Canaan Camp, 7:45 AM
Shane stopped
outside the women's barracks on his way to gate duty. Omitting details, he had told her of the mission to St.
Louis. He hoped to share his excitement at being able to do something to defend the Church, but her immediate and unequivocal
objection turned everything shaky, and his previous certainty melted away. Nevertheless, he became defensive.
It was as if she had discovered him doing something shameful, which despite his unease was not the case at all as far as he
was concerned.
226.
"All we're going to do is get them
into act foolish---let people to see what they're really like."
"I can't believe that you're going to sabotage another church's services," she said. "How can that
be right?"
"Father Joshua says their mouths must be stopped."
"Father
Joshua's been saying lots of things lately," she said.
A few days ago,
saying such a thing had been unthinkable for her.
"How can you say
that?"
"Wrong is wrong."
"But . . . you believe in the Church,
Raven. I know you do."
"I believe in the Church, but not
necessarily in Father Joshua---not any more. Shane. Not after what he did to Brother John and the Phillips. They're
good people. You know they are!"
"We have to support
Father Joshua. Without him the Church is . . . "
"If
the Church can't survive without one man, then we've all wasted a lot of time and none of this," she gestured impatiently
around her at the camp. "None of this is worth anything. It's just play and make believe."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But we're---"
"You're
going to deliberately hurt people," she interrupted. "Christians don't do that."
"It's just like a prank, a little trick," he said weakly
"Where
in the scriptures do you get justification for that?"
A story
from the Old Testament came to him. "Samson did things like that to the Philistines," he said.
"How are you going to do this?"
Shane
was tempted to tell her, but then he remembered Brother Caleb's admonition. "Strictly need to know, guys.
This can't get out or it could destroy the Church."
"I
can't tell you, but you have to believe we're doing it for a good reason."
"You can't do a wrong thing for a right reason."
"Father Joshua thinks it's the right thing to do," he insisted stubbornly. "And so
do I."
"This was Father Joshua's idea?"
227.
"He and Brother Caleb thought---"
"You
mean Cal Hodges," she said. "He doesn't belong here. Nothing has been right since he got here."
"He's taken good care of Father Joshua since he's been sick."
"Maybe, but he's not what he pretends to be."
"You're
suspicious of all men," he said, regretting it immediately. "I didn't mean . . ."
Her jaw muscles tightened. "Just go," she said turning her back to him.
"Raven, I'm sorry. I don't know why---"
"I
don't want to talk to you anymore," she said.
A moment
later she spoke softly without turning. "How could you even imagine that things would ever work out between us?"
When he didn't respond, she turned to confront him, but he was gone.
Paget watched from the road, wondering what the fool was telling her and thinking that he might have to
take her out before he intended to. He caught up with the kid half way to the gate.
"Hey, Shane. Got a minute?"
"Brother
Caleb. Sure. What do you need?"
"Nothing.
Things aren't going too well with your girl, huh?"
When he
saw Shane's surprise he gave him a comradely clap on the shoulder.
"I
saw the body language," he explained. "Picked a fight, didn't she? Women are like that. They can
pull stuff right out of the air."
"She just doesn't
understand things."
Paget smiled tightly. "What
things are we talking about here, Buddy?"
"She
doesn't like the idea of the mission."
"You
told her?" Paget asked incredulously.
"Not
the details---I mean, she doesn't really know what we are doing."
Paget let the silence drag a moment as he calmed himself and tried to figure the best way to play it.
He needed the kid if he was going to still pull it off.
228.
"Okay. So what exactly did you tell her?"
"Just that we're going to disrupt the services of some people who are making trouble for the
church."
"Did you tell her how?"
Shane
shook his head.
"Where?"
Shane looked
away from Bobby Lee's intense stare. He swallowed. "No," he lied. "She doesn't know where."
"Then no harm's really been done," said Paget in relief, clapping Shane on the shoulder
again.
"So she thinks we're wrong to try and stop them, huh?"
Shane nodded.
"That's why women
aren't soldiers. Oh they can be vicious at times, but they question everything---especially everything men do.
