“Neither do any of you!” Misty shot back. “But I know my Angus. He was a good man who just wanted to do the right thing.”
“We should search his clothes,” Apollo said.
“They’re upstairs. In the hamper,” Martha said, “waiting to be washed.”
“Seriously, who washes the clothes of a dead man?” Burt asked.
“Habit, I guess,” Martha answered.
“I’ll get ‘em,” Rusty said, leaving the table an instant later.
Daisy tapped Bunker on the shoulder. “Maybe you should show everyone what we found in those pouches.”
Bunker paused for a few moments, then reached into his pocket and pulled out several brightly colored items. They looked like playing cards, except for the extra angles cut into each of the four corners. He tossed them onto the map, sending them into a spray of color.
“Pokémon cards?” Dustin asked in a stunned voice.
“Dude, you can’t be serious,” Albert said to Bunker.
“I know. It seems ridiculous, which is why I hadn’t brought it up before now. But the men in the miner’s camp had these sewn inside their pants. Someone put them there for a reason.”
“Yeah, some nut job,” Martha Rainey said. “Sounds like something Tuttle would do.”
“Mother!” Allison said before looking at Misty. “I’m sorry. She didn’t mean it, Misty. Sometimes my mom just says things without thinking.”
“It’s okay. I know my dad can be a little eccentric,” Misty said, her eyes tearing up. “I mean, could be.”
Bunker continued. “Bottom line, these cards are no accident. Neither was the observation drone in the miner’s camp. Someone planned this.”
“And sent an assassin to Tuttle’s place,” Daisy said.
Bunker looked at Daisy, then at Apollo. “This is all connected somehow.”
Daisy turned her eyes to Misty. “Do you think the men in black went to your dad’s place looking for Angus?”
Misty choked back the answer, only nodding in response.
“God damned KGB,” Burt snapped.
“Actually, it’s the FSB,” Albert said. “They took over for the KGB.”
“Sorry guys, but you’re both wrong,” Bunker said. “The FSB is for internal security. The SVR handles foreign security. Then again, if this was under the control of their military, the GRU is responsible.”
Apollo didn’t want to mention the obvious, so he kept his mouth shut. In the end, Misty got her dad killed, regardless of which Russian intelligence service was involved. An assassin was in his home, torturing him for information he didn’t possess.
An extended silence sucked the oxygen out of the room until Jeffrey grabbed one of the cards and held it up to the light of the chandelier. “Cool. There’s a—”
Stephanie snatched it from his hands and put it back on the table. “What did I tell you about asking first?”
“Sorry, Mom.”
Bunker gave two of the cards to Jeffrey. “Knock yourself out, kid.”
Dallas took one of the cards from Jeffrey, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a device that looked like a small gun. He pressed the lever on the handgrip, sending out a brilliant blue and yellow flame from the opposite end. He aimed it at the lower corner of the card. “Ever see what happens when you burn one of these?”
Apollo grabbed the pocket torch from Dallas before the card caught fire. “Where did you get this?”
“Found it in Tuttle’s kitchen.”
“No more fire. You hear me?”
“Yes sir. Sorry.”
“And no more snooping.” Apollo gave the mini-torch to Bunker, then walked to the corner and grabbed the remaining map. He brought it to the table and held the roll up to grab the group’s attention.
Apollo let his eyes wander around the table, making eye contact with everyone. “There’s something else I want to show you all, but I’ve been saving it until after we had our discussion. I didn’t want what’s on this map to influence anyone’s input.”
“Come on, Apollo. Let’s see it already,” Burt snapped, making a stab for the roll.
Apollo pulled the map back, keeping it out of Burt’s reach. “Before I show you what’s on this map, everyone needs to prepare themselves.”
Burt rolled his eyes, his waist bent forward with both hands on the table. “Jesus Christ, Apollo. What’s with all the drama?”
