Prey

by William W. Johnstone

  Barry hesitated, then said, “Yes. But now another target has been added.”

  “Who?”

  “The president of the United States.”

  * * *

  After a session with Walt Reynolds, head of the president’s Secret Service security detail, the president agreed to take a small jet from Little Rock to his friend’s home town in North Arkansas. The runway there was plenty long to accommodate a Lear. With that decision made, everybody concerned started breathing a little bit easier, since there was no way in hell anyone was going to dissuade the president and first lady from visiting their friends.

  The squadron of fully armed air force Eagles, which always accompanied the president’s plane, flying in a diamond formation, would land at Tinker AFB in Tulsa. When the president decided to leave, the fighters would be notified, and by the time the president’s plane lifted off, they would be waiting, up in the wild blue yonder. Security surrounding the president was much tighter than the average citizen knew.

  But in this case, it wouldn’t be tight enough.

  * * *

  “Max, I’ve decided to back a flat tax,” President Hutton startled his chief of staff. “Or if someone can show me that a user tax would be fairer, then I’ll back that legislation. But the IRS, as presently structured, has to go.”

  Max sat down in front of the president’s desk in the Oval Office. “What percentage rate, Dick?”

  “Ten percent.”

  The chief of staff shook his head. “You’ve seen the figures, Dick. That isn’t enough by at least five percent.”

  “It will be if we do away with several departments. And I plan to back that, too. I’m going to discuss it with Congressman Williams. As a matter of fact, advise the Secret Service that I’ve decided to spend my entire vacation in North Arkansas. Max, you fly down today and rent me a house on the lake.”

  Max sat for a moment, stunned. “Dick, this is going to send the Secret Service into a tailspin. They spent weeks setting up your vacation spot. They—”

  The president waved that aside. “The service is accustomed to sudden changes in plans. As a matter of fact, Max, you and Honey go on down there together and get yourselves settled in.” Honey was Max’s wife’s nickname. “You can meet me in Little Rock for the fund-raiser and we’ll fly back together. Arrange for a meeting with Congressman Madison. This damned partisan politics has got to stop. We’ve got to move this country along and for once do what is best for the majority of the people instead of kowtowing to special interest groups and . . . ,” he paused and smiled, “others,” he added.

  Max leaned back in his chair and smiled at his longtime friend. “You’re going to break with party philosophy, Dick.”

  “Can’t be helped. Our party has got to face reality. This nation cannot continue to try to be all things to all people all the time. We’ve almost bankrupted ourselves attempting to do that. It has to stop.”

  “The Coyote Network is going to love this.”

  Dick frowned. “It’ll be the first damn thing I’ve done that they love. Get to it, Max.”

  Max rose from the chair. “On my way.” He looked at his friend for a few seconds. “This just might get you reelected, Dick.”

  The president shook his head. “Whether it does or not suddenly doesn’t matter much to me, Max. And that is the truth. For once I’m going to toss party politics right out the window and do what is right. And that feels good.”

  “I’ll call you from Arkansas.”

  “I’ll be right here.”

  * * *

  “Three bus loads of folks just rolled in from Little Rock and Memphis,” Chief Monroe told Sheriff Salter.

  “Don’t tell me, Russ. Let me guess. Willie Washington’s bunch.”

  “Mohammed Abudu X.”

  “Yeah. Right. Where the hell are they all staying?”

  “They’re all camped out and in and around Mohammed’s house. I drove out there. Looks like squatter city. You know his daddy left him that three hundred acres west of town.”

  “Russ, that land butts up against Bubba Bordelon’s place!”

  “Yeah, I know that, too.”

  “Bubba is not going to like that.”

  The chief spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I can’t do anything about it, Don, and neither can you. What really bothers me is what will happen when they all gather to march. My informants tell me they’re going to gather in the town square and then march out to where the Speaker is staying. And it’s going to be coordinated while Congressman Williams and wife are there. And the president of the United States.”

  “I don’t even like to think about it, Russ.”

