“What were you doing in Denver?”
“I was there on vacation. What is this all about?”
The guard looked at the man’s frightened wife. “Never mind. Go back to sleep.”
Christopher closed his eyes again. They were upon him. He could hear them breathing and smell their sweat. Then, he saw a red light shining through his eyelids. He flinched. It was gone.
“Excuse me, Mister,” the man with the scanner said to Travis. “Do you work for Morgan?”
“No I don’t.” Travis only briefly looked up. His white, day-long beard stubble made him look like he had talcum powder dusted on his chin. He adjusted his Rockies cap and closed his eyes again. The guard eyed him a few seconds more. “Sir, please remove your cap for me.”
Travis had no choice. He took off his cap and the guard pointed the scanner at his head. “This is one,” he said to another guard. “Travis Reed.”
“You need to come with us, Mr. Reed. You're being charged with stealing from Corporate Headquarters.”
“I will not go,” Travis said.
“Let's go,” the guard said, grabbing Travis by the arm. “Come with me now.” The guard forcefully stood Travis to his feet. Then he looked at Christopher. “You're coming too. On your feet.”
Christopher protested. “I have rights. You can't just take me off this train.”
The railroad security guard spoke. “He's right. You have to have a warrant.”
The body guard kept holding onto Travis. “Not this one, I don't. He has a Morgan tattoo. He belongs to me.”
The railroad security guard frowned at him. It was clear he was angry at this intrusion. He pointed at Christopher. “Well, I'm not going to get involved in your company's business, but you can't take this man without a warrant.”
“Fine,” one of the guards said. He spoke into his radio and in a few minutes two more guards appeared from the back of the train. They grabbed Travis and led him to the nearest exit. Travis tried to fight them, but it was no use. One of the guards twisted his arm behind his back and forced him to move forward. The original guards glared at Christopher and then kept going down the aisle past him.
Christopher breathed a sigh of relief that they didn't take him, but he was horrified that they had taken Travis. He knew Charles Morgan was murderously angry. He tried to think of a way to save him, but nothing came. He glanced back over his seat to see if they were getting Dillon, but he had disappeared and they were going row by row, looking for him.
After thirty minutes or so, the train slid into motion and they were moving again. Christopher watched the silhouette of the landscape glide by for several miles, lit by a partial moon. He saw the shadow of it first, then heard the sound. The helicopter was flying overhead, following the train. His heart jumped. They knew he was on board and they were not going to let him get away. He wondered what had happened to Dillon. He wished Travis was still sitting beside him so they could plan what to do now. But he was alone. He sat and tried to think of some way of escaping from the train when it stopped again.
*****
Julia Reed was nearly asleep in her bedroom in Telluride. She had been watching the store for her husband that afternoon, then she came home and crashed into bed, rubbing her tired feet. Those feet were not accustomed to working like that. Her feet would get tired when they would dance too long at a party, but never for working on them all day. Oscar had been gracious to her, of course, only letting her be alone in the store when he had to leave to go to the post office or some other errand. She was grateful for that since she didn’t know an allen wrench from a phillips screwdriver.
What surprised her most, perhaps, was that she actually enjoyed working. It gave her a new sense of purpose. She knew she was helping her husband and their friends. Besides, it was only for a couple of days.
Oscar told her that her perky personality was good for business, and he teased and flirted with her to bring it out when his regulars came in. He had to rescue her a couple of times, however, when she talked her way into a hole with a customer.
She lay there and thought about her husband and his mission. She wondered where he was and how he was doing. She prayed he was safe. She had never given much thought to prayer before, but that had changed. She knew that God had given them a new life and she felt she was becoming more of a spiritual person now because of it. The house was quiet and the bed cold when she climbed into it. She missed Travis. A sliver of light came through the bedroom window and illuminated a rectangle on the carpet. She read for half an hour and turned off her lamp a little before eleven. After a few minutes she slept.
In her dreams, Travis came home to tell her everything was okay. He walked into the bedroom and the floor creaked as he entered. He put something in her dresser. He dug through it, rattling her silver necklaces.
It wasn’t Travis and she wasn’t dreaming. Someone was in her bedroom. Her body was still frozen in sleep, but she was aware that a man was standing no more than two feet from her. He was looking through her chest of drawers. The flash drive. He was there to get it. She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but it looked as if he was wearing a black ski mask. Her heart raced. What should she do? Should she pretend she was asleep? It didn’t matter, she couldn’t move or speak if she wanted to. Then she heard a voice ask, “What do you want?” It was her voice. “What are you looking for?”
The man turned and glared at her. “Lady, tell me where the memory stick is and nobody gets hurt.”
She cowered under the covers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do. Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Please get out of my house.”
He reached over and pulled the covers off of her, exposing her bare legs to the cold. “Get up.” He brandished a knife. “Give me the stick or I’ll dump your body over the mountain.”
“What stick?”
“I’m losing patience with you, lady.”
She didn’t answer and he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up to him. She could smell the cigarettes he had been smoking. He stuck the knife into the side of her neck, just piercing the skin. The cut stung and she wondered if she was taking her last breaths.
