by Bo Luellen
Utterson took a measured approach and replied, “I need to find your husband, Ma’am. I have reason to believe that he might be in harm’s way. Can you tell me where he is, or can you give me his cell phone number so I can contact him?”
The detective studied her face as he considered, Her next words would tell me a lot. If she’s a worried wife who thought her husband innocent of any wrongdoings, she will hear, “My husband might be in danger.” If she knows her husband was doing something wrong, she will think, “I have to get rid of this cop immediately, so I can warn Marcus.”
She stepped outside, put her hand on her chest, and asked, “What do you mean? Has something happened to him?”
Now he knew where she stood and replied, “Have you been watching the news? The terrorist bombing?”
Her voice shook as she replied, “Oh, God. Yes. What’s my Marcus got to do with any of that?”
He decided to leave those questions hanging in the air and answered, “Ma’am, time is of the essence. Where is your husband now?”
She pulled out her phone and told him, “He is with his lodge brothers out hunting. He goes all the time.”
He watched her hit “Marcus” on her phone and then tapped the speakerphone to let him hear. He considered that act as another piece of proof that this woman either didn’t know about any illegal activity or wasn’t aware of what her husband was up to. That or she was an excellent liar. The call went to voicemail, and she left a message for him to call her back. She almost mentioned that a detective was there, but he put a hand over the phone and signaling to keep quiet about his presence. She did as he suggested and told her husband nothing about Utterson.
After she hung up, the detective remarked, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but it is best if you don’t mention me. We are not sure who would be listening on the other side.”
The woman looked at him sternly and yelled, “Look! My husband is a lawyer. I have a right to know what is going on!”
He pulled out his audio recorder and turned it on, saying, “Your husband’s license tag was given to me in connection with the Brotherhood Case. There is a reason to believe that he might be among the terrorists right now. I have no evidence that shows he is one of them of course, and I’m afraid he’s being held against his will. Ma’am, Marcus might have stumbled onto something sinister.”
It was a well-calculated ploy and John thought, I told the truth but directed it in a way to build up the urgency and worry in her. If Marcus is innocent, then finding him was the right thing to do. On the other hand, if he was involved, then questioning him could gather more evidence for the task force.
She handed over her husband’s cell number, declaring, “Detective, I don’t know where he hunts at specifically, but he said he was headed to Taft. He tells me there is land there that belongs to his lodge brothers. Marcus usually turns his phone off when he is out there. If you find him before I do, I want your word you’ll call me?”
Utterson texted the station and gave Marcus’s phone number to Detective Michaels, then replied, “I promise I will let you know right away. His safety is my number one concern. Please, let me know if you hear from your husband.”
As he trekked back to his car, a text came up that read, “We located the general area of the number you gave us, and shaved it down to a five-mile radius around one of the cell towers in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. I’m sending you the coordinates for the tower. The Chief has us following up on leads in town. Happy hunting.”
He made it inside his car and loaded the coordinates into Google Maps. The area he was given had some back roads, a few homes spread out in the country, and a massive wooded area that was surrounded by a hiking trail. What stuck out was the tower’s latitude and longitude were nowhere near Taft, as Violet had reported to him.
He glanced back at the house, Okay Mr. Holmes, let’s find out what you’re really up to.
On the long drive up, he stopped to get gas at a QuikTrip. The cold was a little less biting with the sun high in the sky, but the chilly wind still cut through his windbreaker. Sundown was fast approaching, but he estimated he had just enough time to reach the area before he lost the light.
As he leaned against the vehicle, relieving the pressure off his leg, he wondered, Maybe I need to rethink this. A ten-mile diameter of wooded area and dirt back roads would make for a hell of a needle in a haystack. To make matters worse, if Marcus doesn’t want to be found, I could drive right past his parked vehicle and never see him.