And they're squeamish when it comes down to the nut cutting. Tell you what. Don't talk to her about stuff like
that any more. You two will get along a lot better if you don't discuss important things. With women you gotta
keep it light. Tell them how nice they look and stuff like that."
Although
relieved that he wasn't getting the chewing out he expected and probably deserved, Shane nevertheless bristled at the idea
that Raven was empty-headed.
"Duty is the
key here," said Paget fixing him firmly with eye contact. "Father Joshua made this decision. Now it's
up to you and me to do our part. We can do that, can't we?"
Shane
decided to overlook Brother Caleb's misjudgment of Raven. "Yeah. We can," he said.
"I knew you were a good soldier, Brother Shane. We do this right, and one of the biggest
enemies of the church will be history. They're going to self-destruct and all we have to do is give them a little nudge."
"I hope it works," said Shane. "That guy's a good. He really comes across
as sincere."
"He's sincere, all right! That nigger sincerely wants money, and he's figured out just
the way to get it. Talk on TV for an hour, and then just open the cards and letters---live like a king on all the widows
handing over their husbands' pensions. Probably got him a bed full of white women too."
When Paget laughed Shane joined in, but it didn't fell right. Caleb's racism made striking at an enemy
of the Church somehow less noble, almost unholy.
"I
got to get down to the gate," he said.
229.
"Got duty,
huh? I'll go down with you."
Shane
didn't look forward to eight hours of alone in the shed, watching the occasional car pass without slowing down. Still,
Father Joshua wanted someone there to talk to curious strangers, and to keep out people who just wanted to look around.
In all the time he had been there, no one had even pulled up to the gate except to use it as a turn around. Inside the
rough-hewn shed they found George Davidson asleep, leaning with his chair propped against the back wall.
"Asleep on guard duty!" said Paget loudly, startling the young man into nearly upsetting
his chair. "They execute you for that in war time, soldier!"
Shane
joined the laughter as the sheepish young man regained his balance, his face bright red.
"Go on. Get out of here. Your relief has arrived---and just in time too. Long
night, huh kid?" asked Paget.
Davidson looked at his watch.
"Yeah. You're early, Shane."
"I
guess I should have taken my time. You had it all under control, right eagle-eye?" cracked Shane.
"Give me a break. It's like watching paint dry down here."
Lingering at the gatehouse until Davidson had trudged back up the hill, Paget waited until he was out of
earshot. He not only wanted to buck Shane up for the mission, he also wanted to make sure he didn't sneak off to try
to make things up and get it on with Miss Dusky. Thinking about the way the bitch was threatening to screw things up
made him boil, but it didn't surprise him. Like most women, she had an absolute instinct for it.
Tires sounded on the gravel outside. "Someone's here," said Shane.
Paget saw a thin dark-haired man step out of a police cruiser beyond the gate. Mind racing, he shrank
back from the window. He instinctively knew the man had come looking for him.
"Damn!" he muttered.
"Hey.
That's Mr. Carter," said Shane.
"You know him?"
"He's married to one of the teachers I had over at the junior college."
"Look, I think I know what this is all about, Shane. You've got to get rid of him
without letting him know that I'm here.
"He's looking
for you?"
Paget watched Richard examine the lock on the gate, and then stare toward the gatehouse. He
ducked away.
"Child molesting," he blurted. "Somehow John Campbell found out what my
wife has been saying."
230.
"John? Why would
he---child molesting?"
"It's
a custody thing. We got divorced, and she don't want me to see my son, so she's made up all these lies that I did things
to him. She's a vicious slut---sorry for the language. None of that would bother me too much, except Campbell
threatened to tell people that it's been going on here."
"What
do you mean?" asked Shane just as Richard honked the horn trying to get attention.
"I thought he was just talking, but I'll bet---Look," he said grasping Shane by both
arms. "John Campbell is still trying to destroy Father Joshua. The worst part is, my being here is giving
him the weapon he needs. He's trying to use me to destroy the church."
Shane was still trying to comprehend it all.
