Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series

by Helin, Don

  “What’s the message?” Sam asked.

  “The ‘Shadow Government,’ or the ‘New World Order,’ has corrupted our government. The militia Web sites hawk the idea that gun control legislation has allowed the federal government to slaughter its own citizens.”

  Sam stared at Alex. “How can people believe that shit?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Alex lowered her voice. “Tell me about your employer. His company is on our watch list. We know they are helping to train and equip militia members, but we haven’t been able to prove it. The file’s unclear whether they have any role in supporting foreign terrorists.”

  “You must have read the file. I first happened to meet Aly Kassim on the plane when I was flying out to visit my daughter,” Sam replied. “I told him I was retiring from the Army. He said that if he could help me out to let him know. When this operation started, Bob O’Brien came up with a name I used as a reference name that rang a bell with Kassim. He hired me and brought me on the payroll about a month ago.”

  Sam glanced at his watch. “I’d better get moving. I need to stop and pick up some communications gear, then drive back out to the farm. It’ll take me some time to prepare for my class.”

  She handed Sam a card. “Call this number when you want to set up a meeting.”

  Sam glanced at the card. It read Barnes & Noble, and listed Alex Prescott as the community manager.

  “Give me twelve hours if you can, but I can make it with a couple of hours’ notice in an emergency.”

  Sam nodded.

  She put her hand over his clenched fist. “Remember, you’ve got a whole support chain behind you. Just be careful. These guys won’t hesitate to kill you if they suspect the truth.”

  Sam enjoyed the feel of Alex’s fingers on his hand. He rose, patted her shoulder, and walked toward the door. On the way by the “bestsellers” table, he stopped and stood next to Bob O’Brien.

  O’Brien fingered a new Robert Parker book. “Alex’s a treat, isn’t she? You’ll find she’s good. You can trust her.”

  Sam headed out the door. He’d find out about Alex soon enough.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sam worked all that afternoon to develop lesson plans for the next four nights. Oliver insisted that he complete the training in one week, which put the pressure on to prioritize issues. Sam had to figure out Oliver’s proposed target.

  For purposes of the practice sessions, Sam divided the twenty-two men into two groups, Popeye supervising one and Sam the other. He watched for men capable of leading a five-member fire team. Sam wanted to be able to expand the two groups if others showed up. He planned to provide the names, along with an analysis of each man’s strengths and weaknesses, for Alex at their next meeting.

  That night they worked on arm and hand signals. Sam spent the first hour inside the conference room going over a chart of a dozen key signals the men would need. After he was satisfied, he moved them outside and spread the group around the perimeter of the largest of three fields on the west side of the road.

  The icy wind penetrated his field jacket. Sam didn’t like it that a few of the men seemed lethargic. They’d need to be able to focus even in the cold. Sam did what he had learned in the Army—he drove them harder. Maybe he could get some of them to quit.

  For the most part, they responded to his challenges and learned quickly. Marshall took a terrible razzing. He couldn’t seem to do anything right. Buster stayed on his case, and Sam could only protect the young man so much.

  After completing arm and hand signals, Sam introduced the subject of cover and camouflage. He picked a hill just west of the barn. Snowflakes landed on his shoulders while he talked. The icy wind blew the flakes off before they could accumulate.

  “I want you to remember this lesson. Camouflage simply means that you can’t be seen. If you hide behind a bush and the enemy can’t see you, you’re camouflaged. Remember, someone can shoot you in the ass.”

  A few of the men chuckled.

  “Cover, on the other hand, means that you can’t be hit by enemy fire. If you’re behind a rock, you’re camouflaged and also under cover.”

  The men nodded.

  “When I was stationed at the Infantry School at Fort Benning, the commanding general of the training and doctrine command published his rules for survival. I want you to memorize the list. These principles have served me well, and I’m sure they’ll serve you, too.”

  He handed a card to each of the men. “Boris, read the first principle.”