He pulled out his cell phone and shot Amanda a text with the location of the tower he had tracked from her license plate. He waited a few minutes, but she didn’t respond. Utterson saw a church van was parked on the other side of the pump, with several kids jumping up and down in the seats, while a haggard old driver pumped gas. On the side of the vehicleit was a sign that read, “Eastland Worship Center. Come to share the glory of God in Brother and Sisterhood.”
Utterson smiled at the word “Brother,” and put the cap back on his gas. A few minutes later, he was headed down the road and dialing his brother Karl. The last time he spoke to him was just before his accident, and he had ignored most of his calls to check on him.
A familiar voice boomed out on the other end, “Holy shit! Here I was just about to knock off for the day, and then you go and ruin it.”
Utterson laughed into his Bluetooth and replied, “Well, Captain America, I need your help.”
There was a brief pause before his brother replied, “Dude, are you dying? You’re asking me for help. Are you being held against your will?”
Utterson adjusted the phone and requested, “Karl, I need you, man. I’ve got a lead on the terrorist bombers in Tulsa. I think they are connected to over a hundred dead that go back a year plus. We have a possible lead on a source of information, but the person is somewhere deep in the woods of Tahlequah. The best we have is a triangulation on the cell phone and a huge challenge of a vast search area. I need help covering that much ground.”
He gave his brother the coordinates, and after a minute, Karl remarked, “That area extends into the Illinois River. There is a ton of uninhabited wilderness in the majority of that area. If a secret organization were out there, they would have the privacy and space needed to do anything they wanted. You could fire off a few hundred rounds of ammunition in that location, and the locals would think it was just someone having fun. I’m going to text you the address of a gas station in Tahlequah. I’ll meet you there.”
A feeling of dread came over Utterson as he mulled over, “Maybe, this isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. If this is their hideout, and if they are capable of acts of terrorism, then it would be nothing for them to shoot us on sight.”
His brother took the concern in stride, replying, “How about I get a couple of my hunting buddies to tag along? They know the area just as well as anyone else and are better trackers. I don’t think the Crimson Brotherhood is ready for four well-armed rednecks in a Ford F150!”
Tahlequah, OK - Thursday, October 18th, 2018 – 5:25 p.m. CST
Utterson pulled into the rundown gas station outside of town and stretched his legs as he got out. Just as promised, his brother was there waiting on him with two other men. They waited and watched as he pulled the crutches under his arms and made his way over towards them.
The last of the kicked-up dirt settled back on the road as Karl asked, "Big brother, you’re not planning on any forest hiking on that bad wheel, are you?"
Utterson buttoned up his coat and replied, "All we have to do is find them, that is if they’re out there. I’m not planning on hiking into the woods like Davy Crockett. We are just scouting and reporting."
Karl introduced the bearded man to his left, "This is Jessup House. He and I have hunted this land, off and on, for the last ten years. He knows the land just as well as I do."
Jessup tilted his Navy veteran cap and shook the detective’s hand. The elderly man had a white beard that stretched down to the middle of his chest and chew
ing tobacco stuffed into the corner of his mouth. The old hunter had a gut that bulged out and pressed against his denim overalls.
His brother then turned to his right and introduced the larger man saying, "This is David Keller. David has been my rock climbing buddy for over a year. Before then, we mountain biked all over Oklahoma. He has climbed every rock face and hiked every trail in these parts."
David stuck out a hand and greeted, "Good to meet you, John. I hear we have some bad guys to track down."
Utterson sized up the larger man, who stood at six-foot-six and, despite being in his late forties, had the body of a man much younger. He was dressed in cargo pants and brown hiking boots, with a worn t-shirt that read, “James T. Kirk for President.” On his belt was a scuba knife, and Utterson noticed a map was sticking out of his pants pocket.
The detective pointed at the blade and asked, "Mr. Keller, you planning on going deep-sea diving out there in the woods?"
David patted the weapon, replying, "Not likely. This little knife came in handy several times, so I keep it on me for good luck."