"You
can't let him know I'm here. Whatever you do, don't let him know that. It could destroy Father Joshua and the
Church. Trust me on this. I'll explain it all later."
"But
I don't understand."
"It's complicated, Shane.
We don't have time. You've got to trust me for now. Just get rid of that guy."
A second honk brought a young man from the guard post hut. His nervous smile wasn't unusual.
It was the way most people responded to an unexpected encounter with law officers.
"Can I help you?"
"Maybe,"
said Richard. "We've been looking for a man---a rather bad character, I'm afraid. Can you tell me if someone
new has come to the camp, perhaps back in May?"
Shane frowned
and looked down. "I don't think so," he said. "No, none that I know of."
The kid was lying. Richard knew for a fact that one young man had come in since May.
"Except for me, of course," he continued.
"You're Shane Sanders."
"Yeah.
How do you know my name?"
"My wife teaches
out at the college. She was worried when you dropped, and had me check up on you. Your folks told me you came
out here, so I told her she didn't need to worry about you."
231.
"Mrs. Carter's a nice lady---the best teacher I ever had."
Richard read the boy's discomfort as meaning he probably still had a crush on Jill. "I'll
tell her you're looking good and doing fine," he said. "In the mean time, could you call me if the guy we're
looking comes to the camp. Hey, wait. He could have come here right before you did. Take a look at these
pictures of him. See if you recognize him, okay?"
"Sure."
Shane looked at the mug shot. Extra facial hair and emaciation notwithstanding, the dead-eyed
stare resembled Brother Caleb, but the sketch looked exactly like him. Richard saw the "tell" immediately.
His pulse accelerated in anticipation of a positive ID.
"No.
I don't think I've seen anyone like this around here," said Shane, handing the pictures back as if they were burning
his fingers.
"You're sure?"
Shane knew
the deputy had picked up on something, and he fought for control. He couldn't let Father Joshua be charged with sexually
abusing the children of the camp. There was no way was he going to let that happen.
"You know, this guy looks kind of like that actor---what's his name," he said lamely.
"For just a minute there I thought maybe I had seen him, but I don't guess it was like in person."
Richard nodded, waiting him out. Liars often became uncomfortable with silence and stumbled
into contradictions.
"I thought he looked familiar,"
continued Shane, avoiding eye contact. "But now I see that . . . the face isn't quite right. No. I've
never seen this guy---except like maybe in the movies or something."
"You're
positive that no one looking like this is here at the camp?"
"No,
Sir---I mean I'm sure that no one like that is here."
Knowing
that he had to sell it, he worked up the nerve to look directly into Richard's eyes. "I've never seen that man
before, sir," he said steadily.
Paget watched from behind
the curtain as the deputy and the kid shook hands. After the patrol car left, the kid came back inside.
"You were arrested, Brother Caleb?"
"A
long time ago, Shane," said Paget distractedly as he watched the cruiser pull back onto the highway. "I was
a lot younger. That's all past now."
232.
"The picture didn't look much like you, but he had a drawing that did."
"A drawing?"
From
Oregon? But who could describe me? Paget wondered.
"They
probably made that sketch from John Campbell's description of me," he said.
"But he didn't say anything about Brother John or ask me about . . . child molesting or
anything like that?"
"Maybe he figures that
Campbell is lying about me being here. He probably even thinks the rest of it's all lies too. Your Mr. Carter
seems pretty smart. But we can't be too careful. You did good, Shane---real good."
"Thanks."
"Well
we can't be too careful," Paget said again. "Remember. Whatever we do, we protect Father Joshua and
the Church."
"Right," said Shane distractedly. "You wouldn't think the county
would have one of those sketch artists, would you?"
"Your
tax dollars at work, I guess," said Paget before clamping an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "You're
a hell of soldier, Brother Shane---I mean a heck of soldier."
Shane
smiled, trying to shake off his unease. He wondered if it was Raven's disapproval, Mr. Carter's sudden appearance at
the camp, or just the eve of battle jitters that was bothering him.
