Militia Men, page 14
“I just gave her food.”
The other man rips off a length of duct tape and slaps it over my mouth with such force I fall against the wall, banging my head.
“No more chats,” he tells his friend.
To me, he says, “Keep quiet, traitor, and you may survive the night.”
Traitor. This one’s a true believer.
They turn out the light and leave me in total darkness. Guess I’ll not be enjoying the cot tonight.
I’m in the clutches of a militia seeking vengeance, but all I can think of is Mandy and how badly I’ve screwed things up – again.
When the nicer one returns, I’ll ask if she’s safe.
IT’S THE WORST day of my life. Also, the longest.
Viper got word to Sean before dawn that he’s sending someone to pick up the target, but there are security concerns and the transfer can’t be made until midnight.
That means more time holding a woman captive, more time keeping up appearances, while at any moment cops with guns could flood the River Vista.
It doesn’t help that Sean keeps reminding me not to tell Layla about the senator in the basement.
I bring the mail to Mrs. Wong’s apartment, trudging up the stairs. My head is filled with terrible visions of prison cells. Steel toilets and cinderblock walls. Lecherous inmates. Sadistic guards. A monstrous montage from all the B movies I’ve ever seen.
Her door flings open before I reach the landing.
“Come in, come in,” she says, urging me inside with a crooked arm.
We sit at the kitchen table after she sweeps empty delivery boxes and envelopes onto the floor. Within seconds, a hot cup of tea appears in front of me. Lavender and mint.
I don’t have time for this nicety, or whatever it is. I need to be shielding the senator from Sean’s worst impulses. I can’t let him hurt her. That can’t also be on my conscience.
I’m tangled in my thoughts and don’t immediately notice Mrs. Wong staring at me in a studious way.
“You are far away, my son,” she says. “What troubles you?”
I’m on the brink of blowing everything. Arousing an old lady’s suspicions. The opposite of what I came here to do. Jesus.
“Nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile.
Mrs. Wong points to a dozen white carnations with pink fringe in a smoky gray vase next to the sink. She smiles, creating waves of wrinkles that make her look like a Shar Pei puppy.
“From your girl. Flowers in winter. So lovely. She tell me she worried about you.”
The last thing I need is Layla going around expressing her fears. Not when the feds are about to launch a massive manhunt that will tear this town apart.
“I’m fine, really.”
I look at her expecting to see disbelief, but instead see only a sudden sadness.
“Is anything the matter, Mrs. Wong?”
She nods. “My sister wants me to leave. Live with her in that very big house.”
“Why does she want you to move? You love it here.”
I can see the shimmering blue of the river through the kitchen window, the seagulls floating on wind currents. I’ve often caught her staring at the view with wonder and delight.
“My sister, she means well,” she says. “She thinks I can no longer live alone. But I am happy.”
Seeing the old lady tear up makes my own eyes water. I forget about the senator handcuffed in the basement for a minute.
“How can I help?” I ask.
She dabs her rheumy eyes with the edge of a cloth napkin. “Tell her I am good with you and Layla.”
“I will. I promise.”
“That is all I have to say, dear troubled boy. I must rest now.”
I take a last swallow of her herbal medicine, pat her bony shoulder affectionately. At least she didn’t ask me about the ring. I walk downstairs as quietly as I can, so as not to stir the other Moles.
But I forget about the creaky floorboard by my apartment. I’m about to insert my key in the lock when I hear the door across the lobby open.
“Oh, hey Robb,” Aliston says. “Crazy stuff going down.”
I desperately want to ignore him, but he’s on my alibi list.
“What’s up?”
“That senator I work for? She’s missing.”
“Really?” My pulse starts throbbing again. “Are the cops out looking?”
“I don’t think so. The chief of staff went looking for her at a condo in town where she was staying and she wasn’t there. He messaged the staff about 30 minutes ago. We’re supposed to keep it quiet.”
“Anything on the news?” I ask feebly.
“I keep checking, but nothing so far. Hey, it could all be a total overreaction. If I was her, I’d want to take a breather. She’s been under immense pressure.”
“Yeah, yeah, that gun bill. Thanks for letting me know.”
I’m about to duck inside when I see a Mercedes pull up. Chau Wong gets out, but she doesn’t head for the lobby as usual.
She goes down the basement stairs.
Oh my God!
I race outside and turn the corner in time to see her holding a large key ring. If she opens the door, she’ll see Austin chained to the wall. There would be no way to explain the situation. Or stop Sean from taking drastic measures.
“Chau! Wait!”
She’s standing by the door, looking for the right key. I run down the stairs, nearly tripping.
“My sweet, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” I say, catching my breath. “It’s just … that’s my responsibility, remember?”
“Oh, don’t be silly. I just need a gallon of wall paint.”
“Please let me get it. I’ll bring it to the car. You don’t want to get anything on your beautiful clothes, do you? Besides, that basement is always so musty. Stay out here, where the air is fresh.”
She’s wearing a leopard-print pantsuit and a yellow straw hat with the brim pushed back in front.
