A Time for Patriots

“He’s lucky — no broken bones, just sprains, bruises, and scrapes,” Patrick said. “They’re keeping him overnight for observation. We’re waiting for X-rays on internal injuries.” Dobson nodded. “What’s up, Tim? Do you have information on who hit Brad?”

“Not yet,” Dobson said. “We’ve got a good description of the car from witnesses, and we’re checking freeway, intersection, and security cameras. We’ll know something soon.” He looked at Brad. “Any idea who might have done this, Brad? Ever seen the car before?”

“No.”

Dobson nodded, a very somber look on his face. “While you were getting X-rays, Brad, your dad told me about getting beat up at the bowling alley last night.” Brad looked down at his hands. “I asked around, thinking the same guys that ran you over might have beat you up… but no one saw you at the bowling alley last night.”

“Brad?” Patrick asked. “Why the story? Where were you last night?” Brad said nothing. “I said: Where were you?” He was getting angrier by the moment. “Damn it, Brad answer me! What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why the hell not?” But Brad only kept his eyes averted. Patrick turned to Dobson. “Well?”

“Maybe this is between you two, sir.”

“Where was he, Dobson?”

The agent hesitated for a moment, then said, “We tracked his cell-phone signals from your hangar… to the hangar the FBI is using on the base.”

“What?” Patrick exclaimed. He whirled back to stare in astonishment at his son. “Why in hell would you go there?” Still no answer. “Damn it, Brad, I’d rather hear it from you than from Mr. Dobson, but I am going to hear what happened, one way or another. Were you arrested? What were you doing there?” No answer. Patrick jumped to his feet and yelled, “Answer me, damn it!”

“I was told not to tell you,” Brad said. “They told me I’d be arrested and taken to jail in San Francisco if I told you.”

“ Jail?

What are you talking about? Told me what?”

Brad sniffed away a silent sob. Patrick knotted his fists, fighting to keep his anger in check. He whirled back to Dobson. “Well?”

“His cell-phone records have a call last night to Special Agent Cassandra Renaldo from Homeland Security.”

“ Renaldo? You were going to meet Renaldo? What for?” Brad didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to — the whole thing was becoming clear to Patrick now. “Jesus, Brad, you were seeing Renaldo?” Brad nodded. “But you didn’t see her last night, did you?” Brad started to cry, his shoulders shaking. “Chastain and Brady? They did this to you?” His son was sobbing, and Patrick’s heart broke, spilling red-hot acidic fury through his veins. “What did they do to you?”

“They thought I broke into the hangar and was going to steal their computers,” Brad said through the sobs. “They handcuffed me and searched me. Then they found the airsickness medicine Cassandra gave me and told me it was cocaine.” Patrick’s hands flew up to his eyes in horror. “They told me if I didn’t do as they said, they were going to arrest me and take me to jail in San Francisco, and you wouldn’t know where I was for days. They said I’d go to prison for a long time.”

Patrick sat back down on the bed and hugged his son, letting him weep for several long moments. “What did they tell you to do, Brad?” he finally asked.

“They… they told me to tell them what you were doing,” Brad said. “I was supposed to spy on you. I didn’t want to, Dad, but I didn’t want to go to prison, and I didn’t want Cassandra to get into trouble.”

“It’s okay, Brad, it’s okay,” Patrick said. “You’re not going to prison.”

“I didn’t break into the hangar,” Brad said. “I didn’t try to burglarize the hangar. And it wasn’t cocaine, I swear!”

“I said don’t worry, Brad,” Patrick said. “Don’t worry about Chastain, Renaldo, or Brady. They’re going to be gone from here shortly, and you won’t have to worry about them again.”

“Cassandra?” Brad looked up at his father. “She… she was in on it, wasn’t she? She didn’t like me — it was all a setup to get me to spy on you.” He started to cry again. “Why am I such a dork, Dad?” he said, burying his face into Patrick’s chest. “I don’t know crap about anything !”

“It’s not your fault, big guy,” Patrick said, holding his son closely again. “Brad, there are people out there who just victimize other people, take advantage of them for their own purposes, no matter how badly it hurts others. We have to learn to watch out for people like that and stop them whenever we can.” He took a deep breath, then said, “I know I wasn’t around for you much when I was in the Air Force and working outside, Brad, and even after we moved here, I wasn’t here for you as much as I should have been. I was pretending I was still in the Air Force, flying Civil Air Patrol and Angel Flight West missions, when what I should have been doing is being your dad and teaching you about scumbags like Chastain, Brady, and Renaldo. All that is going to change.”