Oregon Freemen Compound, 9:15 AM
TO SHERIFF HOLLAND ET AL:
IN
ORDER TO PREVENT AN UNNECESSARY LOSS OF LIFE, THE WILLAMETTE FREE NATION EXTENDS THE FOLLOWING DIPLOMATIC INITIATIVE TO THE
GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES:
1). WE DEMAND
UNRESTRAINED ACCESS TO THE TV PRESS.
2). WE DEMAND
AN IMMEDIATE DEMOBILIZATION OF ALL FORCES ENCIRCLING OUR TERRITORY
3).
WE EXTEND AN INVITATION FOR AN EMBASSY TO VISIT OUR TERRITORY, SAID EMBASSY TO HAVE THE FOLLOWING PRIVILEGES:
A. COLLECTION OF SUCH EVIDENCE
AS NECESSARY TO BRING THE MURDERER ROBERT LEE PAGET TO TRIAL.
B. SUPERVISED INSPECTION OF ALL
FREEMEN FACILITIES
END OF COMMUNIQUÉ.
COLONEL FRANKLIN TREECE
COMMANDANT
AND PRESIDENT
WILLAMETTE FREE NATION
233.
"So
that's it?" asked Grossette as he finished reading the communiqué. "He's willing to let us do a de
facto search in return for de facto recognition of his sovereign country. What do you think,
Ford? Should we take him up on it?"
"I
don't think that's for us to say. We need to bump it up the line."
Grossette
shook his head. "The country can't start legitimizing every secessionist crackpot that comes along. I think
we fought a war over that once. I'll get on the horn and let them chew on it. Maybe there's some meat on this
bone."
"Sir?"
"There
may be something here to use as a starting point to get around this impasse," explained Grossette. "I'll call
it in."
Ford focused his binoculars on the compound, detecting no movement. As they had from the
start, the Freemen kept out of sight, probably paranoid about sniper fire.
"The
evacuation of the women and kids worry me, Sir," he said.
"Me
too, but they're at least talking. Anything shaking up there?" asked Grossette, coming back to the observation
post.
"No. How about in Washington?"
"I think there's an argument going on back there."
"Maybe time is on our side, Sir?"
"Or running out."
"Sir.
The Director wants to talk to you," called an agent from the communications van.
Grossette hurried inside to take the phone. "Grossette, Sir. Yes, that's the
extent of his communication." After a moment of silence, "I see. Sir, I think that's a mistake."
As he listened to one side of the conversation, a chill washed over young Agent Ford.
"Sir, I think there are more important considerations than that," said Grossette.
I would not be doing my duty if I didn't point out that---"
234.
"Yes, Sir. I understand."
Grossette clicked off the phone without the slightest hint of frustration, which surprised the
young agent.
"Boss?"
"Get
me Treece," he said to the communications technician.
"What's
going to happen?" asked Ford.
"I honestly
don't know."
"I have Treece on the line, Sir," said the tech.
Grossette took the phone. "Commander Treece. Good morning, Sir. I'd like
to negotiate on your offer---"
"Nonsense,
Sir. This is the way diplomacy works. One side makes an offer and the other makes a counter offer. Finally,
they come to an agreement that---"
"One time,
Commander. You want airtime with no interference, which we're willing to let you have. We'll allow one TV crew
in and give you unfettered access to them."
"Yes,
that's right. I'm glad you think so, but that's only half the bargain. We want---"
"No. It doesn't work that way."
"I understand your demands, Commander. Now here are our demands:
we must have access to all buildings and containers in the compound and---"
"Of course you can allow it. Look, it's obvious to me that you don't want to
push this to a violent end any more than I do."
"Right."
"I can agree to that. As long as you extend the same privilege."
"I have to check with my superiors. Let me get back to you, Commander.
No. No more than five minutes. Okay."
Grossette
clicked off the phone, and sat back looking across at a thoroughly confused junior agent.
"Do you want me to get Washington on the horn, Sir?"
"No."
"Then
what are we doing?"
"I'm saving
lives and ending a none-too-distinguished career I think. Get me Treece again."
235.
Treece answered personally on the first ring, which Grossette took as a good sign.
