by Andy Maslen
“I need to go and clean up. I’ve got the stink of the Land Cruiser on me,” Gabriel said.
They agreed on an hour’s break. Gabriel and Shaun retired to their bedrooms while Maitland began making calls. Gabriel supposed that organising a revolution didn’t leave you with much free time. He peeled off his jeans and T-shirt, stepped out of his undershorts and ran the shower.
As he stood under the hot jets Gabriel realised he’d started focusing on the tasks Maitland was setting him in terms of their logistics. No questioning of the morality, just a soldier’s instinctive reaction to detailed orders, confidently given. Plus, he had to admit, seeing Meeks and his thugs getting blown to pieces by the .50 cal hadn’t troubled his conscience at all. He’d seen better men lose their lives fighting in legitimate actions, so the loss of a few drug-dealing racists left him unmoved. But it was time for a reality-check.
He looked at his watch: 10.55. He headed down to the kitchen, which had become their unofficial HQ. When he opened the door, Maitland and Shaun were talking about money.
“You said fifty grand,” Shaun was saying, “and what I’m thinking is, for what happened yesterday, and for what I know about your plans, maybe that ain’t enough.”
“Listen, Shaun,” Maitland said, his voice honey. “Nobody appreciates better than I the huge contribution you’ve made to my mission. And for a country you’d have trouble finding on a map. But be realistic. A vet like you? Fifty thousand dollars for a week’s work is already a lot of money.”
“What do you know about vets? Did you ever serve?”
“Sadly, no. When my country needed me I was too young. But it needs me now, and you are helping me serve it in the best way I know how.”
Maitland turned as the door opened.
“Ah, Gabriel. Shaun and I were just discussing whether you can ever put a price on patriotism.”
“No. We weren’t. We were talkin’ about y’all paying me more for my contribution to your mission.”
Gabriel noticed that under stress, Shaun’s speech was bouncing between the twangy Southern tones of his childhood and his more flattened adult voice, smoothed out by years in the Army.
“And I think I was explaining that I am paying you a fair fee for your driving skills. Which, by the way, are unimpeachable.”
“My what? You think all I been doin’ for y’all is being your chauffeur? What about yesterday? What about this morning? While you were sleepin’ me and Gabriel was cleaning up the mess you left down on that firing range.”
Maitland turned emollient, switching on the charm and subduing the impatient sneer that had begun to curl his top lip.
“Shaun, Shaun, please, let’s not argue over something as trivial as money. Tell me, how much extra did you have in mind? We can call it a performance bonus, if you like.”
“Quarter mil. That’d do it.”
Maitland said nothing. Just stared at Shaun. Gabriel observed both men. If this was a poker game then someone would exhibit a ‘tell’: a blink, a twitch, or they’d look down. Something physical that would scream out, loud and clear, I’m bluffing. I’ve got nothing.
Shaun rubbed his nose. You just blew it, pal, Gabriel thought. But Shaun hadn’t.
“A quarter of a million dollars,” Maitland said. “And that secures me your continuing loyalty. And your silence?”
“Yes, it does. I trained as a soldier not a butcher, but that would do it.”
“Then let’s shake on it like gentlemen. I took the cash bag up to my room earlier. I’ll sort you out with a deposit and give it to you later. The rest I’ll wire to you.”
Shaun extended his big hand and the two men shook. But something about Maitland’s body language was off. Gabriel wasn’t confident Shaun would ever see his money. Maitland turned to Gabriel.
“So sorry about that, Gabriel. Now. I think I hear my next purchase arriving. That means we, or to be more specific, you, have some more work to do. Outside, I think.”
Gabriel and Shaun followed Maitland out into the yard where a thin rain had started falling. The crystalline sky they’d worked under earlier had been dulled by a high layer of whitish-grey cloud. Pulling into the yard was a tractor – a big, green beast with a yellow leaping deer logo emblazoned on its massive sides. It was driven by an old, white-haired guy burnt the colour of seasoned teak by a lifetime working under the Midwestern sun.
