Seven Unholy Days (15 page)

24

7:45 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

YELLOW CREEK

             
“You did what?” Tarkleton screamed.

“To be accurate, the director ordered him out of here, not me. He sure got no argument from me on it, though. I think Decker is bad news. Even if he’s not involved in it himself, all he does is piss this guy off. For all we know he’s responsible for what ha
ppened in Los Angeles,” Rowe said.

“You’re as full of crap as a Christmas turkey, Rowe. You know dang good and well that what happened in Los Angeles had to have been planned long ago. It most certainly didn’t happen because Decker was here, no matter what the guy is saying. He’s just yanking chains, trying to distract us, and it looks to me like it’s working. You people need your heads e
xamined if you’re so simple-minded that you can’t see that.”

“Thanks for sharing your opinion, Mr. Tarkleton. It’s of much value to us.”

“Abdul,” Tarkleton said, turning his back to Rowe, “what’s wrong with you? You look bothered.”

“You do not know of the final email to Matt Decker. We are having until 10:22 tomorrow morning to find the CEPOCS password or my family is going to be killed and maybe Matt Decker’s father and many more Americans.”

“Rowe, you idiot! You sent Decker off with this going on? And why didn’t you mention this email to me just now?”

“I have no obligation to tell you anything, Tarkleton. You’re a plant manager, nothing more. You have no role in this inve
stigation other than to follow my orders. The Bureau is in charge of this investigation and I’m in charge of this facility until further notice. In case you haven’t heard, we’re under martial law and that means we have a bit more latitude in setting the rules.”

Rowe never saw it coming as Tarkleton walked calmly t
oward him. Tarkleton hit Rowe square in the mouth with enough force to loosen three front teeth and send blood pouring. “And in case you haven’t heard,” Tarkleton said, “this is the United States of America, not some piss-ant third world hellhole where people like you decide to take over and everybody falls in line just because you said to!”

Rowe slowly picked himself up from the floor, using his forearm to wipe the blood streaming down his chin. Abdul watched the fracas for about thirty seconds and returned to the task at hand, his fingers flying over the keys as his eyes scanned the screen for signs of success. Tarkleton stuck a big finger right in Rowe’s face. “You’re out of control, Rowe.”

“I swear to God, you’ll pay for that, Tarkleton.”

“Maybe so, Rowe. Or maybe not,” Tarkleton said as he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

8:13 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

IUKA COUNTRY INN

I almost left my skin when I stepped out of the dark shower and saw Jimmy Lee Tarkleton sitting in the chair beside the bed. “Good grief, man, ever heard of knocking?”

“I did. Guess you were in the shower, so I got the manager to let me in. He’s a friend of mine. How’d you get here, Ma
tthew?”

“Hitched a ride with a real winner, some guy named Henry. You heard what happened at the plant?”

“Agent Rowe and I had a discussion about it.”

“I was wrong about Potella. Rowe’s the mole.”

“Do tell?”

“I’ll explain later. Right now we have to figure out how I can get back on this thing. We have a new deadline.”

“So I heard. I’m with you, but how do you propose we get you back in?”

“How many agents do they have on site?”

“Rowe, Potella, and Reynolds were the only ones there when I left. They have two more in the area, but they’ve been out working the Fulton investigation with Litman’s boys.”

“Speaking of the High Sheriff, whose side will he come down on?”

“Johnny and I go way back, but asking a county sheriff to go head to head against another law enforcement agency, especially the FBI, is a tall order. I used to pull a few shifts as a reserve policeman and I can tell you the blue wall of solidarity is a real thing.”

“I thought it was the blue wall of silence.”

“Same thing, trust me. They stick together.”

“We’ll have to tear that wall down this time. We don’t have a choice.”

“I’m with you come hell or high water, Matthew, and I’ll do what I can with Johnny Litman, but I can’t make you any promises where he’s concerned.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go.”

             
“Hell, Tark, I could wind up in jail. Not a good place for a sheriff to be.”

“Johnny, you remember Billy Sneed?”

Litman wagged a finger in Tark’s face. “This ain’t going to work, Jimmy Lee.”

“Do you remember him?”

“You know dang well I do.”

Tark turned to me. “Billy was the class bully from the first grade on. Always had it in for this scrawny little buddy of mine named Johnny Litman.” He looked back at the Sheriff. “How many times you reckon I saved you from him?”

“Plenty, but—”

“No buts, Johnny. I was always there for you. Always. Didn’t matter if it was Billy or somebody else, first grade or summer camp or tenth grade or whatever. Until you got where you could take care of yourself, I was there for you and I’ve never asked you for one thing. Now I’m asking. This nut’s liable to kill a million more people if he’s not stopped, and Matthew here is the one with the best shot at that.”

“Why don’t ya’ll call Rowe’s boss and let him handle it?”

“The people in Washington and Quantico aren’t getting a
nywhere,” I said, “and we can’t sit around waiting for them to get their act together. And besides, how do we know who we can even trust up there? We know there’s at least one other turncoat and there could be a dozen more,” I said.

