"It started there, sir. Yes."
"But didn't end there?"
"No, sir."
Fraser continued. "Adam Rowley has been documented on video twice, and in dozens of anecdotes, performing miraculous acts, none of which have presented a security threat to the United States. He bears watching, especially in the light of the rest of this, but I don't think he's relevant at this time, especially considering he's currently in government custody."
"My family is in a safe house—"
"Same thing." She smiled for the first time, lips a tight line across her teeth. Then she turned to Williams. "Which answers your question, Mr President – you have about a dozen mini Civil Wars going on, all of them more successful than they should be, all of them with a religious component, and all of them with a lot of innocent civilians at ground zero. They appear to be unrelated and even in opposition – I don't think the megachurch folks will truck much with the pagan Amerinds – but if the timing's a coincidence I'll eat my shirt. Mr President."
"Do we have a cause?"
"No, sir."
"All right." He looked around the room. "This would be a shitstorm even if it weren't an election year. Do we have any solutions?"
McGrath cleared his throat. "I've got authority to speak for Jim, here. The only response to insurrection is to crush it. I don't care what kind of hoodoo nonsense these traitors have, they're not going to stand up to the United States military. Quash this idiocy early, and others won't start."
Williams bemoaned the use of violence. Someone else objected on constitutional grounds, and Matt tuned out. He followed orders, he didn't give them, and nobody in this conversation would listen to him anyway.
"Sergeant Rowley," the president said at some point. "Intelligence suggests that you're familiar with the head of this church in White Spruce. Is that correct?"
He nodded.
"What's the nature of your relationship?"
Matt ran his tongue over his upper teeth. "Jason Rees was my best friend until he slept with my wife. Sir. Some years later he assisted in the destruction of ICAP, and then a combat operation against a cult in Georgia. He left the church after the incident on the Mall, and we speak if and when we must."
"Do you think you can talk him down from this ledge?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
"These churches, these… insurrectionists, they seem to look up to him. Do you think he can talk them into giving up this insanity? Before others join them?"
Matt shrugged. "Rees isn't violent by nature, but he's not my biggest fan, either." He breathed out, long and low. "I think my wife might be able to. Sir."
"Then that's settled. National Guard for New Hampshire and to back up the BIA, and Sergeant Rowley will handle the Christians. Anything else?"
No one said anything, so he added, "Dismissed."
As they shuffled out the president held back the Joint Chiefs. Freudenberg hurried Matt out of the room, murmuring, "That's a different sort of mission for you, isn't it?"
Sakura stood as they came out, killed her e-Reader, and put it in her back pocket.
"Yes," Matt said. "It'll give Sakura a chance for some R&R, and let me actually spend a little time with my family. I'm almost looking forward to it," he lied.
"To what?" Sakura asked.
"Bossing Rees around."
* * *
General Marco Valdez marched into President Robles's office, flanked by six of the president's guards. Robles looked up from his desk, and the topless secretary kneeling in front of him ducked out of the way, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her sly grin a counter to the president's outraged bluster.
"Do we no longer knock, Marco?"
Valdez flicked a finger at the girl, and the guards put their hands on their sidearms. "Matias, please stand and zip up your pants."
She bolted toward the door, panties in one hand, blouse and bra in the other, revealing a tight body closer in age to the president's daughter than his wife. A guard grabbed her arm and threw her down, then kicked her in the ribs hard enough to lift her from the ground. Robles shot daggers at Valdez as the girl gagged and coughed blood onto the carpet.
"What is the meaning of this?" He stood, zipped his fly, and buckled his belt. "Do you forget who you're speaking to?"
Valdez pulled an unloaded .38 revolver from his pocket and tossed it across the desk. Robles caught it, turned it around in his hand, and looked up, brow scrunched in confusion.
With a nod, the guards opened fire. As Robles dropped, Valdez clicked his radio twice. Gunfire popped in the courthouse next door and though he couldn't hear it, a similar scene played out in parliament down the street. "Prepare the media room for an address to the people. Leave us."
