Fight for Power (32 page)

“There's only one way I could be a nothing,” Brett said. “And that's if you kill me and we all know that's not going to happen.”

“Don't count on that,” Herb said. “Some governments take the lives of convicted murderers—especially mass murderers. You'll have a fair trial and then we'll see what the committee wants to do with you. You always said I could convince them to do anything I wanted. You'd better hope you were wrong.”

 

32

After news of the arrest of Brett and his squad spread through the neighborhood, living through the next few days felt like riding a roller coaster. There was a wave of bad feelings flowing through the streets. The committee was working hard to keep that wave from becoming a tidal wave.

It wasn't just that people were disturbed by the allegations against Brett and his squad but that they now felt less safe. Even though almost all my neighbors didn't agree with what he'd done, they had liked having him out there taking on the bad guys. It was as if they didn't understand that Brett and his men
were
the bad guys.

Each member of Brett's squad had been interviewed, and more information had come out. Not only had the condominium tower been set on fire and the tent people slaughtered, but the away team had gone into other little neighborhoods and taken whatever they wanted, killing whoever tried to stop them. Sometimes Brett killed people who weren't trying to stop him. He just killed them.

Some of the squad had been followers and now that the truth had come out, there was almost a sense of relief that it was finally over for them. They had done what they had done, but they felt awful. Guilty. Others, like Brett, seemed to have not just committed the crimes but enjoyed them. Brett had shown no remorse, had offered no apology, and only seemed to regret that he had been found out and stopped. It was like that part of his brain that controlled remorse, that made us all human, was missing for him.

Lori, Todd, and I had spent some time going over it, trying to make sense of it. This was really too big to keep to myself—or to ask Todd to—so we just talked it all out.

But in the midst of the shock and anger, good news arrived: the Cessna was finally working!

*   *   *

“Well, what do you think?” Herb asked. It was a bright, sunny day and we were checking out our new flying machine, which had been towed out behind my car to our makeshift runway.

“All the controls feel right, and the engine sounds good,” I said.

“So we're ready to take it up?”

“As ready as we can be. Everything that could be done has been done. The only real way to see if a plane is airworthy is to fly it.”

“Then let's do.”

Hundreds of people lined the wall, and almost as many stood outside the neighborhood on the far side of Erin Mills Parkway. It was a straight clear section, three lanes wide and long enough to take off and land the Cessna. It didn't need a long runway compared to a jet, but I was used to my ultralight, which could practically land on a dime. Who would have ever thought that I'd feel safer in an ultralight than in a Cessna?

It probably would have been better not to have Herb or anybody else up with me, but if I had to have one person I just wished it could have been my father. The plans always were for him to be there when I soloed. It would have made him proud and happy.

I eased off the brakes and fed more gas into the engine. It roared in response and we started inching forward. I opened up the throttle more, and the speed and sound increased. The plan was to taxi it the length of the runway, testing it out, and then come back the other way, taking off into the wind. We picked up speed, but I kept full flaps down so that there was no risk of us taking off into the air. Gently, ever so carefully, I played with the rudder to nudge us a little left and then right of the center line of the street. So far, everything was reacting the way it was supposed to. I slowed us down, hit the right rudder and left brake hard, and spun us around, aiming back up the runway and into the wind.

“This is it. Last chance to get out and watch from the ground,” I said.

Herb chuckled. “There's a much better view from up there.”

I pushed the yoke back and forth, turned the wheel and worked the pedals one more time, and then watched as the rudder and ailerons performed. There was nothing more that could be done on the ground. This was the moment of truth!

I opened the throttle and the plane instantly responded. More gas, faster and faster. We were quickly approaching takeoff speed. I had enough road ahead to safely abort the flight if I needed to—but I wasn't going to do that. I pulled back on the stick, and the rumbling in the wheels eased and then went silent as they lifted away from the surface and we soared upward. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the reaction of the people lining the way, raising their hands, jumping up and down, and screaming out cheers that I couldn't possibly hear over the engine.

“It's nice to see their excitement,” Herb said. “They needed something positive to happen.”

We all did.

I banked slightly to the right and we quickly came up on my high school and the police station. I was almost shocked by how fast we were traveling. I had become so used to the ultralight that I'd forgotten the speed of a Cessna.

“Let's not go too far,” Herb said.

“Of course. It's best to keep our landing strip close at hand.”

I tightened up the bank so we'd come around faster.

“Ultimately you'll be able to travel much farther, but right now I think it's important for the people in the neighborhood to see you up here. They need some good news, but more important they need to feel protected,” Herb said. “For now I want you up in the air at least twice a day,” he continued. “I want people down below to see you up there protecting them, and you should have more sets of eyes with you.”

“I can bring Todd and Lori with me.” Unlike the ultralight, the Cessna had four seats, two in the front and two in the back.

“Good. We are less safe now than we were,” Herb said. “We have one less patrol out there and another twenty people occupied guarding our prisoners.”

The neighborhood came underneath us again.

“So what's the time line on what's going to happen to Brett and his squad?”

“The first step is that Judge Roberts is arranging the trial, seeking people to sit on a jury.”

“That could be a problem. I've heard that some people feel the away team shouldn't have been arrested, that what they were doing was all for the good of the neighborhood,” I said. “Those people on a jury would find them innocent of doing anything wrong.”

“I've heard those rumblings, too, but once people hear all the details that attitude will change. A few sentences about the children they killed in cold blood in the tent town should be enough to convince even Brett's most ardent supporters.”

