The Liberty Covenant

by Jack Bowie

  And then there was the way she had died. Megan hated physical violence. There was no way she would have tried to fight off a stranger. Why had she been stabbed?

  First Lawson. Now Megan. There were so many questions.

  But he knew he had to find the answers.

  * * *

  “Hello?” came a deep growl through the phone.

  “Hi, Sam. It’s Adam Braxton.”

  “Adam! Karen told me what happened. I’m really sorry.”

  “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “Where are you? Is there anything I can do?”

  “I’m still out in California, but there is something I’d like you to look into.”

  “Sure, Adam. Anything. But you’re really okay?”

  “Pretty much. But something’s not right out here. I need you to check out someone.” He waited for the inevitable complaint.

  “Wait a minute, Adam. Do not get yourself involved. Leave the investigating to the police for once.”

  “It’s not like that, Sam. It’s not about Megan’s murder. At least not directly. Take down a name.”

  “Oh, shit. Alright, let me get a pad.”

  Braxton waited while his friend located something to write on. He had done everything he could in San Francisco. Megan’s brother would be in this afternoon and then he would be on a red-eye to D.C. It was time to get some answers.

  Sam Fowler was a crusty ex-D.C. detective to whom Braxton had already trusted his life more than once. Since retiring, Fowler augmented his pension with gigs as a private investigator. He had more contacts than anyone Braxton knew. And Braxton needed the information. Even if it only cleared his suspicions.

  “Got it.” Fowler was back.

  “Okay, name is Sydney Marino. Sydney with a wye. Lives in Megan’s building, apartment 704.”

  “What’s he done?”

  “Not he. She. She’s some kind of PR consultant that worked with Megan at Vision One. Just see if she’s legit.”

  “I’ll give it a shot, but my contacts out there are a little rusty. It could take a few days.”

  “That’s fine. Do whatever you can.”

  “Uh, did you get my message about your visitor?” Fowler asked hesitantly.

  “Yeah, thanks. The guy called himself John Smith. Stocky, about six feet tall. Buzz cut and glasses. Said he was with the CIA. And mentioned your name. Something about owing him a Dos Equis.”

  The line went silent for about a minute. When Fowler’s voice came back on the line, it was oddly emotionless.

  “That’s about what Karen said. Sounds like Slattery. What did he want?”

  “He wants me to go to an Internet security conference in Amsterdam. See what I can pick up on Chinese cryptographic work.”

  “The CIA does debrief scientists coming back from international meetings. Pretty common, so I hear. Odd he approached you directly about going, though. Roger’s an expert in counterterrorism not an analyst.”

  “Can I trust him?” Braxton asked.

  Fowler hesitated again before continuing. “Trust is a difficult word with Roger. He’s a real pro. Dedicated to his job and his country.

  “Bottom line, he’s a spook, Adam. You can only believe about half of what he tells you. If that much. But if he actually came to see you, and made that request, I have to believe it’s important.”

  Braxton weighed his friend’s words. He certainly didn’t trust Slattery, but he did trust Fowler. And the opportunity was too good to pass up.

  “Thanks, Sam. That helps. And don’t kill yourself on the Marino background check. Just leave the information with Karen.”

  “Why don’t I call you?”

  “That could be expensive. I’ll be out of the country for a few days.”

  “Don’t tell me Adam Braxton’s taking some time off. People will talk.”

  “Sorry, Sam. No such luck. I’ve got some business to do. In Amsterdam.”

  Chapter 23

  Tyler, Georgia

  Sunday, 4:30 p.m.

  Holly sat on the steps of the equipment house. In the dusty clearing in front of the house, one of Gary’s experts was conducting a hand-to-hand combat exercise. Nine militiamen from Montgomery were being alternately tossed into the dirt by the commando. Holly winced sympathetically every time one of the men hit the hard Georgia clay.

  Holly’s cell had taken their turn earlier in the day. Everyone had come through without any permanent damage, but he had taken one particularly bad fall on his right side. Now his knee was throbbing through his pants leg and every breath felt like someone was sticking a hot poker in his chest. Hopefully it wasn’t a busted rib.