“Dang it, Johnny, why don’t you reach down in your britc
hes and be sure you even got a pair left,” Tark said. Litman’s nostrils flared and red splotches appeared on his face.

“Sheriff, I’m going back in there,” I said. “Maybe we can avoid anyone getting hurt if you’re with us, but I’m going in with our without you.”

“That goes for me, too,” Tark said.

Litman rolled his eyes. “Decker, if this backfires I’ll be knocking on your door for a job.” He keyed the mike on his shoulder and turned his head toward it to speak. “Dispatch, S.O. One.”

“S.O. One, Dispatch. Go ahead.”

“Find Ray Johnson and patch him through to me, ASAP.”

“Ten-four, Sheriff.”

              Litman had been slow to come on board, but once he did he fully engaged and had the clout to bring plenty of high quality guests to the party. I learned that Ray Johnson was Lieutenant Ray Johnson, brother-in-law of Johnny Litman and somewhat of a local hero as a result of his service in Afghanistan, during which he led a charge into al-Qaida’s Tora Bora cave complex.

Of current interest was the fact that he was the Army R
eserve officer in charge of the local e-brigade, Itawamba County’s National Guard component of Mississippi’s 3rd Brigade, 87th Division, which rolled under the moniker Dixie Thunder.

The Humvee was loud and hot. “Matthew, way back in 1787 Thomas Jefferson said something that we might be put in jail for saying today. He basically said a rebellion was needed at least every twenty years, that the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of both patriots and tyrants. Those were telling words.” Tark was shouting to be heard over the roar of the hefty engine and the whine of the mammoth tires on the behemoth.

“I’d rather not water the tree tonight if we can avoid it,” I said.

“Do I strike you as a violent man?”

“You could.”

He grinned and slapped me on the back. “I’m just a big old teddy bear, son.”

Our Humvee was the number two vehicle in the convoy, right behind Sheriff Litman’s cruiser as we made our way into the GCE complex. Behind us were three more Humvees, two of them topless and bristling with mounted M-60 .50 caliber machine guns. And rumbling along way back at the back of the pack, unbelievably, was an M1A1 Abrams tank.

              Abdul is a codeslinger extraordinaire. He was one with his machine, barely looking up when we burst into the room like a team of vigilante commandos at midnight. I did see him crack the faintest smile, though. He knew the cavalry had come.

Potella and Reynolds spared no time getting their hands ai
rborne when the swarm of armed men hit the room. For about a thousandth of a second, Rowe looked like he wanted to reach for his gun, but common sense took over and he too raised his hands. Litman relieved Rowe’s shoulder holster of the .40 caliber Glock, along with a .32 revolver tucked away in a nylon ankle holster. He cuffed him and a pair of deputies escorted him to the side of the room. “Hold him right there for the time being,” Litman said.

I noticed earlier that the knuckles on Tark’s right hand looked bruised. I saw Rowe’s swollen lip and understood. Someone stripped Potella and Reynolds of their weapons and escorted them from the control room.

“What do you want me to do with this bunch?” Litman said, pointing at Neo and his band of merry misfits.

“Got any work for them over at your jail?”

“My computers work fine, thank you very much.”

“Who said anything about computers? Any floors need mopping?”

Litman grinned. “Now you’re talking.” He motioned for a deputy to round them up and usher them out.

“Tark,” I said, “let’s get the Bureau on the line and break the news about who’s in charge down here. Maybe Brandon will come to his senses and work with us.”

“Rowe, give me the director’s phone number,” Tark said. Rowe broke loose from the two deputies and hit the door running, his arms shackled securely behind his back thanks to a regulation pair of Smith & Wesson handcuffs. The deputies gave chase and we fell in behind. Ten yards down the hallway I stepped on something that clanked. The handcuffs. He used his own key to release the locks while we were talking.

He flew through the outer door and hit the parking lot in a sprint. The man could run. I was in good shape, normally ru
nning four to six miles a day depending on how busy I was, and I was getting winded after a hundred yards. He was going toward the waterway, showing no sign of slowing down as adrenaline pushed him forward. I heard the splash as he hit the water, then another as one of the deputies plowed in after him. The second deputy wanted no part of the water, manning the flashlight from the bank instead.

He swept the beam of the Mag-Lite across the surface of the water, looking for Rowe but finding only the other deputy. Rowe was nowhere to be seen. He had dove underwater and surfaced elsewhere. The black water of the unlit night made it tough to see anything. Lots of talking and pointing flashlights and speculating went on, but Special Agent Bob Rowe was gone.
 

“Abdul, any progress?”

He shook his head but his fingers never stopped. Tark was still dialing the phone. He covered the handset and said, “You see what I mean about a biblical flavor on that last email?”

“Yeah, let’s brainstorm that as soon as we get it quietened down around here.”

DAY FOUR

FRIDAY

And I looked, and behold a pale horse:

and his name that sat on him was Death,

and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth,

to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

Revelation 6:8

25

1:02 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

YELLOW CREEK

             
It took forty-five minutes but Tark finally had FBI Director Keen Brandon on the phone, explaining the newly established Yellow Creek command structure to him. I was talking to Abdul when Sheriff Litman walked back into the room. “Of all the times for Henry Roberts to pull one of his routines, he sure picked a doozy.”