The old guy clambered down from the tractor – the rear wheels were taller than he was. He turned, eased his back, knuckling the muscles over his kidneys, then ambled over to the three of them. He offered his gnarled, liver-spotted hand to Gabriel, to Shaun, and Maitland last of all.
“Guess you boys must be workin’ for Lord Maitland, here. You don’t look much like farm boys, if you’ll pardon me bein’ a mite forward.”
“They’re veterans,” Maitland interjected. “Traumatised. My model farm will offer peace and a renewed sense of purpose for these good men, and others like them. God willing, we can return them to a state of health through honest toil on the land. ‘For there shall be a sowing of peace. The vine shall give its fruit, and the ground shall give its produce, and the heavens shall give their dew. And I will cause the remnant of this people to possess all these things.’”
“Zechariah 8:12. I sure do appreciate a man knows his Bible. I guess we should get your harvester unhitched, then you and me can settle up.”
“Indeed. Perhaps you could …” Maitland gestured towards the harvester with an open right palm.
The old guy hitched up his patched jeans and walked on bandy legs to the rear of the tractor where he pulled a massive eye-bolt from the towing linkage, uncoupled a clasp on a short chain and replaced the bolt in a housing on the tractor’s towing assembly.
“Thank you,” Maitland said. “Shall we?” He motioned the old farmer towards the kitchen. “I have some rather good coffee on.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
While the two older men completed their transaction inside, Shaun and Gabriel wandered around the potato harvester. It had spikes at one end close to the ground, presumably for lifting the tubers, then a chain-driven conveyor belt to bring them up to some sort of hopper. Resting on heavy-duty rubber tyres it resembled an oversized insect. Not delicate and beautiful, something more primitive. A cockroach. It looked as if it hadn’t been used much. The thick, lime-green paint was unmarked apart from a few scratches on the underside. There was no rust or corrosion of any sort on the exposed iron and steel parts. The whole thing smelled of grease. The old boy evidently came from the “if it’s not moving, clean it” school of equipment maintenance.
“So, how exactly are we going to fix two .50 cals into this thing?” Shaun asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that. I think we need to weld some brackets onto it, then part-strip the M2s and bolt them in on metal straps. Then we seal the breeches, barrels and cooling holes with duct tape and spray the whole lot to match the frame.”
“I guess that would work. There are plenty of places where the gun parts would kind of blend in.”
“OK, then. We’ll let the old geezer collect his cash and leave then we’ll get to it.”
Ten minutes later the old farmer came towards them, his overalls pockets bulging with cash and a broad smile on his weatherbeaten face.
He came over and shook hands with both of them. His hand was dry and hard, the palm smoothed from a lifetime working cranks, using tools and driving thousands of miles in tractors and combines.
“Been a pleasure, boys. I hope you find your peace here. Honest farm work’s been the salvation for many a young man hereabouts and I pray it’ll work for you. ‘It is the hard-working farmer who ought to have the first share of the crops.’ 2 Timothy 2:6.”
Then he climbed up into the tractor cab, started the massive rig with a clatter and a puff of oily smoke and turned a big circle in the yard. Waving without looking back, he headed back to the peace and serenity of his farm.
Maitland emerged from the kitch
en.
“Jesus! I thought the old bastard would never leave. I had half a mind to send him off to join Meeks and Venter.”
Shaun and Gabriel exchanged a look. A look they had grown used to exchanging in the last few days.
“We’d better make a start,” Shaun said. “We need welding equipment, some steel stock, fixings, paint and a sprayer.”
“There’s a Home Depot store in West Branch. It’s about thirty miles south on the I-75,” Maitland said. “You’ll find everything you need there. Venter has – had – a fully-equipped workshop in one of his barns if you need any general-purpose tools and materials.”
Shaun and Gabriel nodded. They went outside, unloaded the .50 cals into the barn housing the Bradleys, then jumped into the Navigator and set off for the big-box hardware store. Gabriel noticed Maitland watching them go, his eyes narrowing even though cloud was masking the sun’s glare.
