Rough hands pulled Denny to his feet. His vision swirled, accompanied by the sting in his throat of rising bile forced up by the kick. A line of guards pushed the rowdier people back and shoved him forward. He stumbled and fell, gasping in pain on City Hall's steps.
Townsen's loyalists roared approval. He looked around at the angry faces as he rose and saw a wall of protesters on the other side of men with rifles. The people who'd silently witnessed his approach and injuries now strained to stop the abuse.
Too little, too late, my friends.
A beer bottle struck his lower back with a hollow thump and caused him to fall to his knees again. The crowd cheered.
"Stay down, traitor," said Townsen in a strong, clear voice. The crowd fell silent, watching. A few hisses and curses echoed off the buildings but they ceased pelting him with trash. Denny glared up at Townsen through one eye, the other already swollen shut.
He took a deep breath, eye locked on Townsen, and deliberately rose to his feet. You will not hear me beg.
The crowd let out a collective "oooooooooh" and fell silent. Townsen's face darkened, but he kept the sneer plastered in place.
"Let him go!" a low voice shouted down the street. A chorus of rebuke was the only response.
"Hang 'im John! He killed your boy!" someone shouted.
Townsen paled but was quick to regain control. "By rights, I should!" he shouted to the crowd.
His supporters roared. Denny wavered on his feet and begged Mishe Moneto for strength.
Townsen addressed the crowd, arms flung wide. "He owes us all!" He waited for the loyalists to quiet again. "Kept supplies from us, helped traitors conceal hordes of food—"
"My little girl starved to death, you bastard!"
Townsen calmed the crowd with his upturned hands. "I am not an unreasonable man. All you people who sided with Denny will no longer be under suspicion—as soon as he admits his guilt. I aim to bring peace to this town, with help from President Barron—"
"Barron's dead!" echoed behind Denny.
Townsen jerked his head at a guard. The man turned and forced his way through the crowd. After a few muffled words and what sounded like a heavy impact of something hard against flesh, Townsen continued.
"It's cold out here and I don't see no need to drag this out any longer. Denoyan Tecumseh, you have been charged with treason, sedition, and criminal hoarding—along with a host of other violations. Have you anything to say in your defense?"
Denny glared at Townsen. Still too far away. "Has the Constitution been completely abandoned," he asked in a loud voice, "that you have become judge, jury, and executioner?"
Townsen laughed. "Of course not! The mayor—as was his right, appointed me acting police chief." Townsen puffed his chest out. A few people clapped in the crowd.
"Acting?" asked Denny as he half turned to the crowd to gauge their mood. "And you're qualified? You went to the police academy? You served as an officer?"
Townsen frowned. "The mayor can appoint anyone he wants—it's a temporary—"
"Where is the mayor, anyway?" someone called out.
"I heard he took sick with the flu three days ago…" a voice responded.
"That's right," someone else replied, "I haven't seen him since."
Denny smirked. He had his opening. "Convenient, don't you think?" he asked the crowd. More than one head nodded in agreement.
"Wherever the mayor is, it doesn't change the fact you're charged with treason—and that means—”
"Treason is a federal crime, John," interrupted Denny. He turned to the crowd. "I did not know Salmon Falls had a federal courthouse. I did not know the police chief in Salmon Falls had authority to prosecute federal offenses. Did you?"
A low murmur rippled through the crowd—they had expected more action and less legal wrangling.
"Well, that's what he's here for!" said Townsen as he shoved the U.S. Marshal from McDonnell's house forward.
"What's he got to say? Son of a bitch served the paperwork that kicked me out of my house!" a voice called.
"That paperwork didn't kick you out—Jimmy Moreland did," shouted another. A shared chuckle worked its way through the loyalists.
"Anyway you look at it, it's bullshit!" cried the first voice. "You had no right to throw my family on the street, just because I didn't swear some stupid oath!"
"Yeah!"
Townsen raised his hands. "Calm down, folks," he pleaded. "This here's a U.S. Marshal, sent from Washington to enforce the rule of law—"
"Sounds like he was sent to use the law to enforce your rule," said Denny, seizing the moment. The crowd laughed. Townsen flushed red.