  He had told Napes to meet him here at five o’clock. The Gathering was winding down and his short absence wouldn’t be noticed.

  It was time to handle his “problem.” There was one possibility; one way he could get through this and keep his family together. But would his son-in-law agree?

  He heard the roar of Napes’ pickup and took one last swig from the flask filled with Bubba Olson’s finest. At least it took the edge off the pain. He stuffed the flask in his back pocket, locked up the equipment house, and gathered his courage.

  “Afternoon, Macon,” came the call from his son-in-law. Napes had dressed for the day’s duties: his fatigues looked relatively clean, his boots were tied, and he had pulled his oily hair back into a stubby ponytail. “Wha’cha want?”

  Holly met him outside the house. “Got some things to talk about, Cal. Let’s go for a walk.” He motioned toward the woods.

  “Everything okay?”

  “So far,” Holly replied. “Sounds like everybody’s goin’ at it.” The woods echoed with the pops of automatic fire and an occasional explosive burst. It might bother the neighbors but no one was going to complain.

  “Ain’t none of them around here is there?”

  “Nah, we’re safe. Didn’t want any of the exercises around the ammo stash.”

  “Oh, yeah. Now I remember.” Napes smiled widely, his mouth showing more empty spaces than solid teeth.

  Holly limped down a path, leading Napes around the equipment house and into the woods behind.

  “Like a drink?” Holly asked drawing the flask from his pocket.

  “Sure, Macon. Thanks.” Napes grabbed the flask and took a long draw. “Got everybody in alright, didn’t we? Nobody sneakin’ in this time.”

  “You’re right, Cal. Looks like this was just fine. But there’s still lotsa’ folks upset by that Fed.”

  “Yeah, I know. The boys’ve been talkin’. Got what he deserved though, stickin’ his nose into our business like that.”

  “Our friends are real upset. They want to know what happened.”

  “You mean that Yankee been hangin’ around?”

  “His name’s Gary. He’s a part of the big organization, Cal. The one that’s getting us together.”

  “Well it’s about time somebody did somethin’. Get rid of all the goddamn foreigners and homos, that’s what I say. And we don’t need no stinkin’ Feds tellin’ us what to do, neither. Look what they did to Charlie.”

  “We’re gonna change all that, Cal. But Gary’s got powerful friends. They paid for this farm, gave us all the equipment. How did the Fed get in?”

  “I don’t know. He came in one day. Said he was from ‘lanta.”

  “You’re head of security. Didn’t you talk to him?”

  “Sure, Macon. Had kinda a funny accent, but he knew folks up north.”

  “Did you ever check with them?”

  “I was gonna. Sure, I was. What’s the big deal?”

  Holly looked around. They had come about a half mile into the heavy timber. Another quarter mile to go. The sounds of the exercises were all around them.

  “They think it’s your fault, Cal. That the Fed got in.”

  “My fault! What was I supposed to do?”

  “Check him out. See if he was from up north. Talk to your friends
.”

  “Shit. I ain’t got time to check out everybody. I got real work to do. We caught him didn’t we?”

  “Frisco saw him go into the shed,” Holly explained. “Then Gary took over. He could have hurt all of us, Cal. Got us arrested. Or worse.”

  Napes shut up and Holly saw deep creases in his forehead. He was trying to think through the situation. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

  “Okay. I’ll be more careful next time. You tell ‘em that, Macon. I’ll be careful.”

  “That’s not enough, Cal. The Commander wants someone punished.”

  “Have him punish Frisco. How’d the damn Fed get in the shed?”

  “I don’t know. But Frisco’s one of Gary’s people. You’re the one that let him in the compound.”

  “Who is this damn Commander, Macon? I ain’t never seen him. Who’s he to tell us what to do?”

  “No one knows who he is. But he’s a real warrior. With money and power to help us. He’s having us work together for the Covenant. I wouldn’t want him comin’ after me.”

  “So what they gonna do, Macon? Kill me?”

  Napes’ leer made Holly sick. But it didn’t last long after Holly just stood silently next to him.

  “Macon? You’re kiddin’, right?” Holly stood unresponsive. “SHIT! They can’t do that!”

