by I.B. Holder
*****
Legacy got back into the sedan, watching the dashboard clock with a sour look on his face. The blinking centerpiece that had always provided consistency and stability was now his betrayer. They had entered the county government offices with a list of criteria that Legacy thought necessary for the kind of operation Blade was running. They came out with a list with three addresses, one of which was sixty miles away and only accessible by hiking trail. He secretly doubted that it was the place he was looking for, because although it fit his minimum criteria, it seemed unlikely that they would hike hostages back and forth from the property to the access road.
Legacy knew that the location would have several out buildings along with a main residence. These were men of appetite and anger; they couldn’t live like the Waltons stacked on top of one another and maintain peace. Blade would have chosen the place for seclusion. There would be little chance of someone happening upon it hiking in the woods.
Finally, all of the girls described direct sunlight in their walks back and forth to the sessions, they couldn’t see it through their heavy canvas masks, but they felt intense sun on their exposed arms and legs. Legacy was taking a risk, but he believed the compound was on or near the top of one of the mountains that rose up like sentinels out of the valley.
Three properties matched the criteria, and they were headed toward one now. Agent Brent checked his weapon a second time even though he knew that the maintenance was perfect. He snapped the magazine into position, then went to his ankle holster and checked the .22 that was inside.
Tree limbs reached out across the cracked asphalt that wound like a snake up toward a set of buildings. The skittering complaints of pine needles across the top of the sedan were a reminder that not many cars passed along this road. The switchbacks only gave Legacy flashes of their destination before dipping back into the trees. He knew the further he drove the greater the risk of being spotted, but he was counting on the fact that the session was about to begin. The men should be busy doing other things.
Brent turned to him a couple times with what he guessed was a warning, but each time, he shook his head and like an etch a sketch he cleared out his opinions and left the thinking to Legacy. Like he was reminding himself of what Legacy was good for.
Legacy could sense that Brent was waiting to take charge on the ground operation. He’d never seen Legacy in action, he had no idea that the skills he left on the field almost ten years ago were good enough to be distinguished among the most elite military operatives in the nation. This was not a guy who needed his hand held, but Brent would find that out in his own time.
They were a mile away from the main building cluster when Legacy pulled the car to the side of the road and they got out. He said only “Keep up,” and began a charge through the woods upward, zig zagging through trees. He kept the fading sun at a perpendicular angle to keep their shadows mixing in the trees and avoid long silhouettes approaching the main house. He reached the clearing and saw a glint of metal from behind one of the tinted windows -definitely movement. Someone was inside. The property management company had stated that there hadn’t been a tenant in three years. Either the old tenants were really taking their time moving out, or new tenants occupied this place.
“It’s them.” Brent huffed in Legacy’s ear. He hadn’t realized that his pace would have pushed the youngster. Brent must have seen the amusement in Legacy’s expression and offered defensively “The jacket and armaments I carry weigh a ton.”
“Sure, are you ready?” Brent wasn’t ready for the aggressive, flash powder style of military engagement. In the FBI most of the situations of engagement contain no armed enemy, no resistance to the call “Federal Agent!” a point which he was about to explain to Legacy when he noticed that he had already pushed silently off his perch on the edge of the trees and had made it halfway across the open clearing.
Legacy knew something that Agent Brent did not, he knew that the leader of the Vinyl Men was not a criminal; he was a modern version of Grendel. Blade had turned his very personal flaws into a war against everyone who was to blame. And since there was no one and nothing other than perhaps his own flawed chemistry to blame, everyone was fair game. The game had an intricate set of rules in Blade’s mind, although he saved his most involved theatrics for the women whose natural understanding of sexuality mocked his unmatched intellect. Even though torture had complicated rules and procedures, he would kill a man with neither fore or afterthought.
Legacy kept moving across the field up the slope to the wooden door in front of him. Hesitation was the unseen participant in every operation, sometimes friend, sometimes foe. They were not going in with the intention of arrest, they were a lightning strike before the thunder could announce their presence.
Blade would draw first blood if he had the chance, Legacy was sure of it. He braced his body, lowering his shoulder into the weathered hollow core wooden door still decorated for Christmas. Remnants of a velour bow and the skeleton of a wreath made a bulls-eye in the center of the door.
Legacy knew exactly what kind of sound it would make when he hit, unfortunately he had no idea of what was on the other side. Life gives ironic reflections of who we are in an almost constant series, and he’d have to examine that thought – later.