"It's agreed, Commander. You set up a place where the interview will take place.
I'll need someone to give us access to other buildings, storage sheds and the like while the interview is going on."
"A limit of six people? That's reasonable. No, they won't come in unarmed---"
"I know that, but you don't intend to disarm your followers, do you?"
"No, Sir, we do not acknowledge that it's your sovereign territory. We can't
do that in so many words, but our treating with you is de facto recognition, isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir. By the way, you know what we're looking for, don't you?"
"You don't? No, I give you my word that we won't confiscate your firearms.
But, Commander, if we find chemical weapons in there---You know exactly what I'm talking about."
He paused for a moment to listen to the protests of Treece.
"I see. Well let me put it this way. There is one way that we can be
sure to get rid of the stuff safely. Fire, Sir.
"Yes,
that's exactly what I'm saying, but it doesn't have to come to that. You have the power to get exactly what your communiqué
demands."
Grossette nodded in satisfaction as he held the receiver to his ear.
"I have your word of honor? Good. Then your terms are accepted.
How about we get everything rolling in, say half an hour?"
"You
may be committing suicide, Sir," said Ford when Grossette clicked off.
"Let's
hope it's just vocational suicide, Ford."
Blue Creek
Jill pushed food around her plate. The very thought of eating soured her stomach.
She tore off a crust of French bread and chewed it, vowing to eat a good breakfast in the morning. "At least Shane
seems to be all right," she said. "I hope he finds what he needs out there."
"It's a little bit like jumping into bed and pulling the covers over your head,
don't you think?"
"When did
you get to be such a cynic, Richard?"
236.
"Comes with age I guess."
"Well,
ancient husband, when the time comes I hope you aren't too decrepit to play baseball with your son."
"Now it's a son, huh?"
"Maybe,
maybe not."
"They can tell, you know. Why don't you find out?"
She frowned. "I do not want to know yet."
Richard bent to drape his arms around her neck, and she bent backwards offering her lips.
"You'll know, dear," he said. "If it's a boy, he'll be on time, but if it's a girl, she'll arrive late
of course."
She leaned to rest her head against his arm, "Think of it. Jill Belbenoit came
all the way to America to find Richard Chauvin."
"Are
you sorry, Sugar Plum?"
"Sugar
Plum! Where did you get that?" she said with a laugh.
"It's
just a regionalism that ancient husbands use in these parts. A guy ought to be a little more suave when dealing with
such an elegant lady, huh?"
Something clicked,
causing her to frown in concentration. "What did you say?"
"Sugar
Plum," he replied. "It's something you might hear the old folks say. I suppose it's---"
"No," she said impatiently. "You called me an elegant lady---and
so did he."
"Who?"
"The
man who helped me with the tire?"
"Oh
yeah. Did you have Waylen's look at it?"
"Yes.
They could find no leak, but they replaced the valve part. I think that is the term he used," she said distractedly
as she got up quickly. "Where is your case file? I want to see something."
Jill took the file from his hand before he could even sit back down. Opening it,
she took out a photo and stared at it intently.
"It
could have been him," she said.
"You mean
Paget?" He shuffled hurriedly through the file and pulled out the sketch from Oregon.
237.
"My God! I almost let him follow me home," she gasped.
An aura of deja vu swept over him. The impossible was happening. It
was as if Mic Boyd's malignant spirit had guided Paget to Jill. It was a ridiculous thought but it made his skin crawl
and put a knot in the pit of his stomach.
"Maybe
we should just leave," he said.
"You're
not serious?"
"No. I suppose not, but unless I'm there when you get off tomorrow---actually
from now on ‘til we catch this guy---you call me and then drive out to Doc's place. I can pick you up there after
I get off."
She started to argue, thought better of it, and nodded.
"Did you get a good look at the van he was driving that night?"
"It wasn't a van. It was just a dark colored car---perhaps blue or green. I cannot
remember."
"Which way did he go when he left?"
"He
was still at the station when I left," she said with a vacant look. "Do you think he followed me? Richard,
if you hadn't got home when you did---I knew something was wrong! I got scared on the way home."