The guards backed out and closed the doors. Valdez tangled his fingers in the secretary's hair and pulled her to her feet. He grew hard at her whimper, and harder still as her fingernails drew red runnels down his hand.
"Tell me, little girl." He licked her face, from chin to temple, and whispered the rest in her ear. "What can you do that makes you worth keeping?"
Sobbing, she stopped clawing to run her hands down his arms, down his chest, to fumble at the buttons on his shirt.
For a moment his vision flared jade, and a sliver of thought shrieked that something else had control. Weakened but not weak, Ometeotl crushed the errant worry and faded back into the undercurrents in Valdez's psyche, content to let the general's animal drive for power serve his needs.
* * *
"You're not going to leave our side, either of you." Matt loaded Adam into the car seat strapped into the Apache helicopter while Sakura helped Monica with her straps. "We're just going to talk to him, and then we're going to leave. No side trips, no distractions – the OPD is still out there, and we don't know what assets they have where."
"They won't dare do nothing with you right here, will they?" The worry in her voice broke his heart.
"No." I don't think so. "I think they've wasted enough hardware on Sakura and I to think twice before they try again. Besides," he plopped small earmuffs over his grinning son's head, "nobody knows we'll be home."
They lifted off and Monica looked out the window, knuckles white on the holy shit handle by the door but her eyes wide with wonder. He'd always loved helicopters, and it warmed his heart to see her share that joy. Adam giggled and clapped his hands, squirming against his restraints to get a better view, but his unbridled joy faded, and an hour out he'd fallen asleep.
When they crossed the Tennessee line Matt tapped Monica on the knee. She rolled her eyes, triggered her microphone, and dialed. Matt eavesdropped as the noise-canceling mic did its best to muffle the thundering rotors.
Rees picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"
"Hey, Jason."
"Hey, yourself. You in a helicopter?"
"Yup."
"Cool. Your husband know you're calling?"
"Yup."
"What do you want, Mon?"
Matt looked out the window to hide a twitch as Rees used her nickname, an old familiarity he no longer deserved.
"You remember the gravel pit out on Eight? Past Blechley's stand?"
"Sure."
"Meet me there. Just you. Don't tell anyone."
"Will it be just you?"
"Yeah. Me and Adam."
"Okay. When?"
"Half an hour."
His annoyance carried perfectly over the line. "I have a meeting in a half an hour."
"Cancel it. This is life or death." The line clicked dead, and she gave Matt a sheepish grin. "I didn't want to give him time to argue."
"Lord knows he'll do that."
"You just remember to stay back. I'll talk to him, you listen. If you don't like what you hear, pull up your big girl panties and get over it."
He patted her knee. "I remember the arrangement."
They came in low over the mountains, where almost nobody would see them and the echoes would obscure their location. Touching down woke Adam, who rubbed his eyes and yawned, then gave Matt a happy smile. Matt helped Monica out of the helicopter, took her ear muffs, but left the ear bud in, fluffing her hair to hide it.
She slapped his hand away and arranged it herself, checking it with a compact mirror from her purse. "And I don't look like a poodle."
The gravel pit would make a great kill box – a single winding road barely wide enough for two cars, steep earthen walls on two sides, and tall trees – and an even better meeting place at the spur of the moment. Even if the Office of Planning and Development knew they were coming, they wouldn't have had time to set up anything, so those high vantage points served as perfect walls. Sakura vanished into the trees.
"Don't take too long." He kissed Monica's cheek then swatted her ass as she walked away.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered into the COM. She stopped a hundred feet away, at the far side of the pit, arms crossed.
A few minutes later Jason rounded the corner in a white Malibu, a smile dying on his face when he locked eyes with Matt. They exchanged nods, and Matt made sure to keep his face neutral as he drove past. He stopped next to Monica, fiddled with something in his lap a moment, then got out.
They shook hands, an awkward gesture at the best of times, then stood there a moment with their hands clasped in front of their bodies. Standoffish. Nervous.
