Epilogue

The clamor from the gathered press made its way through the hotel conference room’s walls as a muffled roar. Outside, in the cold night air, over twenty thousand people milled around, pressing close to the chalet-style Telluride hotel, cheering, hoping for even a glimpse of those inside.

In an adjoining room, Eric parked Helen’s wheelchair and knelt beside her, exchanging a happy smile. He’d rarely been far from her side in the prior days. Helen had arrived at the hospital without a pulse, and only the desperate efforts of a skilled surgeon along with a massive transfusion of blood and fluids, had enabled her to pull through. Even then, she had been in a coma for almost two days. It had been a near-run thing. She was still weak, and only her acerbic insistence had forced the doctors to acquiesce to her demand to leave the hospital for a few hours. They’d had no choice in the matter; Helen had not asked them, rather she had told them: she was going. Her only compromise had been to agree to stay in the wheelchair, though it wasn’t much of a concession; she was still too weak to walk.  

A clatter of hard leather shoes on the marble floor caused Helen to glance up. Beaming, she said, “Why, hello, General. I’m glad that you could be here tonight.”

With a shrug and a smile of his own, General Bradson replied, “I felt obligated. After all, I was largely responsible for the word getting out to the press that you and your boys probably saved Los Angeles and maybe New York as well, not to mention saving New York from radioactive contamination had we demolished the bomb in place. None of you are strangers to press attention, but I’m sure it’s been a little hectic lately, even by your standards.”

Eric’s lopsided grin lit the room as he replied, “Yeah, you could say that. The bikers have bagged half a dozen reporters and four paparazzi trying to get onto our ranch over the last week,” Eric smiled to let the General know that he wasn’t really complaining. Jon, his arm still in a sling, arched an eyebrow at Eric, giving him a wry chuckle. He knew that Eric’s one recent regret was that he hadn’t been able to fulfill his dream of completely unleashing the bikers on the paparazzi.

Stretching out a calloused hand to lean against a wall, General Bradson winked before saying, “I felt that the heroic actions you boys took deserved recognition. You saved millions of lives, very nearly at the cost of your own. The news would have gotten out eventually, but this way you can tell them the whole story your own way.”

Brandon, who had been sitting beside Chase on a bench, looked up and joined the conversation. “I just wish the press wasn’t so fixated on me tackling that Russian guy over the cliff. It wasn’t just me; we all did a lot that day.”

With a wry laugh, the General turned to face Brandon. “Son, the press loves sensationalism above all else, and that really got ‘em fired up. Hell, I think they would have dwelled on that anyway, even if I hadn’t filled ‘em in about the timestamp on that attempt to trigger the New York bomb. We may never know why the code was one digit off. We’re assuming that the second attempt, the one that came in from Paraguay, was the real code. One numeric string it contained matches exactly with the one in the Los Angeles bomb’s firing circuit and also with the one in the trigger you captured. My hunch is that Jerry Clump didn’t trust his operative to have both codes. That would fit with his operational pattern, from what we know of it.”

With the mention of Jerry, Eric scowled. “Any more news on him?”

General Bradson nodded. “We still think he’s dead. We’ve gone through the Buenos Aires warehouse ashes with a fine-toothed comb in a joint operation with the Australians and the Argentines. The fire didn’t leave much, but we found some human remains. Two middle-eastern men, who we think, based on a signals intercept, were looking to purchase some bomb-making equipment. The DNA on the third man’s remains matches some found in Mr. Clump’s home, and also it fits a paternity profile for Joe Clump. Based on that, we’re sure the third set of remains are those of Jerry Clump. There wasn’t a lot left of him; just an arm that was partially shielded from the fire by some metal. The initial blast – it was definitely a bomb planted in his gear, though by whom we don’t know – probably ripped him to shreds. I’m sure glad to close the book on that.”

Brandon nodded, and after checking his watch said, “We’re all going out there for the press conference, we’re due now. Would you like to come with us, General?”