"Why?"
"I thought he was following
me. I panicked when I heard you come in because I thought it was him."
"Why didn't you say something about that at the time?"
"Because
I thought I was just being silly, just imagining things."
He saw that she
was trembling. "It's okay, Babe," he said, taking her in his arms. "You're all right. That's
all that matters."
Jill saw the man's his solicitous smile, and remembered
how he had suddenly appeared and how he had politely hit on her, backing off with seeming good grace once he discovered that
she was married. Yet he had found a way to prolong the encounter and had set her at ease. He had manipulated the
situation so that she had felt obligated. She remembered feeling that she couldn't leave until her came back from the
station so that she could thank him properly.
"He's very good
at it," she said softly. "I am always careful, Richard. Since Mic I am always on guard against things
like that. It may seem silly, but I am. He was so relaxed and said just the right things. He seemed like
a really nice man who was just trying to be helpful. He totally fooled me."
238.
"It's okay, Babe," he said, holding her more closely. "You were smart. Careful and smart."
"Why should a woman have to be careful and smart, Richard? What kind of a world are we bringing
a baby into if even a place like Blue Creek is not safe?"
"It's
okay now, Babe," he said, holding her close. "We'll just take precautions until he's captured. It'll
be okay."
He didn't want her to have to think about her encounter with Paget, but he needed to know one more thing. "This
was at Waylen's?"
"No. I forgot to look at the gauge.
The warning sounded after I left town so I went to that run-down gas station out by the highway."
That put Paget near the road leading to Canaan Camp. Remembering his visit to there earlier in the day, Richard
clenched his jaw.
"What's wrong?"
"I think your friend, Shane, lied
to me today. He told me no one had come into the camp since he had been there. On the other hand, even if Paget
is there he might not know. It's a large community. It's possible that he hasn't noticed him, but I thought I
caught something in his eye when he looked at Paget's mug shot. But why would he cover for a man like that?"
"Did you tell him why you were looking for Paget?"
Richard frowned
in concentration, trying to recall in detail exactly how the conversation had run. "No."
"Then he is protecting his church, not a murderer."
"What
church tells people it's okay to lie?"
"He is a good boy,
Richard. When you talk to him again, tell him about Paget."
"Count
on it."
What Richard wanted to do was to call Shug, Tanner, the Highway Patrol, and whoever else he could get ahold
of and make an immediate raid on the camp, but he needed something besides his own supposition before anyone would listen
to him. In the morning he'd confront Shane Sanders with the pictures and make sure the kid understood what kind of man
Paget was. Then maybe they could raid the camp.
As he finally
drifted off to sleep later that evening, a dark green van pulled out of Camp Canaan. Inside was a nervous young man
and two small, heavy canisters beginning a one-way trip to Convention Street in St. Louis.
St. Louis, 11:50 PM
In a modest motel in that city a weary, middle-aged man stretched out beneath cool sheets, aching, as he always did
when he retired, for the woman who had shared his bed since he was nineteen. Had Mary really been gone eight years now?
He still longed for her, and he thanked his God for having her as a companion for as long as he had. After giving thanks
for the day just gone, he asked to be granted another one.
Harold Jones
spent no time writing a sermon. He read scripture, but gave no thought as to what he would say when he took the dais
on the following day. The words would come or he would hold his peace. Within minutes of his graying head hitting
the pillow, he was asleep.
Blue Creek, June 22, 2:15 AM
Richard awoke with a start. If it had been a dream that brought him awake, he couldn't remember it, but something
urgent demanded his attention. He could almost feel the adrenaline coursing in through his veins. Then it came
to him.
He got carefully out of bed, slipped on shoes without socks, and went outside wearing only his boxer shorts. As
isolated as the cabin was, the only danger of venturing outside with so much skin exposed, was mosquito bites. He popped
the trunk of Jill's care and found what he was looking for. He took the plastic bag to his cruiser, and placed it on
the front seat.
"I heard the door open," said Jill when he came back to bed. "Where have you been?"
