Chapter 11

Canaan Camp, June 21, 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.

"All we're going to do is get them into act foolish," he said defensively.  "We're going to let people to see what they're really like."

"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, surprising herself.  A few days ago, saying such a thing had been unthinkable for her.

"How can you say that?" he asked.

"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, the Phillips, and that poor old lady.  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 our time and none of this," she gestured impatiently around her at the camp.  "None of this is worth a . . . worth anything.  It's just 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.

"Like what?  What are you going to do?"

Shane was tempted to tell her, but then he remembered Brother Caleb had said that it was need-to-know.  He'd told them that if it got out 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," she said.

"Father Joshua thinks it's the right thing to do," he insisted stubbornly.  "And so do I."

"This was Father Joshua's idea?"

"He and Brother Caleb thought---"

"You mean Cal Hodges," she said.  "He doesn't belong here, Shane.  Nothing has been right since he got here."

"He's taken good care of Father Joshua since he's been sick."

"That man is not what you think he is."

"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. "How could you even imagine that things would ever work out between us?"

Paget watched from the road, wondering what the fool was telling the bitch.  He followed at a distance and then 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 still needed the kid if he was going to pull it off.

"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?  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."  Paget fixed 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 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 to him.  He's probably got himself a bed full of white women too."

Shane joined in the laughter, but it didn't feel right.  Caleb's overt racism made striking at the enemy somehow less noble.

"I got to get down to the gate," he said.

"Got duty, huh?  I'll go down with you."

Shane didn't look forward to eight hours 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?"

"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 make up and get it on with Miss Dusky.  The bitch was threatening to screw things up.  It didn't surprise him.  Being a woman, 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 sheriff's department cruiser beyond the gate.  Mind racing, he shrank back from the window.  He knew instinctively that the man had come looking for him.

"Hey.  That's Mr. Carter," said Shane.  "He's married to one of the teachers I had over at the junior college.  Wonder what he wants?"

"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."

"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 I've done things 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.  You can't let him know I'm here.  It could destroy Father Joshua and the Church.  Trust me on this."

"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 finally 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 out, 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."

"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 for 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?"

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."

"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 improvised.

"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

"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---"

"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."

He stopped to listen to a lengthy reply.

"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.  Now get me Treece again."

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 Springs

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?"

"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.  Yes!  The man who helped me with the tire."

"Oh yeah.  Did you have Waylen's look at it?"

"Yes.  They could find no leak," she said impatiently.  "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---My God!  I almost let him follow me home," she gasped, staring at the sketch from Oregon.

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.

"We should 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?" he asked.

"It wasn't a van.  It was just a dark colored car---perhaps blue or green.  I cannot remember.  He was still at the station when I left," she said with a vacant look.  "I 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."

"I thought he was following me.  I almost panicked when I heard you come in later."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I thought I was just being silly because I was pregnant.  I thought that I was 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 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 actually set her at ease.  He had manipulated the situation so that she had felt obligated.  She remembered feeling that she couldn't leave until she had thanked 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 this really nice man who was just trying to be helpful.  He totally fooled me."

"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 repeated, holding her close.  "We'll just take precautions until he's captured."

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 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 the 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," he admitted.

"Then he is protecting his church, not a murderer.  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 of no one 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.

At that very moment a dark green van pulled out of Camp Canaan on a one-way trip to Convention Street in St. Louis.

St. Louis, 11:50 PM

In a modest motel just outside the city, an age-weary man stretched beneath cool sheets, aching as always when he retired, for the woman who had shared his bed since nineteen.  Mary Mae had been gone eight years.  He thanked his God for having given him such a companion, but oh how he missed her.  The preacher gave thanks for the day just gone, and asked (not entirely whole-heartedly) to be granted another.  Harold Jones spent no time writing a sermon.  Instead, he read scripture, giving no thought as to what he should say when he took the dais on tomorrow.  Words would come or he would hold his peace.  He had no doubt that they would come.  Within minutes of his graying head hitting the pillow, he slept.