"You shut the hell up and let the marshal speak. You're already in a lot of trouble."
The marshal stepped forward. He looked around and cleared his throat. "Look everyone, I'm not in a position to say what this man should be charged with—all right? I was just sent here to help implement President Barron's directive—"
Denny squared his shoulders. "Did you not swear an oath to defend the Constitution?"
The lawman glanced around before nodding. "I did. I also swore to obey my superiors. I'm not violating the Constitution by being here. Who's President is not my concern—I go where I'm told, right?"
Denny ignored Townsen's smirk. "Were you told to stand by while innocent people are robbed and kicked out of their homes?"
"Hey, as far as I know, they never took the oath—"
"Oath?" Denny looked around. "Are you serious? Are we in medieval Europe?" he shouted.
The marshal shrugged as he frowned. Color crept up his neck. "I'm sorry, I'm just doing my job."
Denny looked at the assembled crowd. "You know, Nazi prison guards said the same thing. It didn't justify what they did in the Holocaust, and it doesn't justify what we've been through here."
A few nods and a ripple of reluctant agreement from Townsen's loyalists met his statement. Thus encouraged, Denny continued.
"It's bad enough we barely survived the Russians—now we've got to deal with the Korean Flu!" He turned to face Townsen. "This town does not need any more trouble. We need to heal."
Townsen laughed. "I suppose looting and hoarding—keeping the starving folks in Salmon Falls from getting any food…that's what you'd call healing?"
"He gave my family more deer meat than we can eat in a week," said a quiet voice hidden in the crowd.
"Mr. Tecumseh helped bring water to my wife when she was sick…"
"…showed us how to start a fire without matches…"
"…led us to an abandoned house after the Russians burned us out…"
"Now just a minute—" began Townsen. The crowd grew louder in support of Denny—Townsen grew redder.
"…his friends brought us half a deer…"
"Anse helped just as much…"
Townsen tried calling for order that never came. Denny held his breath and waited. The spark had been fanned—there was nothing to do but wait for the kindling to catch. The voices grew louder, more confident. The guards looked nervous. Townsen looked furious.
"Stop it!" he yelled.
"You stop it!" someone shouted back. The crowd cheered and laughed at the same time.
"We want our town back!"
"Yeah!"
"You—all of you—you're getting dangerously close to treason!" Townsen shrieked. "All of you!" He raised a hand, and the guards stepped back—weapons not leveled, but ready.
"You're wrong," Denny called out. "They're dangerous—but only to you and your thugs!"
The crowd roared, echoing off the surrounding buildings.
Now is my chance. Denny stared at Townsen. Just a few quick steps and he could wrap his hands around that scrawny neck and squeeze.
No, Little Spear. That is not your path…
Denny's heart slowed, his vision sharpened, and the noise of the crowd faded into a haze of background noise. He listened to Red Eagle.
It is not our way…
He clenched his
fists. A bottle sailed past his head, exploding at Townsen's feet, the glass sparkling like a thousand suns in the weak afternoon light. His eyes bulged and sweat trickled down the side of Townsen's face.
Denny smiled. It's already over—you've lost control. He raised his arms and spun back to the crowd, now barely contained by the armed men.
"Stop!" he called out. "Everyone, listen to me!" The crowd gradually quieted, despite a few desultory shouts directed Townsen. "We're better than this," he said. He pointed at Townsen. "We're better than him."
The crowd voiced its approval.
"There doesn't need to be any more violence…"
He smiled as two men wrestled away the rifle from the closest guard. Another allowed his to be taken and stepped back, hands up. In seconds, the rest followed suit as the crowd surged outward.
"This is your town," Denny said, turning his back to Townsen. He spread his hands wide and faced the crowd. "Take it back."
They bellowed and howled, swarming around Denny and flowing up the steps of City Hall like a flooding river. Townsen disappeared behind a wall of bodies and fists and shouts.
"Don't hurt him!" Denny pleaded. The sea of faces parted and the marshal stepped forward, Townsen before him. His hands had been secured in zip ties, his face flushed.
"I'll see you dead, you son of a bitch!"
A large fist struck Townsen's jaw. He recoiled and blinked in surprise.
