War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel by James Rollins, Grant Blackwood Page A

north of the main gates to Redstone Arsenal and pulled into the parking lot of Q Station Bar & Billiards. He considered leaving Kane in the rental, but then thought the familiar presence of the shepherd might help Tucker gain Frank’s cooperation. If anyone gave him trouble for bringing his dog into the bar, he had papers—courtesy of his friend Ruth with Sigma—that listed Kane as a medical companion, allowing Tucker to take the dog almost anywhere.
    As Tucker pushed through the double doors into the dimly lit interior, a few eyes glanced toward them, but no one said a word. The patrons then returned to their drinks or to the scatter of billiard balls on green felt. Tucker scanned the place as Lynyrd Skynyrd belted out “Free Bird” from a jukebox. To his left was a long bar, along with a row of booths pressed up against a low wall.
    From the last booth, a hand waved.
    Ah . . .
    Tucker and Kane strode over.
    Frank Ballenger greeted them with a warm smile, which turned somewhat crooked with amusement. “You and Kane . . . now that’s a sight I haven’t seen in a long time. You two make a fetching couple. Heard you two had to elope, even got yourselves into some trouble for it.”
    Tucker shrugged and shook the man’s hand, doing his best to hide his discomfort. Frank must have made a few calls and had learned the circumstances surrounding Tucker’s exit from the service, how he had absconded with Kane against orders. Eventually Sigma had helped clear up that sticky matter, as payment for services rendered. Still, as much as it bothered Tucker that Frank knew these details about his life, it was also a testament to the man’s ability to gather intel.
    Tucker slipped into the booth and waved Kane down. “Doesn’t look like you changed much, Frank,” he said, which was true. Though older than Tucker, the man looked wiry and solid. He clearly kept himself in shape.
    “Thanks for saying so.” Frank rubbed at his temples. “But I think these turned a bit silver since we left the trenches.” He then reached down and slid a sweating bottle of cold beer toward Tucker. “Gotcha a Sam Adams. Hope that’s all right.”
    “More than all right.”
    “It was really good to hear from you.”
    “Yeah, it’s been awhile. Wasn’t sure you would remember me.”
    “Hell yeah, I remember you. You were one of the only Rangers who ever paid any attention to what we communication geeks did. Plus you and your two dogs. I used to watch you working them when I had a break. It was impressive, like you all were reading each other’s minds.”
    Tucker found his fingers tightening on the beer bottle, picturing Kane’s littermate. Memories flashed like lightning, sharp and glaring, glinting with the flash of falling knives, booming with gunfire.
    Frank must have realized something was wrong. “Hey, man, sorry. That was stupid of me to bring that up. I should know better.”
    Tucker breathed more deeply until he could finally unclench his fingers. “It’s . . . it’s all right.”
    It wasn’t. Frank seemed to recognize this, and gave Tucker a few moments to collect himself.
    After a couple of deep breaths, Tucker finally pressed on. “Master sergeant, huh? You’ve really moved up in the world.”
    Frank offered an understanding smile, moving to safer territory. “I’m a lifer. Who would a guessed? And stationed here in Huntsville, I get to see my family every weekend. But what about you?”
    “Me? Nothing special. Odd jobs. Mostly security work, that kind of thing.”
    They shot the breeze for another half hour, exchanging memories, comparing notes, sharing gossip about mutual friends. Finally, Tucker moved closer to the matter at hand.
    “Frank, how long have you been at Redstone?”
    “Four years. It’s nice. I’m now a cryptologic network warfare specialist.” Frank read the confusion on his face and smiled. “I get that a lot. It’s a new MOS, started in 2011. Covers mostly cyber warfare stuff.”
    Tucker