Before the General could utter a word, Helen interrupted to say, “No.” Taking note of the confused faces around her, Helen smiled weakly and added, “I don’t mean the General can’t go with us, I meant we shouldn’t all go. Brandon, Chase, you two go out first. We’ll all join you after a bit.” Brandon opened his mouth to object, but Helen cut him off. “Hon, think it through. You and Chase have been hating the closet more and more, especially since your big decision yesterday. However, things have changed, perhaps more than you realize. You’re national heroes now; you’ve just saved millions of lives, almost sacrificing your own in the process. Listen to those reporters out there, and the crowd of people outside. If the Sheriff’s people are right, the crowd outside is larger than the town’s population and they’re all cheering for you. You’ve both now got a bully pulpit like there’s never been. Use it. The choice is yours, but I hope you’ll do it, not just for yourselves, but for the rest of us too.” Helen’s hand rose from the wheelchair’s arm to intertwine with Barbra’s as she waited for a response from Brandon and Chase.

Chase turned to look at Brandon, seeing his green eyes twinkle an agreement to the unspoken question. Smiling, their decision made, Brandon and Chase walked toward the stage together, stepping out towards the podium. Hand in hand they strode forth, proud and at last at ease, into the brilliant starbursts of camera flashes, which ebbed in accord with the startled gasps emanating from the assembled press. The noise from the reporters faded to nothing as a stunned silence ensued.

At the podium, Brandon and Chase raised their joined hands, shared a mirthful grin, and then turned to face the media. The shocked silence faded, replaced by a rising murmur, which grew to the furious roar of shouted questions as the glare of the camera flashes returned in full, before growing greater still  Chase, breathing a sigh of relief as he felt a palpable weight lift from his soul, smiled as he squeezed Brandon’s hand. Together, in lasting unison, he raised their joined hands even higher. Receiving a nod and a beaming smile from Brandon, Chase shouted to share their news with the world, “Before we get started, Brandon and I have a personal announcement to make…. We’re engaged to be married!”  

 ~

There is a sequel to “Let the Music Play”, called “Changing Lanes”. I’ll begin posting it in about  two weeks.

Afterword from the Author:

I would hereby like to dedicate this story to the wonderful team who make it all possible;

Emoe: Editor extraordinaire. Without his patience and guidance, not to mention editing skills, this story, like the rest of my posted work, would not have been possible. Thank you, Emoe.

Shadowgod: A truly masterful writer who has done me the honor of betaing. Thank you Steve, for guiding me, and for being one of my mentors. 

Graeme: Another great writer, one of the finest and best known around. Graeme is also one of my mentors, in addition to being a beta. Thank you Graeme, for all that you have done.

Bondwriter: Zeta-reader Extraordinaire. Bondwriter is incredible. He has the sharpest eyes for catching my typos, and also my punctuation errors. He’s usually the final set of eyes on the chapters before publication. He does a magnificent job, but here’s the truly mind-boggling part: English is not his first language! Thanks you, my amazing friend.

Captain Rick: Thank you Rick, for your wise and sage advice on so many things. Rich is an expert is several fields, and has given me much advice and input on special issues, as well as being a superb beta reader. Thank you Rick, for all that you do!

I would also like to thank the readers, especially those who have weighed in with feedback in my forum or by other means. Thank you so much, it’s the feedback that keeps me going, and is my main reward for writing.

And a special “thank you” to those who are very active in my forum, and also to those who have pointed out typos and errors in my posted work.

Thank you, one and all.

CJ

 Please let me know what you think, good, bad, or indifferent.

© 2007 C James

Many thanks to my editor EMoe for editing and for his support, encouragement, beta reading, and suggestions.

Thanks also to Shadowgod, for beta reading, support and advice, and for putting up with me.

Special thanks to Graeme, for beta-reading and advice. 

A big "thank you" to Bondwriter for final Zeta-reading and advice, and to Captain Rick for his advice. 

Any remaining errors are mine alone.

Please give me feedback, and please don’t be shy if you want to criticize! The feedback thread for this story is in my Forum. Please stop by and say "Hi!"  

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