  “These are very dangerous people, Cal. If we don’t do something, they might hurt Annie and Little Betsy. Like in Tennessee.”

  Napes started rubbing his hands together. His whole body was shaking. “You gotta do something, Macon. You gotta get me outta here.”

  Me. Only “me.”

  “Maybe there is something I can do, Cal. I can help you get away, disappear somewhere. I doubt they’ll come looking.”

  “Sure, Macon, sure.” Napes was stuttering through the words. “I’ll just grab a bag from the trailer. I’ll be ready to go.”

  “I can set you up in Phenix City. My brother Griffin’s there.”

  “Thanks, Macon. I can do that.” He paused and the confused expression reappeared. “I’ll need some money, of course. Just a loan for my ticket and somethin’ to get me started. I really do appreciate it, Macon. Sure do.”

  “My ticket?” What about your family, you bastard?

  “You’re not taking Annie and Little Betsy?”

  “Shit, Macon. I can’t be draggin’ them all over. I got to hide out. Hell, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to them. Annie and the kid can take care of themselves. She’s got a whole lot of friends. You understand.”

  “Yeah, Cal.” Holly shook his head. “I finally do understand.”

  Holly led them deeper into the woods.

  How had he let it get this far? He had only wanted to protect his daughter.

  He remembered when she was just a little girl, bouncing on his knee in a well-worn calico dress, asking to go for a ride in the store’s big red delivery truck. She had the same sleepy hazel eyes and thick pouty lips as her mother, and even then had known how to use them to her advantage. They had tried to slow her down, but it had been fruitless. Their awkward lectures on family values could not compete with the slick television shows and flashy movies that had taught their fourteen-year-old child more about life than Holly had ever known.

  When she had gotten herself pregnant, Holly had forced the marriage. He hadn’t wanted any daughter of his to be labeled a tramp. But maybe there were worse things.

  “Jesus, Macon. Nobody told me it’d get like this.”

  They had reached the edge of the embankment. The pond was just over the rise. Holly put his arm around Napes and gave him a gentle nudge.

  “You just have to go, Cal. Until things cool down. It’s safer for you this way. And I’ll take care of Annie and Little Betsy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll go. I’ll pack up my stuff tonight.”

  “It’s the right thing. You’ll see.”

  “Thanks, Macon. I’m glad it’s you doin’ this. Now about that little loan . . .”

  Holly slowed and fell behind as Napes walked up the embankment. When his son-in-law reached the crest, Holly drew a Colt 9mm automatic and fired two rounds into the back of Napes’ head. The body lurched, then rolled down the slope and splashed face-down into the algae-covered pond.

  Holly stared down at his now-departed relative, feet stuck in the soft mud, the rest of his body floating in the reddish-green slime.

  Serves you right, you goddamn sonuvabitch.

  He turned and hobbled back into the woods.

  Okay, so how do I get rid of the pickup?

  Chapter 24

  Tyler, Georgia

  Sunday, 7:15 p.m.

  “Goddamn assholes!” Holly yelled as he dragged himself through the doors of Ricky’s. “So here you are. Hope you bastards didn’t hurt yourselves helping lock up the farm.” He limped over to the table where Wicks and O’Grady were sharing a pitcher of draft.

  “Shit, Macon,” O’Grady replied. “We were dead tired. And we knew you could handle it. You didn’t have any trouble finding us.” Chevrons of red, muddy sweat still decorated the Irishman’s face. He waved a mug of beer in Holly’s direction.

  “Just followed my nose, Sean. You boys stunk up Route 58 all the way up here.”

  “Christ,” O’Grady continued, “I never thought that guy would quit. I’m gonna be nothing but bruises in the morning.”

  “Well if he hadn’t had that flight out of Columbus tonight, he probably never would have left,” Wicks replied.

  “Yeah, but at least you got through it,” Holly added. “Those pussies from Pensacola bailed out after lunch. Y’all did good. Gary’ll be real pleased.”

  “Damn well oughta be,” Wicks said. “All the work we did.”