“Ooh, you’re right. Whatever was I thinking?”
Chau starts walking up the stairs and I exhale, thinking I dodged a bullet. But then a banging noise starts. It’s coming from inside the basement.
She stops halfway and turns. “What’s that noise? Is it the boiler again?”
I know it’s Austin. She must have heard a woman’s voice at the door and is trying to signal for help.
“Yeah, you’re right, must be the boiler. No biggie. Minor adjustment. I’ll bring you the paint.”
The owner smiles. I watch her walk back to her car and take a deep breath.
I slip the mask over my head and enter the basement, quickly shutting the door behind me. The senator stares at me with wild eyes.
“She’s gone,” I say. “If my friend had been here, he’d have shot you.”
“Mmmmph!”
Against my better judgment, I peel back the tape, leaving it hanging from her cheek.
“Better be important.”
She nods at the shower stall. “I need to use that. I think I peed myself. Guns in my face and all.”
“Don’t think so.”
“You’re going to put me on trial reeking of urine?”
“Jesus. Maybe later. I’ll be back in an hour with food.”
“You’re not a criminal.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“I mean, you just got caught up in things, right?”
“I know what you’re doing, but you can stop. I can’t set you free. I’m sorry.”
“Sure you can. You’re not one of them. You said so yourself.”
“Be quiet.”
“You’re trying to protect your friend, I can see that now. But it’s too late. He’s not like you. Not anymore.”
“You really do talk too much.”
I put the gag back in place, grab the paint can from a wall cabinet.
“But it’s not too late,” I say, turning back. “It can’t be.”
On my way to the apartment I see Layla pacing in the lobby, worry etched on her face.
I never thought keeping up appearances for a single day could be this hard.
“Lay, are you okay?”
She gives me a hug.
“Oh Robb, the senator has gone missing. It’s all over TV. Do you know anything about that?”
I can’t lie to her. I just can’t. I also can’t tell her the truth. For Sean’s sake.
“Lay, I’ll tell you everything I know very soon, I promise. You just have to trust me.”
“I’m worried,” she says. “Please, please, please do the right thing.”
“I’m sorry you’re worried, but I can’t talk right now. I have to think.”
I give her a kiss. Maybe for the last time. Then I open the door to No. 1 and throw myself on the couch.
Sean comes into the room and turns on the TV. It’s nearly 10, and every local channel has live reports on the search that’s starting for Oregon’s junior senator.
There’s an impromptu press conference with Austin’s chief of staff, who is standing outside the condo looking concerned.
“I dropped her off last night and when I returned to take her to the airport in the morning, she wasn’t here,” Westley Matthews says. “I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“Any signs of a struggle inside?” a reporter asks.
“Police didn’t find any. We’ve been getting death threats over the gun bill and, well, I’m worried something may have happened. It’s not like her to disappear. She knew she was supposed to give remarks in Washington this afternoon.”
“Could it have been a panic attack?”
“Absolutely not. Anyone who knows Alex would rule that out. She’s too tough.”
“There are unsubstantiated reports that she and a friend may have left together. Is it true?”
“Let’s try to avoid wild speculation,” he says, frowning. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to the police chief.”
Sean looks surprisingly cool, standing there drinking it in.
“How are you so calm?” I ask.
“Why not? We got the head start we wanted, didn’t we? Nothing is leading the cops to us. We just need to keep that traitor quiet until midnight, then justice will be served.”
The irrational confidence. The inflamed rhetoric. It’s like having Viper in my living room.
“I saw that you dealt with the owner earlier, kept her out of the basement,” Sean says.
“A little surprise, that’s all.”
“I would have had to lock her up if she saw the target. Can’t take any chances.”
“Um, right.”
“Thought you said you had the only key.”
“Guess I was wrong.”
Anger fills Sean’s face, twisting it into something unrecognizable. Something ugly.
“If you’re wrong again, everything falls apart,” he says. “We can’t let that happen. You got that?”
“Yeah, got it.” My heart sinks. It’s not like Sean to bark orders and imply threats.
“And stop talking to that bitch down there. It only gives her hope.”
“What do you mean?”
He pantomimes putting a gun to his head.
“There’s only one sentence for treason,” he says with a gleam in his eye.
SIDEWINDER IS LAUGHING, making the counter shake.
We’re at Daisy’s eating breakfast and the TV hanging on the wall is tuned to the Portland station. The bleeding heart journalists are beside themselves. Their precious senator has disappeared. Police are puzzled. A search is underway but there are no leads.
It’s everything we could have hoped for.
“A glorious day,” I say, raising my coffee mug.
“They did it,” my deputy commander says, lowering his booming voice. “They really did it.”
A young female reporter in Astoria is saying that the Clatsop County sheriff, Oregon State Police and FBI are about to hold a joint press conference to update the situation and call for the public’s help. A toll-free tip line is being set up.
“Authorities have not indicated that foul play is involved,” the reporter says, “but we’ll be getting more information shortly.”
