by Jack Bowie
What would they do to him? He hadn’t ever believed all that stuff about the cops beating people to death. They didn’t do that now, did they? Anyway, what had he done? Burned an old building? Collected some guns? Shit, he’d tell ‘em to go to hell. Gary had told him if there was ever any trouble to just call his lawyer. The shyster could take care of anything. He’d show them. Yeah, that’s what he’d do.
He felt better now. He was ready.
The door creaked open and two men in dark blue suits entered. One was white, with a short blonde crew-cut and rough, poxy complexion. He stared at Wicks for a moment, then slowly took off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. The other man was the biggest black Wicks had ever seen. He must have been a football lineman. His head sat flat on his shoulders as if his neck had been stuffed down into his body. When he took off his coat, the sleeves of his shirt strained against the mass of his biceps.
He didn’t feel so confident anymore.
“Thomas Wicks?” the white man said.
“I want to see my lawyer,” Wicks responded with as much bravado as he could. He kept his eyes on the white man.
“He asked if you were Thomas Wicks,” the black man said. “Answer the man, boy.”
Wicks jerked toward the black man. “Boy! Who you calling a boy, monkey?”
“I don’t know, boy. Who are you?” The black stared down at Wicks from over the table.
Wicks started to jump up but the handcuffs held him back. Damn. Don’t let them get to you. It’s all a game. He settled back in the chair.
“Yeah, I’m Tommy Wicks. Who the hell are you? And where am I?”
“I’m Agent-in-Charge Bradley and this is Special Agent Washington,” the white agent responded. “We’re with the FBI. You are in FBI headquarters in Atlanta.”
Shit, Atlanta. They are serious. Okay here goes. Act indignant.
“What am I doing here? Where’s my family? Are they okay?”
“Your family’s just fine,” Bradley said. “They’re back in Tyler. You’re the one we want, not them.”
Okay. That’s all they’re going to get. “I said I want a lawyer. I ain’t sayin’ nothing else.”
Washington leaned so close over the table that Wicks could smell stale coffee on his breath. “I guess that’s your choice, boy. But if I were you I’d consider doin’ a little talkin’ first. You’re in for a mighty rough ride otherwise.”
“Whadda you mean? My lawyer’ll have me outta here before dinner. You can’t keep me locked up for breakin’ some gun laws.”
“Gun laws?” Washington replied smiling. “Is that what you think this is about? Read him the charges again, Wes. Maybe he didn’t hear them the first time.”
Bradley reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook.
“Mr. Thomas Wicks. You are charged with thirty counts of possession of illegal firearms, thirty counts of concealing dangerous weapons, two counts of arson, six counts of attempted murder, and four counts of first degree murder.”
“Two of ‘em Federal agents,” Washington added. “You’re in a pile of shit, boy.”
Murder! There was no way they could know about Holly.
“I didn’t murder anybody! What’re you talkin’ about?”
“We’re talking about murder, you damn redneck bastard.” The words spit from Washington’s mouth. “We know it was your cell that torched the newspaper office and the courthouse.”
“I didn’t kill nobody!”
“And we know it was your cell that set the booby trap on the farm. That was my team trapped in your goddamn laboratory. My partner that died. If I had my way, I’d start breakin’ you apart, one bone at a time.”
“Hey, wait a minute! I didn’t know about any booby trap. I never went near that lab. He wouldn’t let me!”
“Who wouldn’t let you?” Bradley calmly asked.
“I said I want to talk to my lawyer.” They knew too much. He was scared and wasn’t gonna say another thing. Gary’s lawyer would get him out of this.
“Where’d a small-time punk like you get a lawyer, Tommy? Where’s he from?”
“Uh, none of your damn business. Just give me a phone. I get a call right?”
“Sure, Tommy, Sure. Here. Use my phone.” Washington reached into his pocket and handed Wicks a cell phone.