“And if the verdict is guilty?”

“That's the hard part. A couple of them can possibly be turned around, kept on a short leash, and counseled. They might become useful again,” Herb said.

“But not all of them. Not Brett.”

“Not Brett. His kind can't be changed.”

“But didn't you say
you
were his kind?” I surprised myself by even saying that.

Herb didn't answer and I wondered if I'd offended him. I should have kept my mouth shut.

“I'm sorry for saying that,” I said.

“You shouldn't be sorry. Since all of this happened I've been thinking a lot about that same thing. I wondered what sort of person I would have become if I had been that young and put in the same situation as Brett. I might have been even worse. He and I are both animals, but I believe that we are basically two different
types
of animals.”

“You're not an animal.”

“At the core we're all animals, just trying to survive and take care of our babies. I know that the agency aimed me at different targets, but my actions were no less final or fatal or brutal than those perpetrated by Brett. I want to believe that our actions were motived by different things. I like to believe, perhaps falsely, that I was motivated by a sense of duty.”

“Doesn't Brett say the same thing?” I asked. “That he was doing that for us, to protect the neighborhood?”

“He says it, but I don't think even he believes it. He delighted in the kill. I have spoken to him at some length and found out things. The setting of fires, the cruelty, the rush he gets in killing animals.”

“I saw that when we shot those deer. There was a look in his eyes.”

“Blood lust. He enjoys the kill. He is a true sociopath. I'd like to believe that I was forced to do sociopathic things—the taking of lives—but was never a true sociopath.”

“Of course you're not!”

“Don't be so certain. The best sociopaths are those who can convince others that they're not. They usually end up making wonderful politicians.”

“I knew something wasn't right about him from the beginning,” I said.

“I knew, too. I just thought I could control him, aim him in the right direction. In the end all of this is my fault. I didn't pull the trigger, but I loaded the gun and handed it to him.”

“You wanted to kill him in your basement, didn't you?”

“It would have been cleaner and simpler. I
should
have simply killed all of them, the entire squad.”

“But, but … how?”

“I would have gone out on patrol with them. It wouldn't have been difficult to put a bullet in Brett's head. Cut the head off a snake, and the rest is harmless.”

“You would have just killed them all.”

“If I'd done that we could have kept what they did away from everybody and they would have died as heroes instead of being tried as murderers. It would have united the neighborhood instead of dividing it.”

“But you didn't kill them,” I said. “Isn't that what makes you different from Brett, better than him?”

“That's the irony. He
was
needed. Before he got out of control that sort of ruthlessness—disregard for even his own life—was something we required. I still don't know if we as a neighborhood are capable of doing what we may need to do at some point.”

“I'm not worried. We'll do the right thing.”

“The right thing isn't necessarily the correct thing. Ruthlessness has its place.”

“What's the right thing to do with them?”

“As I said, one or two can be reclaimed. One or two we can simply expel from the neighborhood and they'll cause us no harm.”

“And Brett?”

“He can't be retrained, treated, or released. He is a threat to all people who are trying to simply survive. Expelling him from the neighborhood would only result in the deaths of countless innocents. Even worse, he would mostly be a threat to us. His hatred of life, which is general, would be aimed directly at our neighborhood, and very specifically at you and me and the committee members. He blames us for his downfall. He would be out there plotting and planning, gathering strength, gathering followers. Do you want him out there waiting for us?”

That thought sent a shiver up my spine. “So what do we do with him?”

“Either he has to be kept in custody forever or he has to be executed.”

“Killed?”

“Execution is state-sanctioned killing.”

“And which do you think should happen?” I asked.

“Being in custody takes resources and is risky. The permanent solution would be better. He needs to be killed.”

I should have said something, objected, talked about the importance of human life. All the things I used to believe in. Now, I didn't disagree, it was just a question of how—and who.

“It would be me,” Herb said. I hadn't asked, but he had answered. “I would be the one who kills him. I could never ask anybody else to do that job. Back there in the basement of my house Brett was right and wrong. I did want him to go for his gun, but I was the one who was going to take the shot. I had my finger on the trigger the whole time. I wasn't counting on you to be his executioner.”

“I knew you weren't, but I was ready. My finger was on the trigger, too … And for a few seconds I even wished he had gone for it. I was ready to kill him.”

“For your sake I'm glad you didn't have to. Taking a life does something to you. Something I hope you never need to have happen.”

“I've been part of taking lives,” I said.

“Part is different, very different. Okay, I think it's time to take us down. Is it true that landings are the most dangerous part?”

“Right now, everything seems to be the most dangerous part. I'll bring us down.”

 

33

After that first flight, we set up a patrol schedule, and I started taking Todd and Lori up with me. I didn't see anything new to worry about outside the walls, and sometimes I could even forget about Brett and the upcoming trial. In the Cessna I could go farther from our neighborhood than I had before, but I still missed the ultralight and started to take it up as well. It felt like an old friend. One morning, after I had just come back from a mini patrol in the ultralight, my mother came out to find me tying it down for the day.

“After being in that Cessna for a few days I didn't think you'd still be going up in the ultralight,” she said.

“It's easier to just walk out to our driveway and take off from the street,” I explained.

The Cessna was kept up in the parking lot in the strip mall and needed to use Erin Mills Parkway as a runway, so it meant taxiing out through the gate and getting the guards to block off the road for takeoffs and landings so that I didn't hit somebody walking by our neighborhood.

“For short patrols this just makes more sense,” I said.