Blood Ties (34 page)

Island justice, he'd always heard it called. Things
were different here on Tawes than on the mainland,
maybe better. The United States had its Constitution
and Bill of Rights, but the law was supposed to protect
the innocent and convict the guilty. It didn't seem to
work that way nowadays.

Will might not have a lot of book learning, but he wasn't uneducated or stupid. This country's laws were
based on English common law, where an accused person was judged by a jury of his or her peers. That
meant folks who knew them, folks who'd grown up
with them and knew a thief or a liar on sight.

Today, lawyers, judges, and other nuts had perverted those laws. Not only was an accused not judged
by people who knew them, they had to be judged by
total strangers as far away from where the crime was
committed as possible. The law was twisted and
stretched and squeezed so that the criminals had
more rights than the victims. It didn't matter if an accused man had raped and murdered in the past or
lived the life of a saint. Nothing counted in the courts
but what a jury could be persuaded to believe by slicktalking lawyers. No, the old ways were best. Not fancy,
but swift and sure.

A life for a life was what he believed.

By the time Will reached the dig site, other men and
a few hardy women were already gathering as he'd
supposed they would. Emma was waiting with George,
Nate, and Harry. Phillip and Jim were just nosing Jim's
flat-bottomed duck boat through the reeds. All the islanders carried guns, and both Jim and Harry had
brought their hunting dogs.

Only Emma, Nate, George, and two or three others
had the stomach to take a look at poor Matthew. His
tongue was swollen, and his face discolored. Insects
swarmed around the body, crawling into Matthew's
nostrils and open mouth. Emma's face turned a sickly
white when she stared into Matthew's vacant eyes, and
her freckles stood out like chicken pox. She gagged
and barely kept her gorge down, while Nate ran for
the reeds and dumped his supper.

The coon dogs had the scent of death in their noses
and they milled and whined nervously. The big New foundland had made his peace with Will's three, but
he was wary of the strange dogs. He kept close to Will,
sniffing the air and watching from his huge liquid
eyes, alert but without showing aggression.

"Should have left that bear at home," George said.
"Never saw a mainland dog yet was worth the cost of
shootin' him. First step into the marsh, he'll sink out
of sight."

Will smiled. "Not likely. These dogs are bred to water. They've used up north for rescue. Archie might
turn out to be the best tracker in the bunch."

One of Jim's hound bitches snarled at Archie, and
the Newfoundland bared his teeth. Jim curbed his
hound, and she slunk into the midst of the pack with
her tail between her legs.

"Think we should cut Matthew down?" Harry asked.
He was wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve,
and Will wondered if he'd been sick too.

"It doesn't seem right," Nate said, `just leaving him
hanging like that, him a minister and all."

"No."Jim shook his head. "We have to leave him as
we found him for Buck and the medical examiners.
Don't anybody go near the body. No telling what evideuce you could destroy."

"What in God's name could make a man do such a
thing to another?" Emma asked.

"Don't 'spect it had much to do with the good
Lord," George muttered, kicking at the sand. "Devil's
work, if you ask me."

"Looks like moccasin tracks leading away from ...
from Matthew's remains," Nate said.

Emma looked grim. "Means he's probably one of us."

"Likely," Will agreed. "Not many off this island wear
handmade skin shoes."

"What about that Indian? The stranger?" Phillip said. "You caught him sneakin' around here the other
night, didn't you, Will?"

"Possible," Will answered. "But he was wearing boots
when we caught up with him."

"Still ... an Indian." Phillip looked at Jim. "And
from what I hear, husband to the dead doctor."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Heard he's a wealthy oil man
from out west."

George spat a wad of tobacco onto the grass.
"Sounds fishy to me. What's he doin' here on Tawes
anyway?"

"Said he was worried about his girl," Will answered.

Phillip whistled at one of his dogs who was nosing
around the tents. "Get over here, Nance!" Turning
back, he said, "Maybe the oil man came for that, or
maybe for other reasons."

"That's fool's talk," Jim argued. "What would Vernon Night Horse have against Matthew? This is bad, as
had as I've ever seen. Why would he string a man up
like a deer and then shoot him while he's helpless?"

"Did you come out here to track this murderer or to
jabber?" Emma demanded. "I say, let's get on his trail
before it gets cold."