  “I think you should talk to Gary about that, Tommy,” Holly replied. “I sure do. I bet he’d be real interested in your ideas.”

  Wicks glared back at the older man then changed the subject.

  “What happened to Ricky? Didn’t see him at all.”

  “Somethin’ came up this morning,” Holly said. “Had to go back into town.”

  “He sure did miss the fun part,” said O’Grady. “Everybody get out okay, Macon?”

  “Yeah. They all were ready to go. Took a helluva beating today. I got ‘em out and locked up. No help from you assholes, by the way. I’m goin’ to get me a drink.”

  “You buyin’, Macon?” O’Grady called as Holly turned for the bar.

  “Not for you, you drunken Irishman,” Holly yelled back with a smile.

  Holly was too tired to put up with his colleagues’ banter. He barely had enough energy to make it to the bar. He slid onto a stool, dropped his elbows, and collapsed his head in his hands. Every muscle in his body was either bruised or cramped. His ribs were feeling a little better but his knee still hurt like hell.

  A sudden slap on his back shot a new spasm of pain across his chest. He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

  “What’s the matter, Macon? You’re not tired are you?” Wicks dragged a stool over and sat down next to him.

  “I guess we’re not all as spry as you, Tommy,” Holly replied, the sarcasm thick in his drawl.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean nothin’. I gotta’ say, that was one helluva workout. Alexander—that was his name wasn’t it—he’s one tough sonuvabitch. Wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night.”

  “Alexander’s supposed to be the best,” Holly continued. “He wrote a lot of the training guides we’ve got.”

  “Jesus,” Wicks exclaimed. “Why’d he come down to help us?”

  “Gary asked him. They’re old pals or somethin’. He said it’d help us get in shape.” Holly twisted in the stool to relieve the pain in his side. “But you’re right. It was one tough time.”

  Dalton came out of the back room and dropped a frothy mug in front of Holly.

  “You two look like hell,” he said. “Rough day?”

  “Damn right, Ricky,” Wicks said. “Where were you? Macon needed someone he c
ould beat up on.”

  Holly shook his head as a warning, but Dalton didn’t catch it.

  “Caught some kind a bug. Macon sent me to Doc Flaherty but all he did was give me a handful of pills. I oughta go complain. Don’t worry, I’ll be back beatin’ your butt soon enough.”

  “Bet you will, Ricky,” Wicks replied. “Bet you will.”

  Dalton suddenly grabbed the edge of the counter and bent down. A coarse, dry hacking cough filled the bar. When the proprietor straightened up, his face was a flush of purple.

  “You okay, Ricky?” Holly asked.

  Dalton stepped back and coughed again. The bark sounded worse than this morning when he had come out to the farm. Yesterday, Alexander had led them on a night exercise. Unfortunately, the weather had been shitty, cold with heavy rain and wind. Who could blame Dalton?

  “Sure, Macon. Throat’s just a little sore.”

  “Gotta take care of yourself,” Wicks added. “Ain’t nobody else gonna do it for ya’.”

  “You got that right,” Dalton replied as he sent another beer down the counter.

  Wicks looked back at Holly with a strange, crooked smile. Holly had told Dalton to keep his mouth shut about going to the doctor. Now Wicks knew. Shit!

  Dalton coughed again and the hollow sound made Holly’s chest hurt.

  “Hey, where’s Cal?”

  Holly turned to the voice and saw O’Grady striding over to join them. He had wondered how long it would be before the subject of his son-in-law came up. “Not like him to pass up an excuse for a beer.”

  “Yeah, haven’t seen him since this morning,” Wicks responded.

  “Ain’t gonna see him at all,” Holly said flatly.

  “What’s up, Macon?” asked Wicks.

  Holly looked blankly across the bar. “The bastard ran out on us. I caught him stealing from the stash in the farmhouse. Said he was sick of taking all the blame for everything. Cursed Gary, Annie, me in spades, and took off in that damn pickup.”

  Holly downed his beer and slammed the glass on the bartop. He’d made up the story on the way back to the farmhouse. They all knew Napes. It wouldn’t surprise anyone. “Screw him, I say. He’s been nothin’ but trouble ever since he came.”