  “Way I see it, we got one hope: they’ll all get to quarrelin’ among themselves, callin’ each other names, and all get to fightin’ before they reach the lake, and we can move in and arrest ever’ damn one of them and put them in jail.”

  “What jail, Russ? My jail’s got a big hole in the wall. I’ve still got to get plumbers and electricians in.”

  The chief shook his head. “I got that figured out, too. We’ll use the high school football stadium.”

  Don nodded his head slowly. “That’ll work. Yeah. If they start fighting.”

  “Oh, they’ll do that, Don. Think about it. We’re gonna have the Klan marchin’ along with the Back to Africa movement marchin’ side by side with the Hitler worshippers and the skinheads and God only knows who else.” The older man had a wistful expression on his face. “I wish we could get them armed so’s they could maybe all kill each other.”

  “Russ!”

  “Just a thought, Don. Just a thought.” He smiled. “You all set for the big party tonight?”

  “As set as I’ll ever be. You’re not going?”

  “No. I’ve got every man I can find on duty tonight. Town council’s gonna hit the roof when I hand them the bill for all this. But it can’t be helped.”

  Don looked at his watch. “I guess I’d better get going. Wish me luck.”

  “Wish us all luck,” the chief replied somberly.

  * * *

  “Let them fancy-pants people have their party,” Vic told his followers. “We don’t do nothin’ until the march.”

  “Hell, Vic,” Tom Devers said. “What can we do? The feds got us covered like a blanket.”

  “Yeah,” Sam Evans said. “We’re bein’ watched right now!”

  “Piss on ’em,” Vic said. “What I want to know is who put that damn machine gun in my arsenal? Somebody pulled a switch, and I want to know who done it.”

  “You mean you really didn’t know it was there?” Noble Osgood asked.

  “Hell, no, I didn’t know! We got twenty Colt AR-15s in the gun room; they all look alike ‘ceptin’ for the selector switch. Hell, I don’t inspect each one ever’ damn day. It’s been two/three months since we been out shootin’. Somebody switched one deliberate, tryin’ to get us in trouble.” Vic’s expression turned deadly serious. He eyeballed each member of his Aryan Nations group. “Boys, we got us a traitor in our midst.”

  That caused everyone’s lower orifice to pucker up in shock. A traitor? That was unthinkable.

  “I don’t believe it, Vic,” David Jackson said. “We all been knowin’ each other for years. More’un likely some damn fed slipped in here whilst you was away and planted that gun.”

  The others agreed with that.

  “Maybe you’re right, Dave,” Vic said, after a moment’s thought. “Yeah. I guess you are, at that. All right, boys, let’s talk about this march. We’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

  * * *

  “Brothers and sisters of the sun,” Mohammed Abudu X said to the group of a hundred or so gathered in the old family barn, which was over fifty years old and not in real good shape. “The day of decision is nearly upon us. We must plan carefully . . .”

  “Don’t take no shit from no honky!” someone in the crowd hollered.

  “Well, that, too,” Abudu agreed.

&n
bsp; “Damn right,” said a woman who was dressed more or less as Nefertiti might have appeared after a hearty romp in the sack with Akhenaton. “Screw a bunch of ofays.”

  The elder Washington, who had driven up from Little Rock with his wife to see what their youngest and, in his opinion, their dumbest son was up to now, shook his head and walked back to the house he had left years before. Mr. Washington, who had recently retired after forty years with the railroad and farming in his spare time, told his wife, “Pack up, Ophelia. We’re gettin’ the hell gone.”

  “We just got here!”

  “Well, we’re leavin’ again. That foolish boy of ours is gonna get his gimlet ass kicked plumb up between his shoulder blades, and I don’t want to be around to have to bail him out of jail . . . again. I’ve never seen such a bunch of screwballs all gathered together in one place in my life. I feel like I’m on a Hollywood set of the remake of Cleopatra.”

  His wife ducked her head to hide a quick smile. But when she looked up, her expression was sober. “There’s going to be trouble here, isn’t there, Clarence?”