Chapter 27
They arrived in West Branch just after midday. Inside, the Home Depot – dee-po, Shaun pronounced it – was a vast, cavernous space. The suspended ceiling was high above them and the overall effect was that of a cathedral. The store’s manager had tried to fill the echoing acoustics with bland country-rock issuing from hidden speakers. Gabriel pushed a huge trolley with a sprung plywood base while Shaun directed him up and down the aisles, list in hand.
“OK, we need an arc welder, couple of rods, gloves and helmet. Plus an angle-grinder, a spray gun, a compressor and the paint and some steel stock. Then a couple of boxes of nuts and bolts.”
After manhandling an arc welding rig onto the trolley Shaun announced that all they needed now was to get the paint. Before leaving the farm, he’d chipped off a thumbnail-sized flake of paint from the potato harvester and tucked it into his wallet. Now, standing with ‘Bill, Your Paint Guy’ according to the man’s badge, he produced it. Bill said he’d need twenty minutes, so they went to get coffee from the store’s in-house restaurant.
As they sat drinking the coffee, Gabriel spoke.
“You see the way Maitland looked yesterday?”
“Yeah, I know. Kind of crazed, right. I seen guys get that way in extreme combat situations.” He took a big slurp of coffee. “I’ll tell you a story. Once, we were doing some covert stuff down in Peru. You ever hear of the Senderoso Luminoso? It means Shining Path. Marxist insurgents, or Maoist. Some breed of commie terrorists, anyways.”
“I’ve heard of them. Never met any.”
“Well we did. Were sent down there to help the Peruvian Government clear out a nest of ’em outside of a town called Iquitos up near the Colombian border. There were eight of us Delta guys plus about twenty Government soldiers. They was all drunk or stoned on coke, weed, K, whatever they could get their hands on, so we had to carry them off the trucks.” Shaun had a faraway look as he continued. “We find the SL in their camp. No negotiating, no capture, no interrogation. This was a search-and-destroy mission. In and out, real quick. We went in hot and heavy. The government troops were useless, just screaming and firing their weapons every which way: Uzis, AKs, M16s, Berettas, you name it they were packin’ it. No discipline either, nearly got a couple of our guys caught in the crossfire.
“All except this one guy. He had a light machine gun, ammo belts crossed over his chest like a pirate, you know what I mean. Well, he found a hut where some of those SLs had run for cover. He stood in the doorway and put down fire into the doorway on full auto. Man, that LMG was practically melting. Ran through the first belt, then engaged the second and ran through that one too. You know what he did next?”
Gabriel shook his head. But he had an idea.
“Damned if he didn’t pull a bayonet and go inside. Came out with eight ears threaded onto it like a damn kebab. Had that self-same look on his face as Maitland did yesterday.”
“What happened to him?”
“Oh, I think they promoted him to General and gave him a big-ass medal!”
The two men burst out laughing – just another day at the office. Sane people getting rewarded for doing insane things. Sometimes it was make a joke out of it or go crazy yourself.
A few of the other customers turned round at the noise, but quickly returned to their twenty-ounce sodas and cups of coffee when they saw the two hard-looking men looking back at them.
“Come on. Let’s go and see if the paint dude mixed our paint yet,” Shaun said.
Back at the paint counter, the tins of special order gloss were waiting for them on the counter, a single run of bright green marring one of the tins. Bill was helping a young professional couple who’d brought in a baby’s blanket and were bickering about whether to match it or go for a “toning colour”. He pointed to the tins of paint, gave them a thumbs-up and turned back to the new parents.
When they got back to the farm, Maitland was waiting for them. He looked furious.
“What’s happened?” Gabriel said.
“What’s happened? Now there’s a question. Yes, what has happened? Well, I have been having a nice little chat with a member of Michigan’s finest, is what has happened.”
“The police?” Shaun said.