Jim brought his hounds forward. "We'll see what the
dogs can find. Marsh is hard, even for dogs. Too much
water to hold a decent scent."

"Don't take chances, boys," Will said. "He's killed before. He'll think nothing of killing again. We don't want
to lose any of you. But don't get foolhardy and pick off
Aunt Birdy while she's out gathering mushrooms."

More men arrived as Jim set his dogs on the scent.
The pack leader began to bark, and the rest of the
hounds streamed after her. Will waited as the men,
women, and dogs moved away, until only he and Emma
were left with the Newfoundland and Will's three dogs.

"What's on your mind?" Emma asked, hunkering
down on the beach. "Usually, you'd take point on a big
hunt."

"Figured we might keep looking around here," Will
said. "See if there's anything I missed earlier. By
morning, it might rain again, and then we'd find
nothing."

"Never did care too much to be part of a herd, myself," Emma replied. "Guess I'll stay here and help
you out."

"It's a free country."

"That's what I heard, but I've not seen enough of it
to tell for certain."

Raven whined, and Will glanced over to see the
Newfoundland standing in the pit closest to the tents,
the one Matthew had worked on. A cascade of dirt
flew as the dog dug excitedly. "Archie! Come up out of
there!" he shouted. "Abbie put a lot of work into staking those holes out just so. She won't-"

"She won't like that." Emma pointed.

Archie lumbered up out of the pit, shaggy ears flopping, a human skull clamped between his huge jaws.

"Buck?" Daniel ran to his cousin's side expecting to see
a river of blood, expecting to hear a death rasp coming
from Buck's throat. He saw neither, but he didn't take
time to administer first aid. He caught Buck around
the shoulders and half carried, half dragged the bigger
man behind the solid bulk of the SUV.

"Damn it, Buck. What are you doing here? You were
supposed to be in Annapolis with Bailey."

Already, people were coming down the street.
Daniel heard the wail of a police siren. "Was it Lucas?
Did you get him?" He ripped off his shirt and balled it
up to stop the bleeding.

"Don't know." Buck gasped and pressed his chest. "Shit, but that hurts." He inhaled and coughed. "He
was waiting for you in that garage."

"How bad are you hurt?"

"I think I might have cracked a couple of ribs."

"Ribs?" Daniel drew his hand away and stared at it
stupidly. No blood. "You didn't take a bullet to the
chest?"

"I sure as hell did." Buck coughed again and leaned
against the SUV. "But one of us had sense enough to
wear protection."

"You're wearing body armor?"

The wail of the siren grew closer. Excited voices
filled the air.

"This could be embarrassing." Buck groaned. "Lots
of questions. We'll be tied up here for hours. Anything
you can think of to get us out of this wasps' nest?"

"I can try." Daniel looked hard at Buck to assure
himself that he wasn't hallucinating ... that he'd been
wrong, and Buck wasn't mortally wounded ... that the
body-armor vest had saved his life. "Wait here. And
stay out of sight."

"Wasn't planning on going anywhere until I catch
my breath."

Daniel dug his wallet out of a back pocket, rose, and
strode toward the approaching men and women. Behind them, a police car turned onto the street, lights
flashing.

"Stand back!" Daniel commanded. "Official EB.I.
business! Remain where you are for your own safety!"
He flashed ID.

The Maryland state policeman got out of his vehicle
and spoke into his radio. "Ten-two." He appeared to
be young and uncertain.

Daniel kept both hands in plain view. "Agent Johnson, EB.I. We have a situation here. Suspected terrorists.
My people have the unsubs contained on this block."

"We had reports of shots fired."

"Yes. One of my men was fired on, and he returned
fire."

"Are there any injuries? Do you need an ambulance?"

"No injuries," Daniel answered. "We have a possible
explosive device planted in a vehicle." Daniel surveyed
the gathering crowd of curious onlookers. "I need you
to keep these civilians out of this two-block area."

The trooper scanned the vacant street behind
Daniel. "Do you have the situation under control?"

"Yes, we do."

"I need to confirm your identification, sir." Daniel
tossed his wallet to him. The young trooper frowned.
"This appears to be you, Mr. Johnson. But this isn't
F.B.I. This says State Department."