  Boris struggled with the card to see in the moonlight. “Anything that can be seen can be targeted.”

  “What does that mean to you?” Sam asked.

  “Keep your hindquarters down.”

  Laughter broke out.

  Sam pointed his finger at him and pretended to fire. “Exactly. That’s why camouflage is so important. With today’s weapons and technology, if the enemy can see you, it’s lights out. Marshall, what’s the second principle?”

  Marshall lifted the paper up and strained to see it. His hands shook. Whether from the cold or nerves, Sam couldn’t be sure.

  “A-anything t-that can be targeted c-can b-be hit.” Marshall dropped the card to his side and looked at the ground.

  “Buster, what does that mean to you?”

  Silence.

  “Buster?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I asked you a question. Now answer, or get the hell out of here.”

  “Christ, this is chicken shit. It means that if you can target it, you can hit it.”

  “You may think this is chicken shit stuff, but I’m trying to save your butt. If you don’t care, that’s your problem. All I can do is guide you. The rest is up to you.” Sam bit his tongue to avoid lashing out any more.

  “Jonas, what’s the third principle?”

  The tall lanky man’s full head of black hair stuck out in all directions from under his orange hunting cap. His large hands were bare, even in the cold.

  “Anything that can be hit can be killed.”

  “Those three simple statements became the basis for the Army’s doctrine for years. I will hammer those points at you time and time again until they’re a natural reaction, like taking a piss. Remember them the next time you’re tempted to stick your big head up and look around. Any questions?”

  The men looked at Sam and nodded as a group.

  “So the bottom line is to keep your fucking heads down.” Sam had kept them outside longer than necessary. They needed to know he was the boss.

  He held up a rifle. “This rifle is loaded with paint. When I see your head, I’m gonna hit you. And, if I hit you, you’re gonna drop down and give me twenty pushups. If I hit you a second time, you’re gonna drop down and give me thirty pushups. That chicken shit enough for you, Buster?”

  The big man didn’t say anything. He turned his back and stomped away.

  “All right. Find some cover. You’ve got thirty seconds. I’ll blow a whistle when the exercise is over.” The men moved off. “And I don’t want to see any heads or fat asses.”

  Sam moved quietly through the brush, crouching, staying low to the ground. He circled around to the right, watching shadows moving through the trees. He could hear rustling and waited, hiding behind a tree. When men moved past him, he hit them with the paint. Their curses made them even bigger targets. Sam kept an eye out for Buster and hit him twice.

  He made a point to hit Popeye twice. He enjoyed hearing the resulting curses.

  Most of the men were experienced in soldiering in the field and learned quickly. The one exception was Marshall. Three times Sam passed up the opportunity to hit him with paint.

  He blew his whistle. “All right, men, I’ve kept you longer than planned. Tonight you learned hand and arm signals so you can communicate with one another without noise. This is critical if you’re to own the night.”

  Heads nodded.

  “Then we discussed cover and camouflage. Some of you got caught and pa
id a price.” He chuckled. “Any questions?”

  No one spoke.

  “Throughout the week, we’ll be reviewing hand signals and camouflage procedures when we work with other instruction. These are basic to everything we do.”

  He made eye contact with as many men as he could. “That’s enough for tonight. Dismissed.”

  Sam walked back into the classroom. He could feel Popeye watching him.

  After class, Sam needed to clear his head and think through his plans for the week ahead. He dumped his papers in the center of the field desk and pushed open the heavy oak door to the outside, enjoying the rush of cold air that hit his face.

  Being alone in the crisp night air reinvigorated him. He flipped his jacket collar up around his neck. When he walked across the farmyard, he heard a great horned owl hooting in the distance.

  A number of footprints were evident in the light dusting of snow between the barn and the garage. He shined his light up at the farmhouse, then toward the driveway. The last of the trucks had maneuvered down the farm lane.