"No!" Denny shouted. "Don't turn us into the monsters he wanted us to be! We are a nation of laws."
"We used to be, you ignorant savage! It's every man for himself, now!" hissed Townsen, struggling against his restraints.
Denny's hand flicked toward his tomahawk and clenched air. He'd come unarmed, per Townsen's ultimatum.
Townsen jerked his hands back and with a plastic snap, they were free. He lunged at Denny with a speed that took even the marshal off guard.
Denny found himself on his back, Townsen's hands around his throat. "Don't—" he choked.
"Fuck you! You killed my boy—you turned them against me," Townsen growled. He smashed Denny's head against the rough pavement. "I'm better than you, Indian!"
Angry shouts accompanied strong hands grasping at Townsen, but he only tightened his grip on Denny's throat in the confused scrum.
Spots floated across Denny's vision. "Don't…" he whispered, tying to pry the vice-like fingers from his throat. He needed air. He used a hand to punch at Townsen and brushed something under the man's jacket. One last chance.
"You think you're so smart, Mister History Teacher…" sneered Townsen, spittle filling the corners of his mouth. "My boy was twice the man you are! And you killed him!"
Denny pulled the knife from Townsen's belt. "I am Shawnee!" he hissed and plunged the knife into Townsen's belly, once and again just under the ribcage.
The grip on his throat finally slackened and Townsen's snarling face changed into a wide grimace as his lips pulled back in pain. His hands released Denny's throat and fumbled at the blade sunk deep in his chest. He teetered over Denny as the crowd step back.
John Townsen, dictator, one of President Barron's small-town enforcers, rolled his eyes, gurgled on his own blood, and collapsed to the ground.
Denny gasped for air and turned his head to stare into Townsen's eyes as the light faded and his body convulsed. "I'm sorry, John," he whispered.
CHAPTER 46
Skye, Scotland.
Dunkeith Castle.
COOPER SHIFTED HIS GAZE from the taser-wielding servant to the woman with the pistol. Options raced through his mind—take the taser, take the gun…go for Reginald…go for the gun and hope the taser misses.…
Every way he looked at it, his odds didn't look good.
Reginald smiled. "I see you thinking. Don't try anything—you are finished, so be a good boy, now. Drop your weapon and Fergus here will tie you up…"
Cooper hesitated. His finger tightened on the trigger. Just a few more ounces of pressure and Reginald would die.
"Don't do it," said a rough voice to his left.
"Listen to Fergus. Drop the gun. You'll thank me later," suggested Reginald.
The radio in Cooper's ear squawked: "Actual, Overwatch. I got a bead on the tango to your 9 o'clock. Say when…"
A slow smile spread across Cooper's lips. He dropped his rifle and raised his hands. His eyes shifted to the servant, looking for the red dot that would signal Sparky's aim. He watched it appear just over the man's right ear.
Reginald paused in his monologue. "I'm sorry…" He looked at the woman. "Did I say something amusing?"
Cooper laughed. "Now!" He kept his eyes on the woman as Fergus' head exploded in a puff of vaporized blood, brain, and bone. Cooper snapped his right arm out, blocking her gun. He pulled hard and twisted, spinning her over his left hip. The movement caused her to release the pistol and dumped her on the floor at the same time.
Cooper held the gun now and pointed it Reginald. The arrogant terrorist ignored the weapon and watched Lady Brunner as she hit the floor in a pile of ruffled silks and German curses.
"Actual?"
Cooper activated his throat mic, eyes locked on Reginald. "Clear. Thanks for the assist." He stooped and recovered his rifle, then slung it over his shoulder, keeping Lady Brun's pistol aimed at Reginald's chest.
"Hurry up—things are turning into a royal clusterfuck out here!"
"Copy. Oscar Mike."
Reginald threw his head back and laughed. "Good show!" He wiped his eyes, glancing at Fergus' messy remains. He peered up through the hole in the roof. "A sniper…on my own roof…oh, that's rich!" He glanced at Cooper as he helped the woman to her feet.
"Though I might ask you to apologize to Lady Brunner for treating her so…boorishly."
"Shut up—you're coming with me."