"Covert." He gave the cop the look. "This is an emergency situation, Officer. There's no time for delay.
There may be other operatives in the area. My men's
lives are in danger."

"I'll have to contact my desk sergeant-"

"Do it, then!" Daniel snapped. "Our unsubs may be
getting away. Give your superior the number on the
back. Tell him to ask to speak directly to Agent Evan
Mobisy or Agent Anne Pellier. They can verify my
identity and the validity of this operation."

Gawking tourists and locals moved closer, pointing
at the police car and at Daniel. Someone whipped out
a camera, and Daniel threw his hand up to shield his
face. "Clear the area for your own safety!" Daniel
shouted to them. "There may be a bomb on this
block."

The policeman carried on an urgent conversation
with his troop sergeant by radio before nodding and
saying, "Your story checks out, Agent Johnson. My sergeant has dispatched three more cars. What can I do
to help?"

"Control the area. Protect the civilians. Now if you'll
excuse me, I have to mop up this scene and try to
catch the bad guys."

When Daniel returned to the SUV, he saw no sign of
Buck, but he did notice two bullet holes in the door.
He circled the vehicle and found Buck on his feet,
leaning against the car. He was red-faced and breathing raggedly, but looking more himself.

"Someone will have a hard time explaining those
holes to his insurance company," he said, handing
Daniel his holstered firearm. "What did you tell
them?"

"What I always do. Blame it on the F.B.I."

"I thought you were out of the agency for good."

"I am, but I always carry a fake ID, just for insurance."

Buck grinned. "They may not be happy with you."

"They never were."

Together, cautiously they crossed the street and circled the garage. The double wooden doors were open.
Buck came around the corner, weapon ready, but nothing stirred in the small building. An '81 Ford pickup
truck sat on blocks, windows and paint buried under layers of dust and pigeon droppings. A door hung ajar, but
the cab was empty. Together they inspected the garage.

"It's all right," Buck said. He motioned toward the
single window facing the street. Lucas lay crumpled on
the concrete, a rainbow of shattered window glass on
the floor around him, a bullet hole in the center of his
forehead.

Daniel nudged one of the dead man's European
running shoes.

Lucas didn't move. A stream of sunlight lit his
frozen features. Daniel thought his eyes held as much
human expression as they ever had.

"Score one for the home team." Buck pried a Glock,
almost identical to Daniel's, out of Lucas's lifeless hand.

"I hope to God Bailey got the boy. You were supposed to be guarding her."

"Right, and if I had been, you'd be dead."

"Maybe."

"Maybe, hell, cuz. You owe me." Buck removed the
dead man's cell phone and retrieved his laptop from
the floor. A quick search of Lucas's pockets showed
them empty. "Now what do we do with him?"

"We leave him for the State Department."

Buck looked at him quizzically.

"An inside joke. Most operatives pose as employees
of the Department of State. I gave that cop the number of a low-level contact. It won't be long before this
place will be swarming with G.S. 14's, intelligence personnel, and real EB.I. agents. They'll butt heads until
one of them comes up with an airtight explanation."

"You think the agency will cover for us?"

"I think they'll have to. After all, Lucas was one of
them. He was deep cover. He didn't exist. It will be up
to them to tidy up. As he'd put it, `no loose ends.'"

"Speaking of which, I think you may have left
some," Buck reminded him.

"My laptop and cell."

"You go back and get them. I'll bring the boat
around to the museum. If I can't get in close to shore,
you can swim out. The quicker we put St. Michaels behind us, the better."

Daniel looked down at Lucas. It was ironic, all the
operations he'd survived, only to die here in an Eastern Shore town, killed by a good ole boy. "Good shoot
ing, Buck."

"I thought so."

Daniel swallowed. If Lucas hadn't kept his word,
there might be no way to discover where he'd kept the
boy. They might never find him. He wondered if it would have been better for them all if he'd finished
off Lucas last summer when he'd confronted him on
the boat. But it was too late for should haves and could
haves. Lucas was dead now, and he'd never threaten
Bailey or Daniel's child again. Dead and forever silent.
Whatever Lucas knew, he'd taken it with him to the
grave. Daniel could summon a lot of regrets, but none
for the man on the floor at his feet. He hoped Lucas
was bound for the blackest corner of hell.