Apollo slid the binder from the middle of the roll and uncoiled the map, spreading it over the one already on the table. He kept his hands on the corners so it wouldn’t spool up on itself. He peered down at the lines and ovals written on the map by Tuttle. “Anything look familiar?”
Bunker grabbed a corner of the new map and pried it up. He scanned the map underneath, then brought the corner down to look at the top map once again. He repeated the process three more times, then said, “The marks I made are almost identical to the ones on top.”
“What does this mean?” Stephanie asked Apollo.
“It means Tuttle knew this invasion was coming. Or at least, he was trying to figure out how it might be done. That’s why he marked up the top map. This is no coincidence.”
“Are you serious?” Martha asked.
“Now we know why he had all the supplies in the barn,” Daisy said.
“And the weapons in the two underground bunkers,” Apollo added.
“Let’s not forget the Faraday cages, too,” Bunker added. “He knew something was coming.
“For a while now,” Albert added.
Misty looked at Martha, flaring her eyebrows as she spoke. “Still think my dad was a nut job?”
Martha’s face turned soft, her head lowering a bit. “I’m sorry. I never should have said anything. Sometimes my mouth gets the better of me.”
“You know Martha, living across the street from you was never easy for my dad. I didn’t get many letters from him while I gone, but when I did, your name always came up. So it wasn’t just your mouth. He knew you were watching everything he did. Nobody likes to be spied upon. Especially by some old witch who lives across the street.”
“Hey, you can’t talk to my mom that way!” Allison said, walking toward Misty.
Apollo grabbed her, keeping the women apart. “Easy now ladies, let’s not do something we’ll all regret.”
“This doesn’t concern you Sheriff,” Misty said, her tone sharp.
“I said I was sorry. I hope you can forgive me,” Martha said, pulling her daughter back from the Sheriff’s grip. “I couldn’t help it. It’s not easy living out here all alone.”
“Found ‘em!” Rusty yelled as he made his way down the stairs with a wad of clothes in his hands. He plopped them onto the table, breaking the tension in the air.
Allison backed off. So did Misty, almost like the heated exchange never happened.
Bunker, Apollo, and Daisy began a hand search of Angus’ shirt, pants, and shoes, turning pockets inside out, checking seams, and yanking out soles.
A few minutes went by before the trio came to a collective conclusion, one that Apollo announced to everyone else in the dining room. “Nothing here, folks.”
“I told you this was a wild goose chase,” Burt said.
“It must still be on him,” Albert said, locking eyes with Apollo. He tilted his head, sending a signal that resembled a question.
Bunker nodded. “He’s right.”
“No. No. No,” Misty said, holding up her hands and taking a step back from the table. “You’re not digging him up.”
“We have to, Misty,” Apollo said.
Misty shook her head, looking like she could breathe fire. “No, I won’t let you. It’s sacrilegious.”
Apollo looked at Daisy and Stephanie, then shot a nod at the staircase. “Ladies? A little help, please.”
The women didn’t hesitate, moving to Misty and grabbing her arms. Misty fought against their control, twisting her body in defiance.
“I’m sorry, Misty, but there’s no choice,�
� Daisy said as her and Stephanie led the emotional woman up the stairs and out of sight.
“That was intense,” Dustin said to Burt.
“Too bad the Sheriff didn’t let them throw down,” Burt answered. “My money was on Allison.”
“Like in the market, with Grace. You should have seen it. That was a pretty good cat fight,” Dustin said, turning to Albert. “Right?”
Albert ignored the comment, focusing on Bunker instead. “It’s your turn with the shovel, dude. Dustin and I dug the last round of holes.”
“Follow me,” Bunker said, leading the group out of Martha Rainey’s house and across the street to Tuttle’s.
The shovels were still leaning against the back wall of Tuttle’s house when they arrived, only a few feet from the fresh graves they’d dug next to Tuttle’s. He scanned all six gravesites with his eyes. “Anyone remember which one it is?”
Martha pointed at the first grave. “That’s where I buried Tuttle.”
Dustin aimed a hand at the second. “That’s the black cowboy’s.”