He pressed his face next to hers. “Now!”
“Okay.” She walked to the kitchen, with him clutching her arm. There, she opened the utility drawer beside the sink and pulled the flash drive from it. She handed it to him and he stuffed it into his pocket.
“Here’s a message for your husband,” he said. He took the point of his knife and cut her throat nearly from ear to ear. She fell to the floor. He left her there and exited through the front door. She stood to her feet and wrapped her neck with a dish towel that was hanging on the refrigerator door. Then she staggered out behind him. She stood, barefoot, in her freezing driveway for a moment, then went to the house next door. Wet crimson glistened on the front of the towel and her gown as she knocked loudly on the door. No one came. She banged on it again, then fell in a heap—
—Her frightened neighbor opened the door in his underwear. He called 911 to report a dead lady on his porch.
Chapter Seventeen
Dillon held on to the top of the train as it sped toward Kansas City in the darkness. Freezing wind blasted his face and made his fingers ache while he gripped the ladder. He had watched the guards take Travis and saw that his idea of wearing the caps was not going to work. So he slipped out of his seat and and made his way to the back of the train while they were distracted. When the second set of guards came toward him from the rear, he ducked into a restroom and let them pass.
He rushed through the dining car and made his way to the back porch. He didn't want to leave Christopher, so he climbed up on the roof instead of jumping off. There was a large air conditioning vent near the rear of the train car. He hid behind it and watched them load Travis into the helicopter. He clung to the top as the train got underway toward its next stop. The helicopter flew overhead, so he stayed put. He hoped his
fingers wouldn't get so cold he could no longer hang on.
After a few minutes, the helicopter flew up and out of sight. Dillon reasoned it was going ahead to wait at the next stop. He climbed down onto the back porch, opened the door, and began to make his way through the train toward Christopher. He picked up a schedule that was lying in the floor and saw that the train was going to stop again at six in the morning at Topeka. He continued through the train and crouched beside Christopher and whispered to him. “Hey, are you okay?”
Christopher was half asleep. He jumped, startled. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”
Dillon sat in Travis's empty seat. He glanced at his watch. “We have about three hours until the next stop. Let's get some sleep and then we need to slip out the back as soon as the train comes to a stop.”
Christopher rubbed his eyes. “Where will that be?”
“Topeka. Ever been there?”
“No.”
“I'll set the alarm on my watch. You get some sleep.” Dillon set his alarm to go off just before six, then leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He was asleep in a matter of minutes.
The buzzing alarm on his watch didn't wake Dillon first. It woke up Christopher. He shook Dillon to get him awake. “Come on,” he said.
Dillon stretched his arms and rubbed his sleepy eyes. He waited until he was awake enough to stand, then got up and started toward the back of the train. Christopher followed right behind him. The aisle was dark and the passengers asleep in their seats as the men quietly made their way toward the back.
Dillon stopped at an exit door at the front of the sleeping car. He studied it to see if there was any way to open it while the train was in motion. It served as an emergency exit so he pulled the handle and it clicked ajar. He and Christopher stepped out of it and onto the steps in the outside stairwell. Cold air blasted at them. Dillon could see the glow of city lights ahead, and they stayed in the shadow of the well until the train came to a stop at the Topeka station. Then they jumped down and rolled under the train to get to the other side, opposite of the platform. The men ran, crouching in the darkness, to some tall grass growing inside the fence. It was still dark, but dawn was breaking in the east, turning the sky from black to purple. Orion was visible above their heads. They crouched in the grass and watched for guards.
“We need to get across that fence,” Christopher whispered.
“I'm sure it's secure,” Dillon replied. “We'll have to wait here until the train leaves, then make our move.” He tried to see what was happening on the train and on the platform, but he couldn't see anything. He listened for the helicopter, but didn't see or hear it until the train took off again. When it did, the helicopter took off and continued following it. The platform was empty. Christopher tried to stand, but Dillon held him back and told him to wait a little longer. He watched to make sure the coast was clear for several more minutes, then stood to his feet and dusted the dirt off of his jeans. He helped Christopher to his feet. “Okay, let's go.”
The men walked across the tracks and onto the platform. They cautiously went into the sleepy lobby of the station. It was an old building with a high ceiling and huge light fixtures hanging from it. A couple of people milled in the station, but no one who looked like he was any kind of Morgan body guard.
Christopher sat on a bench and leaned against the wall. He kept closing his eyes. Dillon walked over to a news stand and bought them a couple of cups of coffee. He sat beside Christopher and handed him his cup. “We'll see if we can rent a car around here somewhere.”
“Sounds good,” Christopher said, sipping the hot coffee and breathing the steam from the cup.
Dillon paid for a Chevy Malibu with a credit card and got in behind the wheel for the five-hour trip back to Springfield. It was still cool when they left, but the morning sun felt warm coming in low through the windows. Christopher was having a hard time staying awake, but Dillon was pumped with adrenaline and ready to get back to Missouri.
