Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (top romance novels txt) 📗

“Is that your commanding officer?”

The MP ignored him.

Evarts extended his hand, palm up. He spoke loud enough to be heard at the other end of the call. “Let me speak to your commanding officer. Now!”

Evarts overheard the response. “Put that son of a bitch on the line.”

When Evarts received the cell phone, he spoke with the authority of a senior officer. “Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Captain Joseph Harper, United States Air Force, Military Police. Who the hell am I speaking with?”

“The duly appointed police chief for the incorporated city of Lompoc, California. Pull your men back to base, or we’re going to have a serious row.”

“You’re going to take on the United States Air Force? I think you’re overmatched.”

“I don’t think so. I have the governor, state and federal law, and the United States Constitution on my side.”

“This is a state of emergency. In the absence of civilian authority, my orders are to secure access to this base. You are interfering with national security.”

“Have you notified your superior that there is no longer an absence of civilian authority?”

A hesitation. “I have not. Someone is checking on that as we speak. We should have Sheriff Lopez on the line shortly.”

So, Evarts thought, he’d probably found an online copy of the emergency plan and verified that the sheriff had final authority for the county.

“Fine,” Evarts said. “In the meantime, I’m taking control of this checkpoint. Thank you for filling the void on a temporary basis.”

He hung up, tossed the phone back to the MP, and turned his back on him. He walked over to the sergeant.

“Have relations with the base always been tense?” Evarts asked.

“I’m afraid so. We arrest airmen for drunkenness, fighting, soliciting, or whatever, and the MPs pick them up without hardly uttering a word. Vandenberg brings money and mischief to Lompoc. But this …” he nodded toward the MP. “Never met him before and hope to never meet him again.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’ll retreat to his lair soon enough. Right now, I want your attention on this checkpoint. I need to inspect the flood damage. You’re in charge here. Residents and airmen get in, lookie-loos turned around. That’s pretty much it. It may be a long shift. If you need relief, call.”

Evarts gave him his personal cell number.

In short order, O’Brian pulled to the front of the line, and Evarts jumped into the passenger seat.

“My compliments,” O’Brian said. “The line started moving as soon as you flashed your badge.”

“An MP was being a dickhead. I love easy problems. Let’s get over to the flood damage. Take 246 north to the washed-out bridge. I want to see that first.”

They were there in less than five minutes, but had to park a couple of hundred yards away from the rubble. They grabbed the big flashlights and got out of the truck. A single police officer stood under an umbrella on the periphery of the damage, not guarding the debris, but answering questions from a poncho-shielded news team that pointed a camera and a bright light at the officer. Except there were no Lompoc television stations, and the roadblock was supposed to keep outsiders outside.

When Evarts got closer, he recognized that it was an air force news team from Vandenberg. They had come out to produce a feed for air force personnel who couldn’t leave the base. At first, he felt irritation, but then realized that he could use a television crew for his own purposes. He approached and stood close to the cameraman, who glanced at him in annoyance. Evarts held up a business card identifying him as the Santa Barbara police chief and pointed at the reporter with the microphone. The cameraman nodded understanding.

As soon as the session ended, the cameraman informed the reporter about Evarts’s position and that he wanted an interview. The reporter gave him the once-over and reluctantly nodded approval. Evarts looked down and realized that his mud-splattered clothing hardly looked broadcast ready, and the hood on his rain gear probably made him appear sinister.

The officer started to move out of the way, but Evarts stopped her and took her aside. He waved O’Brian over to join them.

All three bent their heads together under the umbrella. “I’m Greg Evarts, Santa Barbara Police. This is Jim O’Brian, here to coordinate Search and Rescue.”

“I know who you are. You’re chief.”

“That’s right. Your name?”

“Officer Gilroy.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand. “Do locals get the base television station?”

“Sure,” she said. “It comes with the standard cable package … but not many watch it.”

“Sheriff Lopez has assigned me as acting chief for Lompoc. Would you join me for the interview to announce my appointment?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I want to reassure the community. Let people know that the county has appointed leadership for law enforcement and SAR. I would like you to help me project confidence and control.”

“I feel shaky … and I think I blew that prior interview.”

“Normal under the circumstances, but all I’m asking is that you straighten your shoulders and wear a confident expression. Okay?”

“Okay.” But she didn’t look or sound okay with it.

O’Brian jumped in to add a wrinkle. “I’m not going on television.”

It took a second for Evarts to realize why.

“No problem, Jim. I understand.”

Evarts walked over to the reporter. “Is this live or delayed?”

“Delayed.”

“Get anything good in the last interview?”

The reporter shrugged without comment. Evarts explained that he had real news and that the uniformed officer would stand by his side. The reporter nodded, and they took positions in front of the camera. Evarts told Officer Gilroy to hold the umbrella high, away from their faces. He knocked back his hood, wiped his face, and ran his fingers through his hair. It would have to do.

After perfunctory introductions, the reporter asked, “Chief, how well did you know Chief Ashworth?”

The question did not surprise Evarts. He had been interviewed many times before. Next, the reporter would ask Evarts how he felt about his death.

“I know