“No. The Girl Scouts. Yes, of course the police, you idiot. Your exploits earlier this morning broke a window in a camper van on the neighbouring property. Some holidaymakers taking advantage of the good weather we’ve been having or some such rubbish. I had to explain we’d been blasting a tree stump from our potato field. She didn’t seem convinced but I don’t think we’ll be having any further trouble from that quarter.”
“Oh, shit. You didn’t …”
“Kill her? Now why would you think I’d do something like that? No, I find a large wad of cash is usually enough to buy the silence of a public official. It doesn’t matter where you go, they all think they’re overworked and underpaid.”
“Guess we should make a start,” Gabriel said.
“Yes, you bloody well should make a start. I want those Brownings secure and invisible as soon as possible.”
Without another word or a backward glance, Maitland strode off to the house, leaving Shaun and Gabriel wondering whether he really had paid off a female cop. Or whether her body was already being consumed by the next-door hogs and her car was nestling up to the sunken Harleys.
“Right, we need to get going,” Shaun said. He jerked his chin at the potato harvester. “We should get that thing into the workshop out of the rain. I’ll hook it up to the Lincoln and maybe you can work your Houdini shit on the padlock for the barn.”
Venter had used the same combination for all his locks, so they were in and setting up without any further trouble. They stripped the Brownings into their subassemblies – barrels, main bodies, firing mechanisms – then Gabriel left Shaun to his metalwork and went back to the house to see Maitland. He was sitting in the kitchen, phone on the table next to a cup of tea. No papers in front of him, no laptop. Nothing. No, not nothing. Gabriel noticed a small black notebook with gold-edged pages, almost covered by Maitland’s right hand. As he glanced at it, Maitland slid it off the table and tucked it into his inside breast pocket.
“Gabriel. Just the man. Sit down. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Chapter 28
“Is it about the M2s? We’ve stripped them and Shaun’s welding the brackets in place now. All we need to do after that is bolt the parts in place and spray the whole lot green to camouflage them.”
“No, no, I’m sure you and Shaun are doing a marvellous job. Consummate professionals, both of you. No, it’s about our longer-term project.”
“Oh, OK. Well, fire away.”
“Pun intended, presumably?”
Gabriel just inclined his head.
“It’s a rather delicate matter, but I’m afraid I must have a truthful answer. I won’t tolerate anything less.”
He traced his fingertips along the scar dividing his scalp.
“What are your intentions towards my daughter?”
Gabriel had been expecting
any number of questions. But not this one. His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“I think you heard me well enough, Gabriel.”
“I don’t have any ‘intentions’ towards Lizzie. I’ve only met her a few times.”
“And that has been more than enough at various points in the past. Lizzie is not without her charms. Even as her father, I can appreciate she is possessed of a certain allure.” Maitland was looking at Gabriel intently, his eyes drilling into him.
“Well, forgive me, Toby, but not for me.”
“Are you gay?”
“No.”
“And you maintain you are not attracted to her. Not sexually.”
“No. And I’m really not sure where you’re going with this.”
“It’s very simple. I am your current Commander-in-Chief as well as your future President, and I do not wish you to fraternise with my daughter. She has a role to play in my destiny too and I do not want any distractions. So you will swear to me, on your honour, that you do not now, and will not ever, entertain any thoughts of seducing her. Or, indeed, of letting her seduce you. Of which, believe you me, she is more than capable.”
Gabriel thought of several ripostes to this, but he bit them back.
“I give you my word, as a former serving member, and commissioned officer, of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, that I will not now, nor at any time in the future, attempt, endeavour or bid to seduce your daughter, Lizzie Maitland.” There. That should do it, you bloody lunatic. Enough dependent clauses to choke you.
“Thank you, Gabriel. I am sorry if my requirements for moral scruples trouble you, but so it must be.”
“No, it’s fine. You’re right. We must keep the mission pure.”
Am I overdoing it?
“I’m glad you agree.”
It would seem not.
“Was there anything else?”
“No. Not for now. How long do you think it will take you and Shaun to prepare our second cargo?” His daughter’s sexual unavailability having been dealt with, Maitland became conciliatory.