"Down to the cars. I'm taking that can of fix-a-flat in to evidence in the morning. Maybe we
can get Paget's prints off it. Then if your friend, Shane confirms that he's been at the camp we'll have enough to get
a warrant to search the place."
He sighed heavily.
"But something is wrong," she said.
"The
timing. If I had thought of this before I went to bed then we could already be rolling on this. Now I guess it's
best to wait until morning instead of trying to roust people out of bed. We need to lift latent prints if there are
any, and then have them compared with Paget's---We'll need the FBI for that. Right now it would look like it's just
me playing a hunch. I've got to talk to Shane Sanders to nail it down."
"You will not go back to sleep, will you?"
240.
"Probably not.
If I get up I'll be quiet."
Now it was her
turn to sigh. "You must come back to bed. I cannot sleep alone," she said. "It is not selfish.
It is the baby. I cannot let myself get rundown. Could you try to stay in bed?"
"You want me to hold you?"
"It would be nice.
Do you think I am being silly?"
"You're never that."
When they were back in bed he adjusted his position and gathered her to him.
"Do I feel pregnant?" she asked.
"You mean ‘bigger?'
Not yet."
"Do I act pregnant? You know, moody?"
"No.
You're still your on-top-of-it self."
"I do not feel on
top of it.
Suddenly he realized that she was crying. "What's wrong, Babe?"
"I do not know how to be pregnant."
"You're
doing a great job," he assured her. "A great job."
Canaan Camp, June 22, 11:00 AM
Paget squinted at the sunlight slanting through the blinds, and then glanced at the clock. Only eleven.
He hated getting up early. One his way to the bathroom, he looked in to see if Joshua had died during the night, which
would have been about right considering the way things were going. The bed was empty!
Worried that the old fool had left the house alone, he rushed in. He found him on his knees at the far side of
the bed. Approaching silently, he gazed at the bowed head, noticing the shiny scalp beneath a tangle of sparse, wispy
hair. The sound of Joshua's incoherent muttering made him cringe in revulsion. Of all the irritating things the
old man did, he hated his interminable praying the most. He was seized with compulsion to batter the old man senseless,
to smash his skull until there was nothing but pulp left, to swing until he was too tired to swing anymore.
He calmed himself with thoughts of what was about to happen to the miserable sheep the old man had gathered to his paradise.
In two days they would have their communion. He pictured again the scene that would have resulted from his original
plan for them. Someone curious as to the lack of activity at the camp would finally come in and discover the meetinghouse
full of rotting corpses. It would be reported as a cult suicide at first. Then someone would finally connect it
to him. And then everyone would know who Bobby Lee Paget was. They'd remember him.
It was a fulfilling fantasy, but St. Louis would be even better if the kid didn't screw it up. There'd be tape.
Sooner or later the media would have to show it. Accompanied by crocodile tears, the news anchors would warn their audience
of "horrible images" they were about to televise. It would all be done in the name of the ‘people's
right to know,' but everyone at the networks would getting their rocks off the whole time. His only worry was
that when they blamed Joshua and the Wilderness Church for it they might cheat him out of credit for it.
No. It'll be like that Jones guy, he tried to assure himself. They'll have to give me credit.
They can't cheat me out of it. The whole thing is too big---too masterful.
241.
Half an hour later Paget lay sprawled on the couch, listening to the old man's intermittent snoring and watching dust
motes drift through the sun illuminated stale air while he tried to picture the kid releasing the gas.
He opens the valve on the first container, and maybe even has time to open the second before the gas gets him.
Then it gets someone up on the stand. First one, then another, and then a dozen wilt to the floor. The crowd wonders
what's going on, and then they start collapsing. Finally they realize something's going on. Somebody screams,
and then all hell breaks loose.
He imagined them rushing for the exits, falling,
clawing, screeching, and trampling each other in their terror.
They'll probably
trample more to death in the stampede than the gas will get. Who knows what can happen after that? There'll be
hell to pay when the coons find out that a white church was behind it.