"I thought you were alone."
"We are alone," she replied. "They're way over there. We can talk private."
"They?"
"Matt's with the boy, Isuji's in the woods somewhere. I don't know what she's doing, but she doesn't like to sit still."
"Sakura's here, too?" He looked up at the trees, then toward the entrance.
Matt narrowed his eyes as Jason put his hand in his pocket, fingers working. Matt keyed his COM to go only to Sakura and the pilot. "Keep sharp. He's way more nervous than he should be."
"Yeah," Monica said. "Why, is that a problem?"
Jason shook his head. "No, no, of course not. So I'm here. What's this about?"
"You heard about them churches."
"Sure, yeah, yeah. Hard not to. What about them?" His rapid-fire speech raised the hair on the back of Matt's neck.
"They're going to call in the military to deal with them. A lot of people are going to get hurt if they don't quit what they're doing and turn themselves in. They sent me here in the hopes that maybe—"
Sakura spoke over the top of her. "Three trucks coming hot. Twenty people maybe."
"—our relationship. So were hoping that you could talk to them, get them to stand down or whatever."
Jason patted her shoulder. "Yeah, sure. Good to see you, Mon. I got to go."
Matt hopped into the cabin, yanked his kit out, jumped down and closed the door. "Sam, take my boy up. Something's not right here."
The motor whined as Matt kneeled, popping the hatches to reveal several load-outs of ICAP kit. He holstered the WildStang and on second thought picked up an AA-12.
Jason jumped in his car. His starter screeched, then the engine thrummed to life. His tires spit dust as the trucks careened around the corner into the pit, dusty old pickups loaded with men. Matt turned, slapped a drum magazine of frag rounds into the shotgun, racked it, and stepped in the way of the trucks – and of Jason's car.
Two thirds of the men were strangers, a few he'd seen around town after Jason's church had started going up, but it broke his heart to see people he knew and loved. Tony Palermo, bartender and longtime friend; Old Man Finster, a grizzled, octegenarian vet who'd helped them against Humans for Humanity only a year before; Bob Vallimont, whose daughter he'd saved in the grocery store parking lot that same month. All of them armed with long guns, all of them ruddy-faced and eager.
Matt put up a hand, fingers splayed wide. Jason rolled to a stop to avoid running him over, forming an L with the trucks, which rolled to a stop, the front one twenty feet from him.
"What's going on here, Rees?" He had to yell over the quickening rotors.
"Just brought some backup is all, in case something fishy was going on."
Sakura appeared beside Matt, a knife in each hand. "He's lying."
"I know."
Jason licked his lips. "Look, just let us be on our way, and nobody needs to get hurt."
Matt nodded. "That sounds like a great—"
"WE AIN'T LEAVING HERE WITHOUT THE BOY!" Bob Vallimont yelled. A chorus of agreement rose from the trucks, along with some "Amens!" and "Hallelujahs!" Bob revved the motor and the truck lurched, then settled. "WE DON'T MEAN HIM NO HARM, BUT HE NEEDS TO TAKE HIS RIGHTFUL PLACE!" More "Amens!" More "Hallelujas!" And a "Fuck yeah!" from the rear truck.
Matt kept the AA-12 pointed at the dirt, and spoke without moving his lips, trusting the COM to carry his voice where it needed to go. "Mon, hide. Get behind that gravel pile and don't come out until I get you." She edged away as he raised his voice, drawing attention to himself. "Bob, you back those trucks down that road and call it a day, and we'll call this no harm no foul."
Old Man Finster spit out the passenger's side window. "He needs guidance! It's Satan's work, keeping him from us!"
"He's my son—"
"SATAN'S WORK! There's no negotiation with the devil."
In his peripheral vision, Monica inched closer to cover.
"I'M NOT NEGOTIATING!" He yelled to be heard, but carefully schooled his face and actions to be as nonthreatening as possible. "You back on out of here right now!" He looked at Jason, willed him to understand. "Diffuse this."
