story. This is your opportunity to say what you are going to tell the judge anyway. Otherwise, we will have no choice but to arrest you, based on the statements of the others in the conspiracy.”

“Judge?” I asked. “Others? You are not hauling me before any judge. I want to exercise my right to remain silent.”

“You are under arrest for obstruction of justice,” advised Agent Morrison, reaching for handcuffs.

“I don’t think so,” I responded, pressing a button under my desk. Corporal Wayne and a squad of armed legionnaires burst into the room, pointing assault rifles.

“Arrest these two for being undesirables on New Colorado,” I ordered, “and for disturbing my peace. Lock them up in the dungeon downstairs!”

“What if they resist arrest?” asked Corporal Wayne.

“Shoot them if they so much as twitch in the wrong direction.”

“You can’t do this!” yelled Agent Morrison. “How dare you obstruct a federal investigation? I will see you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law!”

“You have no authority to arrest us,” added Agent Smith. “This is an outrage. You don’t know who you are dealing with!”

“I have the authority as Regional Commander of Peacekeepers to arrest anyone who is a menace to local, world, or galactic peace,” I said. “That means you.”

“You are violating the Constitution!” said Agent Morrison. “Separation of powers!” “Now you are lawyers?” I scoffed. “You know colonial law rules here on New Colorado.” “Federal law preempts colonial law,” argued Agent Morrison, as Corporal Wayne gave him a shove. “You will not get away with this!” “Scorpion City is a semi autonomous region,” I added. “But you can talk to the judge about the intricacies of local law when he gets back from vacation.”

“When will that be?” demanded Agent Morrison.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “He hasn’t left yet.”

“You all are in big trouble!” exclaimed Agent Morrison, as Corporal Wayne led them downstairs. “I hope you know you can be prosecuted for following illegal orders. Captain Czerinski must be insane to think he can get away with this.”

“Captain Czerinski is a paragon of sanity in an insane galaxy,” advised Corporal Wayne. “And he has release papers to prove it.”

“If that’s true, then the galaxy is in big trouble!” said Agent Morrison. “How did that madman dumb-ass fool ever get to be a Legion officer?”

“Captain Czerinski is a fine officer,” advised Corporal Wayne. “He is the glue that holds the Legion together out here on the Frontier. We need more officers like Colonel Czerinski.”

“The Legion and the Frontier must be a sticky mess,” commented Agent Morrison, dejectedly. “Czerinski should be locked up in a nut house.”

“Have you ever visited a nut house?” asked Corporal Wayne. “The first visit is always a shock.”