Quaranteam Se Team Davies Ch 15

Quaranteam: Southeast - Team Davies

By 2charlie

The Quaranteam Universe is the creation of CorruptingPower, used with permission.

Thanks to BreakTheBar, AgathonWrites, RonanJWilkerson, The_Licentious_Laureate, BronanTheLibrarian, OtterlyMindblowing, SilverRyden, BirchesLoveBooks, Reader737b, and the other QT Writers for their feedback and contributions to this work. Be sure to check out their work.

Chapter 15

All Characters depicted in sexual situations in this story are over the age of 18.

****Gainesville, FL, 0920, Monday, August 24, 2020****

The weekend had flashed past in the blink of an eye, and Miles found himself gathering notes together for his upcoming Teams call with Deputy Assistant Secretary Marion McFadden, his cabinet-level point of contact from HUD. He noticed that the local JAG officer had been added to the meeting invite. It made sense. McFadden had said she'd see what could be done on her end to help cut through the red tape and move the Box deal forward.

Miles hoped that McFadden had come up with some options for them to explore. He'd spent some time over the weekend researching existing Florida-based companies that were in a similar line of business, but found that most of them were more geared toward the production of manufactured homes - mobile homes by any other name - which were not what he was striving for.

If he couldn't get a deal to work with Box, he'd have to look into the possibility of starting something himself. That option would be at least as problematic as the proposed partnership with Box. Alternately, he'd have to forgo the whole thing and fall back to traditional construction, which would be easier to do, but fail to move the needle on his desires to advance society in terms of sustainable housing.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," he responded, turning to see Captain - make that Major - Chandani Ira Swami open the door and enter his office, closing the door behind her.

"Good morning, Chandani. Congratulations on the promotion." Miles greeted the local JAG officer. "Coffee?" he offered, gesturing to the Keurig that he'd brought into the office earlier.

"Good morning, Miles. Thank you. Do you have that donut shop flavor?" she asked him, looking just a bit harried. "I could use a little caffeine just now."

Spinning the turnstile of K-cups, he selected the requested flavor and popped it into the machine, placing a large mug below the dispenser and setting out the creamer and sweetener options before returning to his desk.

"So, before we get on the call with Secretary McFadden, did your research turn anything up?" he inquired.

"Yes, actually, on both matters you asked me to look into," she replied, moving over to add sugar and creamer to her mug as the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled his office.

"Let's start with the conflict of interest matter first - we can discuss the flyer after our call with McFadden," Miles suggested, wanting to know the military's position on the matter before they met with the HUD official.

"Okay," the attractive young JAG officer began, a slight frown creasing her features, "so, you're already in a special category of your own, based on your, shall we say, financial liabilities..."

"Hey, just because I have a large portfolio doesn't mean that I'm burdened with the responsibility of managing it daily," he objected mildly.

"I know, Miles," she reassured him, motioning for him to remain calm. "That's probably why it's not been a problem. At least, not so far. That being said, it will become a possible issue should you suddenly purchase a significant stake in companies who are - or will be - substantial contributors to Operation Endure. That's where the problem will become too big to ignore."

Just then, a popup reminder on Miles' AFNet computer let him know it was time to join the Teams call with McFadden.

"Alright, well, let's see what the HUD Secretary has come up with, shall we?" he suggested. "If you like, you can join the call on your laptop - just mute the sound settings - or you can scoot around and get into the camera and microphone range on mine."

Pulling her chair around the end of Miles' desk, she said, "I'll just tag along on yours."

Adjusting his laptop to include Swami in the picture, he joined the Teams call, to be joined a moment later by the HUD Secretary.

"Good morning, Secretary McFadden. I have Major Swami here with me," Miles began.

"Good morning, Captain, Major," McFadden began the call. "So, let's get right to it. Major Swami, I trust you've already checked with the UCMJ and Defense Acquisition Regulations to verify that Captain Davies would not normally be able to become a major shareholder in a vendor/supplier. Am I correct?"

Leaning forward, Chandani nodded, "Correct, Madame Secretary. If the Captain were to have a significant financial connection to Box, and we went on to do business with Box, then he would need to do one of two things - either relinquish his role as director of Operation Endure," she turned to glance at Miles before continuing, "or resign his commission."