Rusty walked from Martha’s position to the far end of the graves. “These last three are the guys Bunker shot.”
Bunker nodded, then stood over the lone unidentified grave. It was the third one from Martha’s position. “Then this is where we start.” He lifted the shovel above his head and brought it down with force, penetrating the darker colored dirt at its midpoint.
His eyes came up to Burt. “Grab the other shovel. We’ve got work to do.”
CHAPTER 16
Apollo slid the top half of the body onto the ground, while Burt took care of the legs, both men sidestepping the gravesite just uncovered. Albert and Dustin took a step back to make room next to the hole.
The clean bed sheet they’d used to wrap the deceased was now a brownish color, with moisture splotches and other defects marring the all-white tapestry of the cloth.
Bunker began to unwrap Cowie, starting with the end of the sheet nearest to the head, then unwinding the material in a diagonal pattern.
Dallas and Rusty took positions next to Bunker. The boys’ willingness to help suggested they weren’t fazed by the exhumation process. Not in the least.
Apollo couldn’t say the same for himself, wishing they didn’t need to dig up the corpse. His apprehension wasn’t because of some religious belief. It was more about respect for the dead.
Once a body was in the ground, he believed that’s where it should remain. After all, that’s why they call them “the remains.” However, countless lives were at stake and the only clues to the madness behind the Russian invasion might lie with this cadaver.
Burt held the lower half of the body off the ground, while Bunker’s hands completed the sheet removal process. Once the man’s naked body was exposed to the air, Bunker gave the soiled bed sheet to Apollo.
Apollo coiled the material into a loose ball, then put it over the man’s privates. Sure, a dead man can’t feel embarrassment or become chilled from a draft, but it still was the right thing to do.
“What are we looking for?” Burt asked Bunker. “He’s obviously not carrying anything.”
“My guess is the formula is hidden on him.”
Burt threw out his hands and shrugged in an exaggerated motion. “Okay, but where?”
“Check the bottom of his feet and between his toes. If the formula is still with him, it’s not going to be obvious. Could be very small, too.”
“We have to think like a spy,” Albert said. “Check inside his lips and eyelids.”
Dallas whispered something into Rusty’s ear. The two boys laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Burt asked, his hands prying apart each set of toes on the right foot.
Rusty shook his head, his lips not willing to answer. Dallas was still laughing, though it was more of giggle.
“Come on, out with it. What’s so funny?” Burt asked, his tone serious.
Dallas pointed at the bundle of cloth covering Angus’ midsection. “Check his butthole.”
Burt shook his head, then looked at Bunker. “Everyone’s a comedian around here.”
“Actually, Dallas might be on to something,” Dustin said. “Seems like the perfect place to me. Nobody would ever want to check there.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Albert asked in a cynical tone.
Bunker shook his head at Dallas. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken you back to your father’s house. I’m starting to think too much desensitization is not a good thing.”
“He’s right, boys. This is no time to be joking around,” Apollo said.
Dallas dropped his head, his tone somber. “Sorry.”
Apollo knew the boys were just being boys, using humor to cover up their anxiety. “Let’s stay focused, shall we.”
“But I wasn’t exactly joking. It’s possible, right?”
Bunker sounded frustrated when he said, “Sure, just not likely. If he has it on him, it would be someplace a little more accessible.”
“At least they’re getting along okay, which is pretty amazing under the circumstances,” Martha said to Apollo, nodding at Rusty and Dallas. “More than I can say for Rusty and Victor.”
“Among others,” Bunker interjected, his focus landing on Albert.
The big man locked eyes with Bunker, but didn’t respond. Nor did his facial expression change, obviously not wanting to address the comment sent his way.
It was clear something was going on with Albert and Bunker. Apollo wasn’t sure what was fueling the tension, other than their near fisticuffs in the barn earlier. He thought their heated exchange was a thing of the past, but their odd looks, head turns, and cryptic comments seemed to indicate their distaste for each other hadn’t eased.