  Passing the house and garage complex, Sam climbed a steep slope, then followed a well-worn path through the oaks and hemlocks. He walked at a brisk pace, shining his flashlight into the woods, then back on the trail. The path circled around a number of rocky outcroppings. Occasionally he grabbed a low branch for a handhold to pull himself up a hill.

  The slant of the trail leveled as he climbed. Sam stopped to catch his breath. He enjoyed it out here because it seemed as if he were breaking new ground. Peaceful and serene, this part of the farm was such a change from his challenges with Oliver. Sam hadn’t been jogging because of this assignment. He needed to get back on a regular running schedule. No way did he want to spring a gut.

  Sam stayed alert as he crossed an open field to see if he could spot anything that might give him a clue to Oliver’s plans. So far he’d seen no other buildings or even tire tracks in the snow.

  When he entered the woods again, the wind whistled through the trees. A noise in the pine trees to his right rear startled him. He stopped. Flashing his light into the trees, he charged the noise off to a deer moving through the underbrush.

  Sam thought about the six point buck he had bagged last fall. His hunting buddy had urged him to mount it, but Jackie had asked him not to. She had thought it obscene to have to look at animal heads hanging on a wall.

  The cold snapped him back to the present, and he reviewed what had happened so far. He had a good start with Oliver. The guy respected his skills. In fact, most of the men responded favorably to Sam.

  Sam went over the night’s exercise in his mind and concluded he was on the track he wanted. The men had learned from the lesson and picked up the key teaching points. Except Marshall. That kid was an accident waiting to happen.

  Sam’s mind moved back to Oliver. How could he figure out Oliver’s plans without blowing his own cover? Popeye was a pain in the ass, but Sam figured he had him under control. The guy blustered, then backed down when Sam held him in a faceoff.

  What about Alex? he asked himself. Could she be trusted? Sam had a great deal of respect for Bob O’Brien, and Bob obviously thought Alex could do the job. She was a treat, cute as hell, and what a character! He liked her, but would she be there when it mattered?

  Looking around, Sam realized he must have gone farther than he’d thought. He flashed his light in a circle but didn’t see anything that looked familiar. Just pine trees with a few oaks in the background. The great horned owl hooted again in the distance.

  He decided to hike a little more, then turn around and follow his footprints back to the barn. Thankfully it hadn’t snowed enough to cover his, although he had his compass so that wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe he’d spot a familiar landmark along the way. Anyway, it felt great to be outside and alone. He was tired of pretending. After another twenty paces, he heard something behind him again. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

  He ducked down and waited but heard nothing more. Just to be sure, he looked around for a branch. He spotted nothing he could use as a weapon. What the hell had he heard?

  Sam turned back and followed his footprints through the dark woods. He stopped, held his breath and waited. All quiet. Then he heard something. Footsteps brushing the ground. His senses jumped to high alert. When he listened, he heard a faint rustling in the bushes. More than the wind.

  Sam took a step to his left and risked a glance to his right. His mind worked at high speed. The nearest cover was a tall pine tree. He walked at his normal pace but everything around him seemed to slow. Sam stepped to his left again and took a look over his left shoulder. He straightened his hand into a flat palm, ready to swing back and up. Go for the Adam’s apple.

  He turned toward the sound and sensed movement, then a shadow behind him. A body landed on his back. The muzzle of a pistol jammed cold against his temple. Sam crouched forward and used the assailant’s own momentum to toss him over his head. The man hit the ground with a loud groan.

  Sam spotted a second pair of boots on his left and came up from his crouch with a right cross to the face. There was a loud grunt as Sam’s fist connected with the man’s nose, and Sam felt a satisfying crunch as the nose broke. He whirled to see the first man rising from the ground. Sam sent a left cross into the man’s face and followed with a right to the head. He put the guy straight down—no trouble at all.