"Coop! Let's go! We gotta exfil."
Cooper activated his mic again. "Copy that, I have the HVT plus one."
"This won't work, you know," offered Reginald. He adjusted his shirt, flicking at his grime-stained sleeve.
"Shut up," Cooper repeated.
"Enemy reinforcements approaching. Our friends are getting pinned down—they're requesting air support…" reported Sparky.
"Striker 2-1, Actual, Command. Do you have the HVT?"
"Affirmative, Command." Cooper glared at Reginald. "Against the wall—now."
Reginald smirked. "I shall do no such thing."
Lady Brunner laughed. "Go ahead, shoot us." The two of them looked at each other and laughed.
Something didn't fit. Cooper glanced at the gun in his hand. What the hell? Is this thing even loaded?
"The look on your face is priceless," said Reginald. "My house may be on fire, my staff…" He looked down at Fergus. "Indisposed…my world in ruins…but you, my friend have positively made my day."
Cooper racked the slide on the pistol and saw it—the odd grip pattern just visible under his thumb. "God damn fingerprint safety."
"What's going on, Actual?" asked Sparky. "Get 'em out of there…"
"They're terribly safe, you know," said Lady Brunner. She blinked demurely as Cooper tossed the useless pistol away.
"Striker 2-1, Actual, Command. We have your position—EVAC in route, ETA in seven."
"Roger that, Command," Cooper said, watching Lady Brunner advance like a stalking cat.
Reginald closed in from the left. Cooper took a step back, mindful of the hot flames consuming the huge table behind him. His senses sharpened and he blocked the pain in his leg with a ruthless will. Acrid smoke burned his nose, but he ignored it. The firefight in the castle courtyard echoed through the Great Hall, but he didn't hear it.
Sparky advised him he was abandoning his position to help Charlie with Jax. Charlie shouted he was on his way to help with Reginald, but Cooper didn't listen—too many voices clamored for his attention. He pulled squawking earpiece from his ear and let it dangle by its curly cord. The SAS, Command, his Team—they were all talking at once.
/> Cooper had seven minutes before their ride showed up. Seven minutes alone with the man who'd orchestrated a global nightmare—the man who was most responsible for Brenda's death.
Charlie's muted voice shouted something about being close, barely audible now that the bone phone had been removed. Cooper frowned.
Got to make this fast.
A tremendous crash sent everyone in the room sprawling. Cooper glanced behind him and watched as the rear wall of the Great Hall collapsed under crumbling stone and shuddering ceiling timbers. Fire and ash spewed from the new hole in the wall and within seconds, the beams and timbers were alight.
Cooper frowned. The fire would race up those timbers and catch the roof in a few moments. He got to his feet and prepared his attack.
Lady Brunner took one step forward and paused, backing up as she saw the look on Cooper's face. She glanced sideways at Reginald, held up both her hands and smiled. "You wouldn't hit a woman, would you?"
Cooper's eyes darted between Reginald and Lady Brunner as a third form appeared behind them. 13 stepped through the smoke wearing what had probably been a very expensive—and revealing—halter top dress once. Her face was smeared with blood and soot. Blood stained the dress on her left side just below the ribs all the way to the floor. She sported a nasty-looking wound to the inside of her left arm as well. 13 looked like she’d just left a hell of a fight. She deliberately moved through the sparks and smoke as if the room wasn't on fire, her eyes locked on Lady Brunner, her lips compressed into a thin line.
"No, he wouldn't. But I would," she said in her lightly accented English.
Lady Brunner turned to the new threat and met a fist square in the face. Cooper heard her delicate, shapely nose crack. Lady Brunner screamed as she crumpled to the floor. Before 13 could land another hit, the Austrian lashed out with her feet and almost toppled 13 to the ground. 13 cursed and lunged, landing a flurry of punches.
"Looks like it's just you and me, old boy," Reginald said, that sickly grin back in his face. He unbuttoned his cuffs and calmly rolled his sleeves up, revealing well-sculpted forearms.
Cooper ignored the formalities and rushed him. The move was unexpected, judging from the look on Reginald's face as the two of them collided. Cooper pushed Reginald backward and slammed him against the wall.
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 34