“Randy,” Bradley interrupted. “I don’t think this is a good . . .”
Washington shook his head firmly. “Hey, don’t worry, Wes. I got a real strong feeling Tommy here is doing the right thing. He wants to call his lawyer, and we need to let him.”
Wicks looked suspiciously at the phone. Why was the chimp being so helpful? Shit, probably just doesn’t know any better. He flipped open the mouthpiece.
“I need my wallet,” Wicks said.
“Don’t know the number, huh?” Washington said with a smile. The cop disappeared and returned a minute later with the wallet in his hand. He tossed it on the table. “Here you go, Tommy.”
Wicks picked up the wallet with his free hand and extracted the small piece of paper he had hidden in a torn corner of the billfold. He carefully typed in the numbers and hit send. As he looked up, the huge black still had the sickening grin on his face.
The call connected and began ringing. Wicks felt his heart pounding like a machine gun.
“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again.”
The message repeated twice before disconnecting. Wicks slowly set the phone back on the table. Gary had set him up. What could he do?
“What’s the matter, Tommy?” Washington asked. “Your lawyer too busy to talk to you?”
“I want a deal. I want immunity . . .”
Washington slammed his fist on the table. Wicks felt the wood shudder under the force. “The only deal you’re going to get is the chance to be alive a year from now. That’s a better deal than you gave my partner. This is it, Tommy boy. Your last chance.”
“Where did you get the number?” Bradley asked softly. “If there’s somebody else involved, you really should tell us. We’ll do what we can to help you.”
What could he do? He was just a pawn. The mercenary was the bad guy.
Wicks turned to Bradley. “Gary. It was all Gary. He gave the orders. Got the guns and planned the attacks. Told us what to do. He killed all those folks! We were too scared to do anything.”
Bradley and Washington looked back at one another. What were they thinking? Did they believe him?
“An imaginary friend Gary, huh?” Washington finally replied. “Gee, Tommy, that’s not the way we heard it. Your friend Sean O’Grady says you gave all the orders. And it was you that killed the publisher and the janitor at the courthouse.”
That goddamn Irish sot. Why the hell couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? Goddamn it! He wasn’t going to take the fall for this alone.
“I’ll tell you what really happened,” Wicks began. “It wasn’t me. It was Sean! The guy called him a drunk and Sean went crazy. ‘String the monkey up’ he said. That’s the truth.”
Chapter 47
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
Sunday, 8:45 a.m.
Flynn’s stride had taken on a slight lopsidedness, but she seemed to have avoided any serious damage. And she was now paying a lot more attention to where she was going. Ahead, another runner turned onto the path and jogged toward her. He was shorter than her earlier good Samaritan, and stocky, with a blonde crew cut. Probably military, unfortunately. They were always married.
Her thoughts drifted back to Robinson. He had been acting strangely lately, ever since this militia thing broke. Maybe she should talk to Carlson about him. It wouldn’t be that surprising if Markovsky and Stroller had cooked up something. And then there was the IMAGER anagram. That was pure Robinson. What if . . .
Jesus! Why won’t this guy get over? He was only about ten yards away now, but running directly at her, leaving her little room between him and the railing. She wasn’t g
oing to take the time to go around him on the other side. She’d just force her way past the thoughtless creep.
A flash of light caught the corner of her eye; a glint of sunlight off polished metal that was moving straight toward her! She reacted instinctively, flattening herself against the railing in avoidance, swinging up her left arm in a parry, and driving her right fist at her attacker’s solar plexus.
A searing pain ripped her left arm, and she let out a scream, more from surprise than pain. Her attacker stumbled back and looked quickly around. Other joggers had reacted to the yell and were heading in their direction. The man looked back at Flynn briefly, then ran up the slope and disappeared into an alley between the M Street buildings.
The adrenaline rush faded and Flynn began to feel shaky. She was completely astonished by the attack. Looking down, she saw that the arm of her sweatshirt was soaked with blood. What the hell had just happened?