Miles managed to maintain his poker face, but inside he grimaced. Neither option was particularly attractive to him at this point in his life.

McFadden nodded before adding, "So, I looked into other options that would get us what we need. Miles, you are authorized to offer Box up to $10 million in federal grant funds, specifically earmarked for their Florida subsidiary. If that gets them to come around, let them know there's a sixty-day requirement for them to get a minimum staff presence established within Gainesville. I will leave it up to you to identify a facility that can be converted to meet their initial operational requirements."

"Understood, Madame Secretary," Miles affirmed, already thinking ahead of potential locations for their build facilities. "I'll have a call with them later today. Assuming they agree, to whom on your staff should I reach out for the contracts?"

Major Swami chose that moment to chime in, "I believe I would step in to handle the vendor contracts the same as with the others."

"That's fine, Major," McFadden nodded to the Air Force JAG Officer, "I'll have my assistant, Miss Julia Connoly, standing by to provide you the grant paperwork."

"That should work just fine," Miles agreed.

"Good, now, tell me a bit about these looters one of your crews encountered," McFadden asked him.

Miles was immediately on his guard. He had not reported that incident to the HUD Secretary, which meant she had some other means of gathering information. Realizing this should hardly be a surprise, all things considered, he shrugged off his initial response and gave it to her straight, "Last Friday, one of our Reclaim crews crossed paths with some looters. One of the looters pulled a handgun and tried to run our people off. The Air Force security team arrived, and the looters took off," Miles explained concisely. "I've asked the Air Force to provide double the security this week - hopefully, that will dissuade further such encounters."

"I hope so," McFadden agreed. "Nonetheless, perhaps it's time to accelerate the operations - go for the appliances first, deprioritize the soft items, and ignore the food."

"We'll get there by mid-week," Miles assured her. "By then, the power will be off in most of these homes, meaning even the frozen food will be bad."

"I'll leave the details to your team, then," she replied, wrapping up the call. "Be sure to let me know how things go with the folks from Box."

"Yes ma'am," he acknowledged, "Have a good -"

As per usual, the HUD Secretary disconnected the call and was gone. Closing the Teams call, Miles let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair, collecting his thoughts.

Turning to the JAG Officer, he reminded her, "I believe you said you had some information about the flyer."

Opening up her laptop, Swami woke it, authenticated quickly, then brought up an email she'd received over the weekend from her hacking forensics contact. Perusing the email briefly, she summarized the response for Miles, "So, my forensics guy took a look at the copy of the flyer I sent to him. It seemed innocuous enough at first blush - if you scan the QR code, it takes you to a website being run by some local Gainesville yahoos that lists numerous grievances against the government in general, the Air Force, Operation Endure, and you. You should be aware that they have doxed you, by the way, along with the General and a few others," she said, leveling a serious look at him.

Miles nodded his head and motioned for her to continue.

Glancing again at her email, she resumed, "The QR code does more than just direct folks to the site. It also infects the users' devices with malware."

"That does what, exactly?" he asked her.

Scrolling down a bit to reference a specific part of the email, she explained, "When a person scans the QR code with their phone, the malware is surreptitiously installed. It operates covertly, collecting sensitive data including location, messages, and call logs. This data is then transmitted to an unknown external server."

"Unknown?" Miles echoed, skepticism creeping into his tone.

"Yes, sir," Swami nodded. "My contact attempted to trace the data packets, but the distribution is obscured through multiple layers of encryption and anonymization techniques. It's highly sophisticated - not the work of an amateur."

Miles' expression darkened. "So, we don't know who's behind the tracking malware. What about the website?"

"My contact was able to confirm that the website in question is registered to one Dr. Henry Abelard - you heard of him?" she wondered.

Grunting, Miles nodded his head. "I've heard of a Hank Abelard - probably the same guy - a tenured professor at UF. I'm pretty sure his focus is on civics, but I don't know him personally."

"Well," she clucked, scrolling through another email, "Professor Hank seems very interested in organizing opposition to the general activities currently in Gainesville and elsewhere. It seems he persists in attempting to get information out to others that violates the NDA - he's had several phone calls disconnected, emails and mail intercepted, and has lately resorted to attempting to get word out via HAM radio. This has landed the good professor on the FBI's radar."

