Chapter 12
THEY CALL IT Kentucky Bluegrass, but I have never seen rolling pastures so green.
We were making our final approach for a landing at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, home of the 101st Airborne. The lush ground below looked like the world’s best-kept golf course.
Special Agent Judge and I had flown from Georgia to Kentucky in an unmarked government jet even though I could’ve just teleported. Agent Judge, on the other hand? Not so much.
As we were cleared for landing, the FBI special agent once again apologized for his “overzealous subordinates.”
“A lot of those guys in the hazmat suits are rookies, Daniel,” he explained. “IOU is in a total rebuilding mode. Six months ago, eighty percent of my team was wiped out during an unfortunate encounter with a four-sided killing machine.”
“Attila,” I said.
“Come again?”
“My nickname for Number 33, the cubist Varladrian warrior your team bumped up against. But don’t worry—he won’t be giving you guys any more grief.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. I hear he recently had a heart attack.”
Agent Judge’s horse farm was a two-hour drive from the Fort Campbell airbase. Ribbons of bright white fencing penned in pastures of emerald green, where magnificent horses lazily nibbled on the grass.
“We have a hundred and thirty-two acres,” said Agent Judge as he piloted his Jeep up a long asphalt driveway toward a Victorian-style farmhouse. “The perimeter is secure and patrolled, so don’t worry—you’ll be safe here, Daniel.”
The picturesque farmhouse sat perched on a shady knoll dead ahead, but Agent Judge turned his Jeep toward the open doors of a bright red horse barn.
“Um, isn’t Xanthos waiting for us?” I asked.
“Roger that,” said Agent Judge. “That’s why I thought we’d swing by his place first.”
The barn was beautiful. It had those quaint Dutch doors, and a bunch of sliding panels decorated with white X’s inside white squares. Looked like the picture-perfect barn from an “Old McDonald” play set. But still…
“You make my father’s spiritual advisor live in a horse barn?”
Agent Judge brought the Jeep to a stop. “Where else? Xanthos is a horse, Daniel. A champion Thoroughbred.”