  “Yeah. And I don’t want to be anywhere near when it blows.” He shook his head. “I should have never given this land to William. I had it leased out and we were making a nice profit. But no. William wanted it. I thought he was going to farm it. Instead he turns it into a home for wanna-be King Farouks. Let’s go, Ophelia. ”

  The front door to the old farmhouse opened, and a young man stood there, dressed in brightly colored robes. “I arrived late,” he said. “Can you tell me where I can find Abudu X?”

  The elder Washington frowned, then slowly nodded his gray head. “Yeah, I can, boy. You go back to the highway, turn east, and start walkin’. It’s about sixteen thousand miles.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “It’s called the continent of Africa, boy. And this ain’t it!”

  Twenty

  Stormy and Barry had changed out of their party clothes and into jeans and were sitting on Barry’s porch. Stormy reached over and took his hand.

  “You’re disappointed that Ravenna didn’t pull something at the party tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Not disappointed. But I was sure he’d do something. I wish I could get into his mind.”

  “That would be like taking a stroll through hell,” Stormy said. She shuddered, then cut her eyes to him in the darkness. The night was surprisingly cool, with very low humidity. “Barry? Do you believe in the Hereafter?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Heaven and hell?”

  “Yes. But not as the preachers describe those places.”

  She waited; finally stirred impatiently. “Well?”

  “I believe there are levels of rewards and levels of punishment. I also believe that when the day of judgement comes, there are going to be a lot of very disappointed people. I heard a preacher say one time that heaven is going to be a very sparsely populated place.”

  “And you, Barry?”

  “Me, what?”

  “Heaven or hell?”

  Barry smiled in the darkness. “None of us knows that, Stormy. For a mortal, I would think that a person would want to spend eternity with close family members, all the pets he or she has owned and loved over the years, good friends.”

  “And for an immortal?” Stormy asked softly.

  “Peace, I think. Rest.” He chuckled. “Could you get along with all the women I’ve known in the past, Stormy?”

  “Ummm,” she said. “I think we’d better drop this subject.”

  Pete and Repeat suddenly sprang to their feet, ears laid back, fangs glistening white in the night, growling low.

  “Get in the house, Stormy,” Barry said.

  “Oh, no need for that.” John Ravenna’s voice came out of the gloom. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just to talk. May I open the gate and take a seat on the porch, cousin?”

  “Come on, John. But let me put the dogs up before you do. Once you’re seated they’ll settle down. I don’t think they like you very much.”

  “So much for a dog’s ability to judge character. Oh, all right. Put those hounds away. I can wait.” He laughed softly. “I’ve had years of practice.”

  The dogs in the house, and told to calm down, Barry stepped back onto the darkened porch. “Come on up, John. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “A large glass of water would be nice. I ran all the way over here.”

  “You ran ten miles?” Stormy blurted.

  “As his Other,” Barry told her.

  “I’ll get the water,” Stormy said, standing up.

  John walked up the steps and took a seat. “You always choose the quaintest places to reside, cousin. I live in a castle.”

  “You would. Do you commiserate nightly with the ghosts?”

  John chuckled. “Would it surprise you if I said yes?”

  “Not at all. Did you have anything to do with the bombing of the jail, John?”

  “Heavens, no! That was done by some local boobs. Vic Radford’s neo-Nazis. They didn’t know their leader had already been released. What a pack of nitwits.”

  “That’s one thing we can agree on.”

  “Surprised that I didn’t turn up at Roche’s party this evening, cousin?”

  “Actually, yes. You must have been tired after killing that local the other day.”

  Barry felt Ravenna’s eyes on him. “What local, Vlad?”

  “Oh, come on, John. The man was ripped to shreds. I’ve seen your work before.”

  Ravenna was silent for a time. “I haven’t killed anyone in this area, Vlad. I have been leading those silly federal agents on several wild goose hunts, for my own entertainment, but I have killed no one.”

  “Then . . . ?”