Utterson gave an understanding nod then announced, "Well boys, we are losing daylight. Where do we start?"
Keller pulled out the map and asked, "Give me those coordinates of the cell tower again?"
After Utterson read them off his text, David drew a red X right on the map and indicated, "That’s the area. I've been up in those woods several times. I even remember that tower."
Karl nudged Utterson, as the large man crossed out sections of the surrounding woods with a red marker saying, "David is an expert at orienteering. Drop him in the woods with a compass and a map, and he will find his way around."
David pointed at the decorated map and edified, "Each one of the areas I've crossed out wouldn't work for a group of people who were doing anything sneaky. Those contain public trails, places too close to residences, waterways, or roads. The clear spot in the hilly section in the center is the only place they could be. If they are moving people and equipment in and out, then there has to be a road. Getting through this brush is tough enough on foot, and nearly impossible if you’re lugging large equipment. Parking along an adjacent road wouldn't do, as it would make locals take notice. My guess is, if they are in there, we will find a gate or a cut piece of fence, with a well-used vehicle trail that will go through the woods."
Utterson agreed, and the four of them loaded up in Karl’s black F150 king cab. It wasn't long until they were plowing down the gravel and dirt roads of backwoods Tahlequah. They passed the sporadic trailers and houses that dotted the way towards the location.
While they traveled, Utterson told them, “There’s something you should know. Something that hasn’t been reported in the paper. Almost two hundred homeless have disappeared in Tulsa, and we suspect they might have been taken by the Brotherhood. No one knows where they went, but a secluded place out in the woods could be an option.”
The cab went morosely silent until Jessup spoke up, "Godless heathens!"
The truck rolled to a stop, as Karl pointed over a clear field with a small oil well on the pasture and observed, “Well, look at that.”
A closed gate had tire ruts in the grass that traveled up to, and past, an active oil well. The men looked out towards the pumping machine and studied the dead quiet woods. The trail pivoted around the small tank, hugged the tree line, then disappeared into the woods.
Karl looked back at Jessup and asked, "Jessup, you got any reason you can think of that causes a road to continue on like that?"
The fat man stroked his long white beard and replied, "Nope. State oil inspector has to come out from time to time. Nothing that would cause that kind of constant wear."
Utterson leaned up towards the front seat to get a better view and asked, "Could there be another well back in there?"
David got out of the truck and pulled his small backpack from the floorboard, replying, "I’ll find out. Karl, I'll text you when I have an answer. Why don't you fellas continue up the road a bit and see if there is anything we missed. Don’t call me, text only."
Utterson didn't like the idea, but they were fighting the light, and he was short on options. As they drove away, he watched David hop the gate and jog along the road towards the oil pump. He was reminded of Terry running up those stairs to Jekyll’s apartment. He took a moment to shake off the feeling of guilt with the resolve of purpose.
As his brother talked to Jessup in the front seat, he pulled out a pill bottle of oxycodone from his jacket and popped the lid. Washing down the two pills with the vodka in his flask, he glanced up and saw his younger brother watching him in the rearview mirror. He leaned back and decided to hope Karl would let it go and not harp on him again about the pills.
Utterson was losing a grip on the time, as the Oxys begged him to drift off into sporadic sleep. Karl had covered several dirt roads and was rounding a hill when he got a text. With a chuckle, he tossed the cell to Jessup and turned the truck around.
The old man read it out loud, “I followed the road into the woods, to a locked gate. Went past that another mile and found a grouping of trucks and cars parked in a clearing next to three cabins. People with heavy machine guns are moving around, and they have sniper positions set up in the trees. If this isn’t the Brotherhood, the Boy Scouts have upped their game. Drive up the road, and pull off before the gate. I’ll double back and get you. – David ”
Utterson looked down at his ankle and thought about the prospects of going on foot into the backcountry. He felt like the meds would help him ignore some of the pain, but it wouldn't do a thing to make him more mobile. The mood had turned stern, and Utterson sensed that Jessup and his brother were considering the consequences of their involvement. In his time as a detective, he had observed that people usually fall into two categories in law enforcement. Those that talk a good game and then play it well or those that get people killed. He trusted his brother, and Karl believed in David Keller and Jessup House.