He thought about all they had been through as he drove out of the city. He was sad they had lost Travis but proud that he had gotten himself and Christopher off of the train and safely into this car. Another member of the team was gone and he hoped he was okay. It made him shudder to think what they were going to do to him.
It was just he and Christopher now, and he hoped they had the courage to see this through. If for no other reason, they had to do it for Travis. But it wasn't going to be easy. They had to convince some cooperative member of law enforcement to believe that Morgan was actually murdering its own people. And they had to do it before Morgan's guards found them first. And what if they reported the crime to someone who was on Morgan's side? He wondered if it would even do any good to report this to a local police station. This was so much bigger than any local problem. He glanced over at Christopher who was sleeping with his head against the window. He wondered what he was dreaming about. He glanced at the manila folder that was sitting in the front seat between them and wondered if that was going to be enough. This one list was all they had.
An hour into the trip Christopher began to stir. He coughed and nodded at Dillon. “You awake over there?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.”
“Thanks for driving.” He stretched and sighed deeply. “And thanks for getting me off of that train.”
“Sure.” Dillon glanced over at him. “I thought they had us.” He drove a moment, then checked his mirror. “I've been thinking about something: do we have another copy of the Dead Peasants file, or did Travis have both of them?”
Christopher thought for a minute. “I have a copy on my computer at the church.” He paused. “If Morgan hasn't gotten to it.”
“When we get to town, we better go get that. Maybe after dark tonight.”
Christopher nodded. “I agree.” He crossed his arms. “I think I have a good place for us to stay when we get to Springfield.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I have an elder at my church who lives up toward Bolivar – out in the country. He's a widower and lives by himself. I think it might just be safe there until we can figure out what to do.”
“Sounds good.” Dillon continued to drive south. It normally would have been comforting to head back home, but he knew he wasn't going home – couldn't go home. He wondered what confrontations were ahead of him. He wondered how he was going to pay his mortgage since he couldn't go back to work. He had never felt so unsettled. And he wasn't the same. He had killed two people in the past week. He glanced at his hands on the wheel. He continued to drive in silence. He kept seeing the face of the security guard in Charles' office that he had shot and killed. The guy was trying to get to his own gun and would have killed him and maybe Travis and Christopher too if he hadn't shot him. He was simply too slow and he got him first. Dillon did what he had to do. He was proud that he had the presence of mind to first shoot the guard who still had his gun. That quick thinking may have saved his life, but he felt terrible about it. He was glad he had only wounded the other guard.
Dillon had injured Charles too. That man had it coming and he didn't feel guilty about knocking him around his office. He glanced in the mirror. No, he felt Charles deserved it. But however mad Charles was before, he was surely furious now. He would send out a whole army to find and murder him if he had to. This wasn't going to be pretty. He thought about his own gun. It was under the seat in Christopher's car in that garage in Denver. He wished he still had it.
Dillon glanced over at Christopher, who was watching the scenery out the window. No matter how many guards or hit-men he had to kill, he was going to protect this man. Christopher was a good man, and a preacher. He was just trying to keep his family together and had been drawn into this fight when he was minding his own business. He feared Travis was suffering, but Dillon wasn't going to let anything happen to Christopher so long as he had a breath left in him.
It was early afternoon when Dillon drove into Bolivar. It was warmer than it had been a few days ago when they left
the state. The sun was shining in a bright-blue sky. It looked and felt like Spring and that gave him a small amount of comfort.
The men stopped at a fast-food restaurant and grabbed a couple of burgers. Then Christopher directed him to his friend's house, ten miles north of Springfield, near Fair Grove. It was a secluded, country setting, with a long driveway leading from the highway. The house was up on a hill and Dillon thought that was good; it would give them a tactical advantage if anyone came at them.
Jim Lawrence appeared to be in his upper seventies. He grinned and hugged Christopher and seemed genuinely glad to see them. He had a day or two's stubble on his face, gray hair, but bald on top, and piercing blue eyes. He had some crumbs from lunch caught in the stubble under his mouth. He stood at just under six feet and wore blue jeans, boots, and a button-down shirt that he hadn't bothered to tuck in.
Christopher introduced Dillon to him. “Jim, this is my friend Dillon.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“It's kind of a long story,” Christopher said. “But Dillon and I need a place to stay for a couple of days. Do you think you could let us bed down here? Would that be okay?”
“Well sure, come on in. I'll put on a pot of joe and you can tell me all about it.” He turned to lead them into his living room. “Or you don't have to tell me anything, Brother Chris. I'm just glad to have some company.”
The house was a wood frame structure on pier and beam. Dillon figured it was built in the 1930's. He had old, gray and blue rugs on the wood floor in the living room, but carpet in the bedrooms. There was an archway that separated the kitchen from the living room, and the furniture had been there a long while. Windows were open to let in the outside breeze, but Dillon could smell the bacon grease left over from either breakfast or lunch and still sitting on the stove. A shotgun leaned against the wall in a corner by the front door and Dillon was glad to see it. Jim's dog was asleep on the couch. He was a big dog, probably a Labrador. He woke up, jumped down and sauntered up to the men, wagging his tail.
The Dead Peasants File Page 15