* * *
Things had gotten a little easier. The agents had let him take a piss and given him a cold drink. Washington had disappeared for the moment—which made Wicks a lot more comfortable—and Bradley had brought a stenographer in to take his statement. He was surprised how easily the words came out.
“Tell us more about this friend of yours, Tommy. What’s his last name?”
“I don’t know. He never said. It was always Gary. We all just did what he said.”
“Why, Tommy?” Bradley asked. “Why would you do what some stranger wanted?”
“We were all suspicious at first. But he knew everyone: Casey, up north; Shepard in Tennessee. And he could get anything. Automatics, explosives, anything. He said he just wanted to help us.”
“When did you first meet him?”
“About a year ago. Macon, Macon Holly, he was in charge then.”
“Where is this Holly now?”
“He . . . he had an accident,” Wicks stuttered. They didn’t need to know everything, did they? “Shot himself.”
“Are you sure Holly’s death was an accident?” Bradley pushed. “Could this Gary have had anything to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. He said it was an accident.”
“Okay. What did Gary do after this Holly died?”
“It seemed like he kinda took over. Everybody listened to him. He was talkin’ about the Covenant and how we all need to work together.”
“What’s the Covenant, Tommy?” Bradley asked.
“You know, the Covenant. Gary made us all sign it when he first came. It was all about liberty, getting our rights back. Stopping the Feds, ah, stopping the government from taking our rights away. The Jews controlling our money. The blacks takin’ our jobs. Getting out of our private lives, out of our business. That’s what we talked about.”
“Is that what you believe, Tommy?”
“Well, yeah. Where’s my rights? I work hard. But I gotta hire who they say. Treat ‘em better than I treat my family. And if I fire anybody, I get sued. Ain’t nobody carin’ about my rights. Just everybody else’s. That ain’t fair.”
“And destroying the county records. That was about protecting your rights?”
“We had to show ‘em. That they just couldn’t push us around anymore. Gary said there were lots of us that felt the same way. We were all going to get together and take the government back. Get rid of all the bleeding-heart liberals and fag-lovers.”
“That’s what Gary said, ‘take the government back’?”
“Yeah. It was all part of the Covenant. The Commander was going to put things right.”
“Who’s the Commander, Tommy?”
“Gary’s boss. Gary said he was a soldier. The Commander was in charge. The Commander was organizing the groups all over the country. We were gonna work together.”
“This Commander have a name? What does he look like?”
Wicks screwed his face. He really didn’t know anything about the Commander. “Ain’t nobody ever seen him. Gary just talked about him all the time. Never said what his name was though.”
“Didn’t you ever ask about him? Didn’t anybody ever question Gary?”
What was wrong with these guys? Why don’t they understand?
“You didn’t question Gary. Ever. He was crazy, I tell you. I saw him break a guy’s arm for just messin’ around at an exercise. Reached out and snapped it like that.” Wicks waved his arms to demonstrate.
“Okay, Tommy. Let’s take a break. I want you to work with one of our artists. Let’s find out what this Gary looks like.”
* * *
“What do you think, Randy? You believe all this Covenant shit?”
Bradley had stepped out of the room and joined his agent at the viewing mirror.
“I don’t know,” Washington replied. “This asshole seems too scared to make up a story like this but who could tell? It does jibe with the stuff we’ve been hearing about somebody coordinating these groups. I’ll check with D.C. to see what they’ve got.”
“Thanks. As soon as I’ve got a sketch I’ll fax it to Quantico. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“I hope so.”
“And nice call on the lawyer. I didn’t know what you were up to.”
Washington tossed back his head and smiled. “Thanks for not pulling the plug. No way this asshole had a lawyer ready. I figured he’d been set up. But you better keep me away from him. It was all I could do to keep from wringing the bastard’s neck.”