Litman turned to one of the deputies. “Bobby, go out there and get his drunk self and see if you can find a place around here to lock him up. Make it as far away from here as you can so we ain’t got to listen to him.”

“I had the good luck to hitch a ride with Henry today. He’s a piece of work,” I said.

“He’s been like that his whole life. Hell, his daddy was like that. Always drinking and picking fights. Thank the Lord he and Missy didn’t have kids. Maybe that line will finally die off.”

I was wondering why any human woman would want to marry Henry, when an avalanche of realization fell over me. “Take me to Henry right now,” I said.

“Why on Earth—”

“Sheriff, I’ll explain later, just take me to him.”

“Bobby, take him on,” Litman said while he shook his head.

They had him locked in the guard shack at the main gate. Another deputy stood outside the diminutive structure while Henry threatened to whoop all kind of ass from inside. “Open the door,” I told Bobby. He nodded to his colleague and seconds later Henry came charging out.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw me with the deputies and just stood there trying to figure it out. “Dicker!” he finally said. “You come to help me whoop these candy ass sumbitc
hes?”

“Henry, I need you to calm down for just a minute. I have a question for you.”

“I like you, Dicker,” he slurred as he threw an arm around me.

“I like you too, Henry. Now please pay attention.” He half-stood, half-leaned on me, bobbling from side to side, but he a
ppeared to be listening. “When was the last time you saw the blinking lights in the box?”

“Last night,” he said. “They were acting stranger’n hell.”

“You’re sure it was last night?”

“Why hell yeah, Dicker. You want me to whoop your ass too?”

I crouched and stepped out from under his arm. “Maybe later,” I said back over my shoulder as I jumped into the driver’s seat of the deputy’s cruiser and headed back to the main building with the deputy standing beside Henry looking confused.

              “Abdul, we’re almost to the switch. Have you confirmed there are no active communication links from GCE into the fiber?”

“Yes,” his voice crackled quietly on the handheld radio.

“Matthew, when are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Tark said.

“I think I know how 69 is staying informed on our investig
ation.” We were making our way through the narrow clear-cut on the Robertses’ land, coming up on the switch from the rear.

We were about ten yards out when I heard a faint zip of a whistling sound overhead, followed a quarter-second later by the report of a small caliber weapon up ahead. I hit the ground, dragging Tark down with me. Another shot fired. And another. I could hear the bullets ripping through blades of Johnson grass beside the narrow path. It sounded like a .22 rifle.

Tark raised his head up and I tried to pull him back down. “Missy, is that you?” he bellowed. Geez, is there anybody around here he doesn’t know?

“This is Wildcat Roberts! Who the hell’s out there on my land?”

“Missy, it’s Jimmy Lee Tarkleton. Quit shooting at us, for crying out loud!”

“Okay, I’ll quit.” I heard her coming through the weeds, and soon enough she came into view in the moonlight. I saw her and wished I hadn’t. No longer did I wonder how Henry had managed to find a wife. I wondered how she managed to land a prize like Henry.

Wildcat and Tark slid into a conversation and I walked around them to the front of the switch. Just like Henry had said, there were lights. On the very left was an LED labeled LINK. It was a bright, steady green. Immediately to the right was a vertical row of ten blue LEDs that worked like a graph to show activity passing through the switch. The very bottom light was intermittently blinking. I keyed up my radio, watching the blue LEDs carefully. “Abdul?”

“Yes.” LEDs two and three blinked, then died.

“Talk about the weather or food or something and move slowly around the room.”

He walked and talked and I watched as the lights grew stronger and weaker and stronger as I guided him. After five minutes of the back and forth I had the sweet spot nailed. “A
bdul, remember your current location. We’re heading back.”

“Yes.”

I was right; no one had been monitoring my laptop. The control room was bugged, and 69 had been listening to every word we said.

“Well I’ll be a jack-in-the-box. What are you planning to do with the bug?” Tark said as we began our hike back to the car.

“For now, we’ll leave it in place and let him hear what we want him to.”

“Sounds like a plan. Oh, you were in such a fit to get out here, I didn’t get to tell you what Brandon said on the phone.”

“How belligerent was he?”

“Keen Brandon said he hadn’t talked to you or Bob Rowe this afternoon. You were ordered off the case by an imposter.”

That put a stutter in my stride. “Interesting. How’d Brandon act?”

“I wouldn’t call him happy about our taking over his crew with a homegrown posse, but he was way more upset about his crooked agent.”

“Make that plural. Someone called me.”

“What about Potella?”

“No, he and Reynolds were in view while I was on the phone.”

“How do we know who to trust in the FBI, then?”

“We don’t.”

“So what do we do, Matthew?”

“We get back to Yellow Creek and figure this thing out ourselves. We’ll stay in touch with the Bureau and as long as their input passes the smell test we go with it. And our people stay on hand just in case Brandon attempts a coup. Bottom line, they can’t slow us down if we’re one step ahead.”