"Can you get me a clean URL to his website?" Miles asked her. "I'd like to keep an eye on what 'Hank' is telling folks."

"Can do, Miles. So, let me know when you have your call with Box," she suggested, switching topics. "I'd like to sit in and be there to advise you should they push for something else."

"I'll add you to the invite, once I get it scheduled," he assured her.

Finishing her cup of coffee, Major Swami got up and went to rinse out the mug that Miles had loaned her, then gathered her laptop and purse, heading for the door. "I'll let you know if I hear anything more about our wayward Civics professor," she called out over her shoulder. "See you in the SCIF when we talk to Box."

"Thanks again, Chandani," he responded, already opening his calendar in Outlook to get started on setting up the meeting with Box.

Feeling a vibration at his hip, he unclipped his cell phone from its holster to check the notification - he had a text from Penny. Opening it, he read the message twice, then made a note to call his insurance adjuster later that day. Scowling, he considered her message as he clipped his phone back into its belt holster.

'Heard back from Raul's insurance. They sent a letter along with a check for $100k for Raul, and another $10k for Mary Beth. Assholes! They only paid out a tenth of the value of the policies.'

He'd been wondering how long this pandemic would go on before insurance companies became insolvent. He was honestly surprised that they'd paid out at all - he'd suspected that the policy writers would try to claim some 'act of war' or 'act of terrorism' excuse to get out of paying, especially in light of the number of casualties.

Sighing, he tried to get back to his more pressing tasks. The new Air Force Materiel Command folks had come online that morning, and he'd left Debra and Ava to work with David to get them read in on the parts of the Operation that they were to be assisting with.

Which reminded him of the next item on his task list. Walking over to the door to his office, he opened it, and - seeing no one else in the foyer - asked Senior Airman Clyburn to come to his office for a moment.

Moving back to his desk, he retrieved an interoffice envelope and unwound the tie to open it as Clyburn stepped into his doorway.

"Leave the hatch open," he told her as he dumped the contents of the envelope out onto his desk.

"Door, sir," he heard her say.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, turning to scowl at her.

"Door, sir. This is a door, not a hatch," she tried again, tentatively.

"My office, my rules, sergeant," he told her emphatically. Pointing around, he expanded on his stance, "Those are bulkheads, not walls. Below is a deck. Above is an overhead. Any questions?"

"No, sir, and it's Senior Airman, sir," she attempted to correct him again.

"Is that so?" he challenged her. "Then I should tear up these new orders and ignore them?"

Passing her the orders, he turned and picked up a new rank patch from where he'd dumped it on his desk. Turning back to his puzzled non-com, he extended his right hand to her while holding the new Velcro patch in his left.

Looking back up to him in startled surprise, she suddenly snapped to attention. Setting the orders aside for a moment, she stepped one step forward, took the new rank patch from him, and then shook his hand.

"Congratulations, Staff Sergeant Clyburn," he said to her with a big shit-eating grin as they shook hands. Dropping his hand back to his side, Miles continued, "Now, first order of business, I need you to start putting together a pool of enlisted admin staff to help out around here. We should have at least one for Jansen and Chavez, and another for Mr. Palmer and his team. Might as well see if you can grab a backup for yourself while you're at it - call them a floater."

"Sir, yes sir!" she beamed, blushing furiously with pride at her promotion. "I'll get right on that, Captain."

"Excellent," he said in his Monty Burns voice, then chuckled as she looked at him in surprise. "Oh, before you get too busy, would you please have Lieutenants Jansen and Chavez report to my office?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" she said with a chuckle as he went back into his office, closing his door behind him.

Miles had barely finished sending off the meeting invitation to the folks at Box, copying Major Swami, when there was a knock at his door. Picking up the remaining interoffice mail packets, he stepped around from behind his desk so that he was standing in front of it, facing the door.

"Enter," he said, already looking forward to what was coming.