Austin’s smiling face fills the screen as one of the anchors at the station drones on about her background, including the Marsten mass shooting and the pending gun bill.
“The bill would usher in the biggest gun reforms in the nation’s history,” the anchor says, prompting Sidewinder to cuss under his breath.
“Don’t worry,” I say, tossing a napkin on my empty plate. “No senator, no law.”
Daisy, wearing her usual aqua dress and white apron, emerges from the kitchen. With a smile, she refuses the $20 bill in my hand. I can never tell if the twice-divorced brunette is being flirtatious or fearful, like the other sheep.
“Have a good one, Clarence,” she says, hustling into the dining room. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
“What’s the fun in that? Thanks for the pancakes.”
Sidewinder and I head outside where we can talk more freely.
“Weasel will pick up the target at midnight, if it’s quiet enough,” I say. “I’ll want the trial to start as soon as possible.”
“Copy that. The jury is aware. And after?”
I slip on my sunglasses and straighten my TP ballcap. I know he’s asking about the senator and her friend.
“They’ll be disposed of.”
“If I can eliminate the target, it would be an honor, sarge,” Sidewinder says. “Fucking bitch.”
I slap the big man on the back.
“You’ve earned it.”
I’d been in places like this. Too many to count.
Bombed-out buildings, riddled with bullet holes and filled with piles of debris. No running water or electricity. And yet often there were below-ground shelters where people still lived. Sometimes entire families.
This has the same gutted, desolate feel. An abandoned former industrial warehouse, it had been sealed off and stuck on a future list of Superfund cleanup sites. Nothing had been done other than to empty the remaining drums filled with long-banned toxic chemicals.
Meanwhile, the cancerous plume of groundwater beneath the property had spread for miles, according to test wells, impacting several ranches. If not addressed, scientists warned that the tainted water would reach the Columbia, resulting in massive fish kills and seriously jeopardizing salmon runs.
The property was a real mess. The perfect place to turn into a pop-up version of Guantanamo Bay.
I walk inside and see the former storage room where Sidewinder stashed the senator’s friend. There’s a padlocked steel door with heavy-gauge hinges.
It opens with a loud protest. The air inside is stale. There’s an old thin mattress on the ground. Huddled in the far corner is Mandy Malone.
I’m in forest fatigues, a pistol holstered on my hip. I don’t bother concealing my face.
She looks at me and shakes. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes collateral damage is unavoidable. She’s insurance, nothing more.
Sidewinder told me she woke an hour ago, screaming madly.
“It won’t be long,” I tell her. That much, at least, is true.
“Why me?” she asks meekly.
“It’s not about you. It’s about Senator Austin and her crimes against the Constitution.”
“W-who are you people?”
“Patriots – willing to do whatever is necessary to protect this country. She’ll be here shortly, to stand trial.”
“P-please. Don’t hurt her. Please.”
That’s better. Just like those illegals and antifa loyalists we’ve rounded up. They all begged in the end. They respected our power if not our principles.
“Cooperate, and this will all be over very soon,” I say.
She nods over and over, a bobbing balloon. It’s all good. Part of the begging.
“Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have a trial to prepare for.”
I walk out and Sidewinder muscles the door closed with a clang. He slaps the lock back on and looks at me closely.
“She’s a problem,” he says.
“A loose end. But we’ll deal with that later. Do you have the video camera?”
“Yes, sir. Permission to speak freely?”
“Of course.”
“Why record the trial? Why create evidence that they can use against us?”
I smile, appreciating the question.
“For our legacy, my friend. One day, your great-grandchildren will look back on this moment with pride: The time a group of patriots fought valiantly to preserve our liberty. This isn’t evidence to be ashamed of. Quite the contrary. This is proof of our courage to resist the deep state. Inspiring proof, that must find its way into the hearts and minds of our brothers across this great country.”
I reach into my jacket pocket, pull out a stack of papers.
“Here are the charging papers. I’ll be reading this out loud. Let me know if you have any suggestions. I still have time to do a few minor edits.”
“Will do.”
There’s a sudden noise and Sidewinder and I instinctively pull our guns.
The thud of approaching footsteps echoes off the walls making it sound like a half-dozen men. Then Weasel’s bald head comes into view.
“Over here,” I yell, and he bridges the gap quickly.
“Things just got complicated,” he says. “The FBI has visited the building where Hawkeye and Echo are holding the target.”
“Crap,” Sidewinder mumbles.
“When?” I ask.
“Last night.”
“Were they searching?”
Weasel shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It was a senior FBI agent that I recognized, and he was alone. He went into the lobby and up the stairs, away from our boys’ apartment. He was in the building for less than an hour. I believe he was talking to one of the tenants.”
“Sounds unrelated.”
“That’s what I thought – until I saw that tenant go to Echo the next morning. They talked in the lobby. She seemed upset.”
“Jesus,” Sidewinder says. “How many people have they told?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. After all, they’ve pulled this thing off so far, haven’t they?” I glance at my watch. “They just need to hold the target for another eight hours. What do you think, Weasel?”