Paget daydreamed
of a nation-wide holy war. White and black congregations blowing up each other's churches, ambushing church buses, assassinating
each other's preachers. It was funnier than hell to imagine, but too good to be true.
"It's almost as good as doing it myself," he mumbled to himself.
He
decided to stay at the camp long enough to catch the news reports. He'd have plenty of time to leave before anyone connected
the slaughter in St. Louis with Canaan Camp. Once the connection was made though, there'd be more feds in the Ozarks
than squirrels.
Hell, they might come in here with guns blazing, he thought with a smile. Start killing niggers,
especially church niggers, and Uncle Sambo goes ape. But Bobby Lee will be long gone before then.
The muffled thud of the air conditioner's compressor kicking off pulled him from his reverie. Then a hacking cough
followed by a creaking floorboard told him Joshua was up again. He looked at the clock on the mantel.
Not even noon yet! I've got to put up with the old faggot for another hour, he thought. Ought
to just slit his throat and be through with it.
The sight of the old man
tottering through the doorway brought the tingling anticipation of violence. He hated Joshua from his shadow to his
smell. He took a deep breath, flexed his fingers, flared his nostrils, and pushed up from the couch. He wanted
to do it immediately, longed to feel nose cartilage crack against his knuckles, to feel the warm blood spurt as he beat the
old fool senseless.
I could do that with a near miss, he thought
humorously.
"Caleb, my dear friend. I'm glad you're already up. Fetch me some coffee like a good lad.
I'm sure you have it ready," said Joshua, collapsing into a chair near the sofa.
Bobby Lee stared at the grinning old man in silence,
and then nodded slowly.
242.
"Yes, Father Joshua. I'll just go fetch
your coffee."
In the filthy kitchen amid the
cluttered of encrusted dishes and accumulated debris on the counter he found a dirty cup. He sloshed it full from a
cold carafe half filled with two-day old coffee, and left it in the microwave until it boiled over. Walking back into
the living room, he took a perverse satisfaction from the pain as the handle burned his fingers.
"You're such a good boy," said Joshua, with a yellow, long-toothed smile.
To Paget he looked like a reanimated cadaver.
"You're the son
God has finally seen fit to give me," said the old man reaching for the cup.
The remark made Paget tremble with rage.
"I hope it's hot,"
fretted Joshua in his doddering manner.
"I think you'll find this hot enough,"
said Paget with a smile as he flung the coffee into the old man's face.
Joshua screamed
and reeled backward, toppling his chair.
Paget cried out in pain of his own as the
scalding liquid bit into his right hand and wrist. With a curse, he threw the heavy porcelain cup at Joshua's head.
It bounced harmlessly off the rug and clattered across the hardwood into the corner.
"You son of bitch!" he bellowed, clutching his throbbing thumb to his chest with both hands.
Clenching his teeth, he rushed forward, landing kick after kick into the old man's stomach and back as Joshua rolled
to escape. The old man curled into a ball, gasping for air. Consumed with fury, Paget kicked him again and again.
When Joshua rolled to his back to get away, Paget aimed a stomp at the old man's face, but his shoe slid off the side of Joshua's
temple and he turned his ankle.
He collapsed to the floor and pummeled the
old man with both fists until he stopped moving. Breathing heavily, Paget arose, staring at the blood frothing from
the old man's nostrils and the corner of his mouth. A broken rib had punctured one of the lungs. He raised his
foot to stomp the old man's exposed throat to finish him off, but restrained himself at the last moment for fear that he might
do more damage to his ankle.
"You'll probably die before they
get here anyway," he said, still breathing heavily. "Hope you liked the coffee I fetched for you."
A glint from outside drew him to the window.
At the bottom of the hill
sunlight glared from the windshield of a car at the gate. He drew aside the curtains, peering through half open blinds.
A lean man in uniform got out and went to talk to the gatekeeper. Paget nearly panicked as he recognized him.
"They got caught!" he gasped.
No. If something
went wrong in St. Louis they wouldn't send just one car, he said. So this isn't a raid. But what the
hell brought you back. What the hell do you know?
It didn't
matter. It was time.