  Movement rustled behind him. He started to turn when something hard connected with his head. He tried to stay on his feet, but his knees betrayed him and he fell. Another blow to the head and Sam sank to the ground and … silence.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Elizabeth Henley hurried across the McGill University campus. The late evening wind blew her scarf into her face. She shivered and wrapped it tighter around her neck, wishing she’d worn a warmer coat. Her boots crunched through the fresh snow as she circled Pollack Hall, the tall steeple and arches standing straight like sentinels. She passed a few students, but most of them were inside the library studying or, more likely, down at the pub hoisting a tall one.

  She gritted her teeth when she thought about her meeting with the dean, the weak-kneed pansy. She couldn’t believe that Billy Martin would be readmitted to her class. The dean told her that Mr. Martin was a leader in the community. Not only had he provided scholarships from his own funds, but he had encouraged a number of his friends to contribute money for scholarships. The college couldn’t afford to alienate him.

  No, she fumed, they couldn’t afford to make Mr. Martin mad. It didn’t matter that she’d been made to look like a fool. She’d sent Billy packing, but tomorrow he’d be back in class. The class would know he’d received no punishment—and all because of his father’s contacts. It made her so mad she could spit.

  Elizabeth stepped around a puddle of melting snow and entered the parking garage, dark now from the overcast sky and lack of overhead lights. She unlocked her bike and climbed on. Even though she’d been in Montreal for over twenty years, Elizabeth didn’t drive unless she had to.

  Her world was small—the university, the apartment she shared with the professor, the stores where she shopped—and most importantly, the meetings she attended. They kept her going. Sidney Kramer had been kind to her, but he demanded sex. His sweaty body drenched her.

  Her bigger world had collapsed when her love died. What she did or where she did it didn’t matter anymore. She pedaled toward home, remembering him.

  He’d been so beautiful. Six feet tall, he’d towered over her. His long arms could wrap her up like a Christmas package, and those deep blue eyes could stare into her soul. He had cared for her, but she hadn’t known if he loved her like she loved him.

  The horn honking shook her out of her reverie. “Watch out!” The young man shook his fist at her. “You swerved right in front of me! I could have killed you! Wake up”!”

  She ignored the loudmouth and pedaled on, planning how she would get her revenge. Animals like that driver would be the first to f
eel her wrath. It would be so sweet. She knew her love watched over her because she could feel his presence at night while she slept.

  Sam felt as if he were climbing toward the top of a well. The sides were slippery and he was cold, so damn cold. The closer he got to the surface, the colder he became.

  Groaning, he opened his eyes. At first he couldn’t focus. All he could see was a whitish blur. He kept blinking. Darkness from the forest surrounded him. Light from the moon cast a shadow across the snowy path. He lay on the ground, shivering. Concentrating was difficult, but he had to think. Taking several deep breaths, he looked around. Where the hell was he?

  Memory descended in a rush. He had been walking. That’s right. Walking down the trail. Then he’d heard movement behind him. There had been at least three of them. He’d tried to defend himself but hadn’t moved quickly enough. Let the third one get behind him. He had gotten some good punches in. One of the bastards had a broken nose.

  He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get sandbagged. He was supposed to be sharper than that, the big deal military colonel.

  He pushed himself up on his knees only to fall down. He tried again and rose to his feet, almost slipping and falling. Pain radiated from the back of his head and slithered down his neck. He had no idea how long he’d been out. His head throbbed and his side burned. When he felt the back of his head and pulled his hand back, there was no blood. It must have been the butt of a rifle or some other blunt instrument.

  His right side ached. Someone must have kicked him. Taking several deep breaths, the air he sucked in was cold and smelled of evergreens. He needed to get moving—and now.

  Spotting his flashlight in the snow, he grabbed it and flipped the switch. Luckily it worked. Light illuminated the ground. He flashed the light around but saw nothing other than pine trees and a blanket of white. Matted snow showed where he had fallen. A series of footprints headed off in the direction of the farm. The freezing cold bit through his clothes. He had to get back to the barn before hypothermia set in.