He snuck another swig from the flask and thought, David could just be misidentifying a group of hunters, or an illegal grow field.
They opened the gate and drove Karl’s pickup down the bumpy dirt road. He gripped the back of his brother's seat, took some deep breaths, and then assured everyone he was okay. Eventually, they came to a silver cattle fence that was bolted to two trees and kept them from moving forward. An enormous lock was chained to the gate, and a sign on the front read, "Private Property, No Trespassing."
David walked out from behind a large oak tree and directed, "Hey, Karl. Drive your vehicle off the road and park. I haven't seen anyone coming out, so we might have a shot at going unnoticed."
They did as he suggested and then unpacked their gear. Utterson put his service pistol in his front waistband and stowed one of his crutches away. Karl had a 9 mm holstered at his hip, and Jessup took out a pump-action 20 gauge shotgun from the gun rack. Utterson stopped what he was doing as he watched David unfold a camouflage tactical bow from his pack and attached arrows to a quiver.
The detective leaned on the bed of the truck and asked David, “You know those people up there have firearms. If they are the Crimson Brotherhood, are you sure you want a bow?”
David snapped the strings into place on his bow and observed, “Detective Utterson, if that is the Brotherhood up there, then the last thing you want to do is fire off something that will attract attention. The goal is still to scout and report, correct?”
Karl motioned Jessup up front in the marching line, and the old man led them deeper into the woods. Everyone except John was moving steadily and with their weapons in hand and heads on a swivel. Utterson used up what little cardio his neglected body had in an attempt to keep up with the group. After a few hundred yards, he was drenched in sweat, clacking his crutches against branches and breathing so heavily that his brother shot him a look to shut up.
Jessup stopped the group, drew everyone in a huddle, and whispered, "This ain’t gonna work. You sound like an ele
phant trying to stomp a bug. How ‘bout you hang back, go slow and stay quiet? Follow our trail and catch up when you can."
Utterson went to protest when David added, “If we need to beat feet, you’re the slowest gazelle. Get me?”
The detective agreed reluctantly. “If this is the Crimson Brotherhood, then we need pictures with a headcount. I can send that to the Feds, and we can wait for the troops to roll in. Don’t take any chances.”
David gave him his compass and showed him which direction they were headed. The hobbled Detective cut his pace in half and watched the other three quickly disappear into the woods. That did little to keep away the feeling of being lost once they were out of sight. Within minutes of him moving on his own, John felt like he was off course. He stopped several times to check his compass and found he was veering to the right due to his leg.
A feeling of shock went through him as he stepped out from behind a collection of pine trees and found a clearing with thirteen vehicles parked in a group. The grassy space was a hundred yards in diameter and had three cabins at the center. In an area close to the structures was a cross that was built onto a raised platform. Dozens of people in tactical gear were loading logs under the stage and arranging brush along the edges. Hanging from the arms and feet of the cross were ropes with loops on their end. A ring of nude men and women were chained to metal spikes that were driven into the cold ground. Each of the naked captives was arranged in a circle around the construction. The wretches were lying on the freezing ground with IV ports hanging out of their arms. The prisoners all had the sunken-in skin and sores of drug addicts displayed on their weathered bodies.
Utterson ducked back behind the tree and observed the compound had well over fifty black-robed men and women milling about. They all sported the same symbol, the squid-like symbol of the Dark Lord Cthulhu on their armbands. He stopped counting at sixty firearms, as he identified rifles, handguns, shotguns, and more than a few fully automatic weapons.
He unclipped his weapon and thought, Definitely not the Boy Scouts.