****Gainesville, FL, 1830, Monday, August 24, 2020****

Miles took the turn off of NE 53

rd

Avenue onto his private drive at a hard run, only to slow down as he saw the red Jeep Rubicon headed toward him slowly. Dropping to a jog, then a walk, he stayed to the side as the Jeep slowed, approaching him with the driver's window lowering.

As the vehicle came to a stop just ahead of him, a young Hispanic woman looked out at him, then finally asked, "Are you Captain Davies by chance?"

Shifting around, not wanting to stop completely, he drew in a gulp of air before letting it out slowly, trying to calm his breathing. Of course, someone wanted to talk to him just as he was wrapping up a HIIT run. He raised his hand for a moment, gesturing for her to hold on while he caught his breath while nodding his head.

Finally, when he could speak without gasping for air, he replied to her, "That's me, yes. What can I help you with?"

"Tech Sergeant Maria Jiminez, sir," she explained, "from the 22

nd

Logistics Wing, RED HORSE squadron. I'm the senior NCO in charge of the group who's been tagged to assist Mr. David Palmer in surveying the property west of here - guess it's all part of your big op, sir."

"Sure, sure," he nodded, having heard of the Air Force's Rapid Engineer Deployable Heavy Operational Repair Squadron Engineers, "so, what brings you here this evening, Jiminez?"

"Just wanted to get a look at the job ahead of time," she explained, "so I have a better idea of what resources I need to send out tomorrow to kick off this survey."

"That's fair," he admitted, nodding his head as he finally got his breathing under control. "Tell you what - if you like, you can park your vehicle back by my house, and - if you'll give me a minute to wipe down and hydrate, I'll walk you around, or ride with you if your Jeep's a four-wheel drive, and show you the perimeter."

"That would be helpful, sir. Thank you," she grinned at him, then asked, "You want a lift back to your house?"

"I'm good," he waved her off. "Just pull up to the house and come ring the doorbell. One of my partners will let you in while I get cleaned up a bit." Turning back toward his home, Miles jogged the remaining quarter mile to his house and ducked inside to get cleaned up and into dry clothes as the Tech Sergeant pulled up to park beside his mailbox.

A few minutes later, Miles came out of the master bedroom, having briefly washed up and changed into a dry shirt, to find Jiminez in his living room chatting with Ava. Miles couldn't help but notice that the Tech Sergeant looked to be a few years older than Ava, an inch or two taller, but slimmer in build, not being blessed with the curves that his partner possessed. Her hair was dark and straight, pulled back into a ponytail, but her smile was warm.

Ava handed him a water bottle as he walked up to them, from which he gratefully took a long drink. He could hear noises coming from the kitchen as well as from out on the lanai, so he assumed the others were busy.

"Okay, Tech Sergeant Jiminez," he prompted, "let's go take a look at the region you're going to be surveying, shall we?" Glancing at Ava, he cocked his head to one side. "Care to join us dear?"

"Of course, dear," she replied gamely, as she finished lacing up her running shoes. "No time like the present to get a feel for the next step."

"We're going to go for a short walk," he called into the kitchen. "We should be back in a few minutes."

"Don't be too long," he heard Penny call out. "Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes, Aye," he replied loudly, then led the two smirking ladies out the front door.

Once outside, they opted to take Jiminez's vehicle, as it had four-wheel drive and was rugged enough to handle the bumpy terrain. Miles climbed into the front passenger seat, while Ava belted herself into the back seat. Jiminez fastened her seatbelt, then handed a large, folded printout to Miles. Opening the printout, he saw it was a topographical map of the region, with the boundaries of the specific area of interest demarcated in thick red lines.

Starting the Jeep, Jiminez looked to her right, "Any particular way we should start, Captain?"

"Please," he grinned, shaking his head, "we're off duty and out of uniform. Call me Miles." Pointing past his property line off to her left, he suggested, "Let's start that way, just this side of the tree line."

Shifting the Jeep into four-wheel drive, Jiminez took it slowly at first, driving along the front of Miles' property, until his well-manicured fescue lawn gave way to crabgrass and the occasional stretch of sand. The rugged Jeep bounced along the uneven terrain, its knobby tires kicking up small clouds of sand and dust with each jolt. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the unimproved landscape, painting the scene in warm, golden hues.