Jason got out of the car, hands outstretched, one toward the truck, one toward Matt. "Brothers, we made a mistake. Let's just turn around and head back to the church. No one has to—"
"SHE'S GETTING AWAY!"
Monica bolted. The chopper left the ground.
Someone fired, the bullet ricocheting off the fuselage. The whispers cried their disappointment as a dozen bullets passed through the space Matt occupied.
"No!" Matt dove for a tree and opened fire, beating the fanatics by a hair's breath. A bullet punched through Matt's boot and the foot inside.
Pieces of men rained from the truck bed, six men torn to ribbons as they pulled their triggers. Sakura appeared next to Finster and a red jet gushed from his neck. Bob Vallimont gaped as his hand fell from his wrist, and Sakura disappeared behind the front vehicle.
"HOLD YOUR GODDAMNED FIRE!" Matt screamed.
Jason, back in the car, gunned the gas, backward, toward Monica's hiding place. Bullets sprayed Matt's position, raining chunks of bark and wood around him. He stood erect, arms at his sides, to minimize his profile behind the tree. Rees's car disappeared as the shooting stopped.
Matt bolted, sparing a glance toward the other vehicles. Sakura had moved through them like the Angel of Death, bathed in blood; a dozen men dead in a fourth as many seconds, blood spraying in every direction before a body had hit the ground.
He ran after Rees.
* * *
Jason screeched around the gravel pile, opened the car door and stepped out, hands in the air, eyes wide, tearful. "Monica, please! I didn't mean for this to happen!"
"Oh, I believe that." She poured accusation into her voice, palming the rock she'd picked up in her left hand. "You never do."
"I—I didn't think anyone would get hurt. I just meant… I mean I meant…"
She stepped toward him and tried to speak through a voice cracking with heartbreak, at the boy she'd known, at the man she'd loved. Another step. She owed him more than Matt would ever know, more than any person should owe another. "I know, JJ. You only meant to take my son."
He fell for her feint, shying left to avoid a knife-hand to his
trachea. Her foot contacted his temple and he dropped, face-down in the dirt. She fell to her knees next to his squirming body, rock over her head, and brought it down on his ratty skull. The dull 'thunk' surprised her – she'd expected something more dramatic, something with more of a crack. The second one felt like the first, and the third softer.
Strong hands grabbed her wrists and lifted her, stopping the fourth, and she kept screaming her incoherent rage at the blood leaking from his ear.
"Monica, hey! Baby! It's over, we're okay."
She screamed and kicked at his shins, kneed his groin and chest, but Matt wouldn't let go. She stopped struggling, but had a few seconds of hateful scream left in her.
Sakura appeared next to Jason, felt for a pulse, looked up at them. "He lives. Is this what you want?"
"Yes," Matt said as Monica said, "No."
He wrapped her and held her, his strong, loving arms a prison from which she couldn't escape, didn't want to escape, and he whispered in her ear with the tender confidence she'd always loved. "You're not a murder, Mon. He's down, he can't hurt you, none of them can hurt you. If he lives, he lives. But he'll never touch you again."
She broke into sobs, and let Matt carry her back to the chopper.
* * *
"Ambulance is coming," the pilot said. "We waiting or going?"
Matt ran a hand over his scalp. "We have to stay. How many casualties?"
"Sixteen," Sakura said.
"Injured?"
"Three, and the priest if he lives."
Sakura had bound wounds and delivered CPR. Bob Vallimont lay unconscious, gray-faced, his hand next to his wrist, the bleeding stopped with a tourniquet made from a strip of denim and a stick. The other two he didn't recognize, and didn't spare a second thought. Instead he approached the slaughtered men, destroyed with meticulous precision to save his son.
Tony Palermo lay on his side, a massive bruise on his temple, blood in his open left eye and puddled in his ear, his mouth open in shock or surprise. Matt sat next to him, ran his hand across the thinning hair on his scalp. He beat away memories of hunting crawdads in the creek, building snowmen, playing football on Friday nights.
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