“Dallas, why don’t you and Rusty go check Tuttle’s bathroom,” Bunker said.
“For what?”
“See if you can find some shaving cream and a razor. We’ve got some hair to remove. I’ll need scissors, too.”
Dallas laughed again. So did Rusty.
“It’s not for that,” Bunker said, looking less than amused. “We need to check his scalp.”
“Good idea,” Albert said in a deliberate tone, his eyes never leaving Bunker. “I’m sure there are plenty of guys who’ve hidden stuff under their hair. Stuff like scars. Birthmarks. Lumps. Hell, I’ll bet even a few tattoos. Nobody would ever suspect it, either.”
Bunker hesitated for a good three seconds, his eyes lingering on Albert. Then he motioned at the boys with a quick wave of his hand. “Go on. Get the stuff we need.”
Dallas and Rusty took off a moment later, taking a path between the end of the trailer and the barn.
* * *
“Wait! You don’t have to do this,” Mayor Buckley screamed, his feet churning at top speed across the grassy square. Deputy Rico was only a few feet behind him, both men trying to stop what was about to take place in front of a growing crowd of Clearwater residents.
“Ready . . . aim . . .” a Russian soldier yelled in broken English. A three-man squad stood before him, their rifles aimed at an equal number of prisoners, each on their knees with hands tied behind their backs. The commander’s accent was thick; so were the blindfolds covering each of the captives’ faces.
Buckley called out again, his lungs gasping for air. “Don’t do this! Please!”
A second later, the order to fire was given. Gunshots rang out and brain matter exploded when the invaders’ bullets let loose with their rage.
The crowd turned away, gasping in unison, the unarmed prisoners toppling over in death.
The energy in Buckley’s legs vanished in an instant, stopping his gallop with a slam of the ground into his knees. A stabbing pain filled his heart, his mind unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed.
“No! No! No!” he screamed in a fading voice, his lungs starving for oxygen.
Rico plopped down next to him, the expression on his face mirroring how Buckley felt. Rico covered his eyes with his hands and began
to sob. Slowly at first, then more tears came to him as the seconds ticked.
Buckley wanted to console Rico, but the rage in his chest convinced him to get up and keep moving. Answers were needed and he couldn’t get them from his current position.
He resumed his trek with weak, unbalanced strides, his eyes unable to look away from the blood-covered corpses. When he arrived, two guards turned their rifles on him. The third grabbed Buckley by the suitcoat and stopped his advance with a straight arm.
“What did you just do?” Buckley asked, his voice charged with grief.
Valentina came into his vision from the right, seemingly out of nowhere. “These men were charged with sedition and sentenced accordingly.”
“Sedition? What are you talking about?”
“They refused to report for work duty, then resisted arrest when the General’s security team took them into custody. One had a concealed knife. A forbidden weapon.”
“So you just shot them? In cold blood?”
“All resistance will be met with swift justice.”
“On whose authority?”
“General Zhukov’s.”
“Take me to him! I demand to speak with him this very instant!”
* * *
Bunker drew the razor across the crown of Cowie’s head, his hand holding the razor at a consistent angle. The shaving cream gave way under the even pressure, the edge removing the hair in one pass.
He wouldn’t quite classify the remaining hair as stubble, but it was close after the scissors had done their job to give him better access. He figured another swipe or two and the man’s head would be completely bald.
The process reminded Bunker of his days riding with The Kindred. Every morning he’d stand in front of the dingy mirror and drag a razor across his lumpy head. The sound and vibration of stubble ripping across his scalp was a unique sensation, one still fresh in his memory.
Martha Rainey came around the corner of the trailer. “That didn’t take long. Find anything?”
“Nothing yet,” Bunker said. He brought the razor up and positioned it for another draw. About halfway through the next pass, something appeared beneath the shaving cream. It was an all-black tattoo, but not one he’d seen before. This one was perfectly square and filled with patterns of dots and squares.
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