  Stormy opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, a large glass of ice water in her hand.

  “Cousin,” Ravenna said slowly, “I think we have another cousin in the area.” John stood up and took the glass of water. “Thank you, dear. You’re very kind.” He drank deeply, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket, and said, “I gather you know all about me, Ms. Knight?”

  “I know only what Barry has told me.”

  “Ah! Well, I suppose that is quite enough. Please, sit down. Let’s be comfortable. We have much to discuss.”

  The phone rang, and Barry left the porch to answer it. He was back in a moment and took his chair. “That was Sheriff Salter. The body that was found was not a local. It’s been identified as an escaped prisoner from an Arkansas penal institution. The hair samples came from a large panther . . .” Barry smiled. “The scientists agree that the hair samples came from a species that has been extinct for thousands of years. They are on their way here to investigate. The first team will arrive in the morning, others to follow from various university anthropology departments.”

  “Shit!” Ravenna swore softly.

  Barry again smiled. “What’s the matter, John?”

  “Don’t try to be funny, Vlad. You know very well what’s the matter. Jacques Cornet.”

  Barry chuckled. “Ah, yes. Dear Jacques. I haven’t seen him since 1917. He doesn’t like you very much, does he, John?”

  “Am I missing something here?” Stormy asked, looking from Ravenna to Barry. “Who is Jacques Cornet?”

  Both men were silent for a moment. Barry glanced at Stormy and said, “Jacques is an immortal. You probably gathered that much. Jacques has been on the side of the law for centuries . . .”

  John Ravenna muttered an obscenity under his breath.

  “He’s also been after John. Back in the thirteenth century, John picked the wrong side in a fight: he chose the English over King Philip Augustus. Augustus won, and John had to flee to England. Then, during the Hundred Years’ War, John again chose the English side and ultimately lost. A few years later, John was hired to kill Charles VII. He failed, and Jacques has been after him ever since.”

  “Charles VII,” Stormy muttered. “That was . . .”<
br />
  “He was crowned July 17, 1429.”

  Stormy leaned forward, her expression incredulous. She stared at Ravenna. “Jacques Cornet has been chasing you for over five hundred years!”

  “More or less. He’s persistent, if nothing else,” John grumbled. “Vlad, this man that Jacques killed . . . he was in prison for doing what?”

  “Murder, among other things.”

  “Is that all? Well, still, Jacques would have no way of knowing that. Jacques may have been in his Other and overheard some mumblings from this miscreant. Knowing how he feels about law and order, he killed him.”

  Barry was not at all convinced of that. Jacques had never been entirely stable. Really, the only difference between John Ravenna and Jacques Cornet was that Ravenna would kill anyone for money and Jacques had roamed the world for centuries, killing anyone he perceived to be a criminal . . . whenever the mood struck him.

  “Don’t you agree, cousin?” Ravenna pressed.

  “I don’t know. I do know this area is certainly getting crowded.”

  “Yes, it is. Why don’t you leave and reduce the population?”

  “Oh, I think I’ll stick around for a while longer. John, what did you want to talk about? You didn’t run all the way out here just for exercise.”

  John finished his water and set the empty glass down carefully on a low wicker table. “Your adopted country is falling apart, Vlad.”

  “I certainly won’t disagree with that.”

  “It won’t be long—perhaps only a few years—before men like me will be in great demand.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, come on, Vlad. You know I’m speaking the truth. This nation has had it. It’s fragmenting, breaking up, coming apart at the seams. Armed groups representing this, that, and the other thing are forming in every state. Hundreds of thousands of people are stockpiling food and guns and ammunition. Race relations are worse than they’ve been since the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Morals and values have reached an all-time low. There is nothing but rot and drivel on television. For the most part, Hollywood is cranking out mindless slop. People are killing each other over a pair of tennis shoes or a jacket. Drive-by shootings are commonplace; drug abuse is up. Have you noticed any of which I speak, Vlad?” The last was said with a great deal of sarcasm.