* * *
Wicks spent the next hour describing Gary to the FBI artist. Instead of a pencil and pad, however, this “artist” used a computer to compose the face. Wicks was pleased with the result, it was a pretty good likeness. That would count for something, wouldn’t it? Not that he expected anyone would ever catch the slippery mercenary.
When they had finished, one of Bradley’s flunkeys took him down to a cell block in the basement of the building. Jesus, it was cold and dank. How was he going to get any sleep here?
As they walked down the corridor between the cells he saw O’Grady sitting on a bunk on his left. He prayed they wouldn’t put him in the same cell as his squealer ex-friend. The guard passed O’Grady’s cell and the gate on the next cell slid open.
“Hey, Tommy!” O’Grady whispered once the guard had disappeared. “This shit’s a piece of cake. Just got knocked around a little. You okay?”
Wicks walked up to the front corner of the cell. “Okay? You goddamn bastard. What were you thinkin’? Telling ‘em I did all that shit? If I ever get my hands on you . . .”
“Jesus, Tommy. Tell me you didn’t fall for that crap. That’s standard cop procedure. Tellin’ you the other guy squealed. You didn’t tell ‘em anything, did you?”
“Uh. Well. I thought you were tryin’ to set me up for the fall. How was I supposed to know?”
O’Grady dropped his head into his hands. “Shit, Tommy. You stupid asshole. You just killed both of us.”
Chapter 48
Tyler, Georgia
Monday, 8:00 a.m.
The sun was just rising over the horizon when Agent in Charge Bradley turned into the gravel parking lot. He drove past the flickering “Providence View Motel” sign and searched for the unit number Washington had given in his message.
A sign in the office window proclaimed “Georgia’s Finest Lodging,” but all Bradley saw was a run-down fifties road stop whose time had passed with the coming of the Interstates. An all-too-familiar ending for much of this part of Bradley’s home state.
He shouldn’t have worried about spotting the unit. It was framed with two unmistakable Government Issue vehicles and a flashing Georgia Patrol car.
“What have we got Randy?” Bradley called as he walked up to the door marked “113.”
“The desk clerk called us at six this morning,” Washington replied, leading his boss past the patrolman and into the unit. Four other FBI agents were carefully but thoroughly disassembling the contents of the room. “He recognized the face on the flyer we left. Gary rented this room from him three
months ago. Plunked down cash for six months.”
“Didn’t this guy think that was a little strange?”
“Gary said he was a salesman. Wanted to have a place to call home when he was in the area. The owner grabbed the money and forgot about it.”
“Get the M.O. out to the other teams,” Bradley replied. “Found anything here yet?”
“Not very much.” Washington pointed over to a plywood desk in the corner of the room. “Looks like he cleaned the place pretty well.”
“Makes sense. He’s a pro. Motel have WiFi?”
“Nope,” Washington answered. His smile suggested that was way above the amenities offered by the motel’s management.
“Check the cell towers anyway. Maybe we’ll get lucky. What about prints?”
“We lifted some partials earlier. Sent them in, but I doubt they’re good enough for a match.”
“You never know. The boys in Quantico can do some pretty fancy magic.”
“Thump.”
The pair turned to see two of the agents flipping a flowered double mattress. They were giving the room a very thorough check.
“When was Gary here last?” Bradley asked.
“He left Saturday. ‘In a hurry’ according to the clerk. Probably right after the raid.”
Washington shuffled absentmindedly from one foot to another. Bradley felt sorry for his agent. This time there was nothing the ex-athlete’s physical prowess could do to help them. It was tearing him up inside.
“Sorry to call you out on this, Wes,” Washington finally said. “Not the big break we wanted. Hear anything from the other teams?”
“The Tennessee lead came through. The head of the local cell coughed up his contact right away. Called himself Terry. They had a possible informer and this Terry told them to make a lesson out of it. Burned his house down and killed his whole family. These assholes are nuts, Randy.”
“Did they find any of the goddamn bacteria?”