“Yes, a helluva lot has happened, Dale. So either we talk here in front of the leaders of this community or not.”
Dale stood his ground and then slowly reached into the breast pocket of his blazer, drew out an envelope, and handed it to John. “Open it.” He spoke the two words as a command.
John took the envelope and then deliberately placed it on the desk, his eyes not leaving Dale. “From you, Bluemont, or whom?” he asked.
“I suggest you read it, Mr. Matherson. Then we can discuss the contents.”
John made a very deliberate display of waiting another minute before finally picking the envelope back up and opening it. He scanned the note and tossed it on the table. Reverend Black picked it up.
“That is a legal document for your eyes only, John, not a community gathering.”
“It is an arrest warrant for capital crimes,” Black announced, holding the document up. “A list of names, twenty or more, with Forrest Burnett at the top.”
John looked back at Dale. “You’ve got to be kidding, Dale. Capital crimes? Under what authorization?”
“Federal law. They raided interstate, which, even by prewar standards, brought in the federal government. They have been a threat to national security since the start of the war, and they have killed federal officers, two of them last night. That’s grounds enough.”
“I’ll grant the first point, perhaps, but you damn well better be able to prove it was them.”
“When you were their guest, they talked about raiding into Tennessee, and that is interstate.”
Just how in the hell did he know the content of any conversation while he was being held prisoner? Had Fredericks infiltrated spies in all along and knew everything that had transpired?
“My response. Last night, a column of wounded refugees was ambushed. A truck with wounded aboard, several of them children driven by a member of my community on a mission mercy, was ambushed. Your people fired first; those in the trucks had a right to defend themselves from unknown assailants.”
“Not by the report I got,” Dale snapped back sharply. “They ambushed my personnel and attacked first.”
“What kind of trial will these people get?” Black interjected.
Dale smiled. “Same one you folks gave to the Posse, the drug thieves, and others.”
“That was martial law,” John retorted. “We’re moving away from that.”
“I have not,” Fredericks replied. “The federal government is acting in proper accordance in a time of national emergency. I represent that government and demand that those listed be turned over immediately. If not willing to comply, you know what that means.”
“Whose law?” Black shouted, standing up. “You call machine-gunning kids an act of law?”
“Tragic collateral damage,” Dale said.
“Go down to the hospital, damn you, and take a look at your collateral damage!” Black cried, and for an instant, John feared the minister was about to rush Dale. In all their years of friendship, he had never heard Black use a foul word or see him so publicly lose his temper. The man stood there trembling with rage, Makala standing up to come by his side, whispering for him to sit down.
“I am going down to the hospital,” Dale said, features still fixed in a smile. “I know you have Burnett and most likely others on that list. I’m putting them under arrest and taking them back to Asheville.”
“No, you are not,” Makala said, emphasizing each word sharply, coldly. “They are under my care, and I will not release them, and I say that as director of public health and safety for this community.”
“And this community is under my authority, Mrs. Matherson.” Dale pointed at the document Black had tossed on the table. “You have been properly served with notification. I thank you in advance for your cooperation, and now I have to do my duty as the federal official in charge of this administrative district.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room without a backward glance.
His departure left all of them stunned, eyes shifting to John. “Stay here,” he snapped. “Reverend, call Maury at the checkpoint at Exit 59. Tell him to report if their helicopters start to lift off, and if so, send someone out to tell me. The rest of you please stay here.”
His voice carried a sharp authority, and Black got up as John sprinted for the door, Makala and Ed moving to restrain him. John hated the fact that he was trailing behind Dale, who was already out the door and shouting orders for his squad to fall in with him. It was the wrong display in public for this moment, but he had to stop him now, or in another minute, there would be a fight… and killing.
John came up to his side and actually grabbed him by the shoulder, the gesture causing one of Dale’s security team to raise a weapon.
“Step away from the director!” the man shouted. “Do it now!”
“So is that your title with them?” John asked sharply, glaring back at the black-clad trooper, that same damn sergeant.
Dale, startled with how John had grabbed him, tried to shrug John’s grip off his shoulder, but John did not let go.
“What’s it going to be, Dale?” he whispered softly. “Either I’m dead in five seconds and the rest of you are dead in ten seconds, or you and I talk this out.”
John let his glance shift to the roof of the fire station to their right, which adjoined the town hall. A dozen of his best reaction team were up there, weapons half-raised but not yet aimed.
“You drop me and, orders or not, they’ll slaughter all of you. Now I am going to take my hand off your shoulder, the two of us will smile as if there’s been a foolish misunderstanding. We walk down to the park, sit down, and have a friendly little chat. It’s your call, Dale.”
And for the first time, John could see hatred in the man’s eyes. After weeks of cat and mouse, of the smooth trained government bureaucrat, the darker gaze of the political maneuverer and climber had flashed out for a brief instant.
“Sure, John,” he whispered. “Now get your hand off my shoulder, you son of a bitch.”
John smiled and let his hand drop.
Dale looked at his troopers, and the threat clearly registered that for the survival of all, a little face saving had to be played out. “Just a brief misunderstanding. Everything is fine now,” he said with a smile.
John returned his gaze to the roof of the fire station.
“Grace, let’s not overreact. I want you and your troops to sit down and relax.”
He chuckled inwardly as the sergeant heading Dale’s security team looked up and for the first time actually noticed that a dozen trained killers, who two years earlier had been typical college students, were staring down at them with weapons raised.
“Your sergeant really is incompetent,” John whispered. “He has a shoe-size IQ, and he’d never have made it when I commanded troops, other than perpetual KP and toilet cleaning.”
John pointed toward the garden-like town square a few dozen yards away and started for it, Dale waiting an instant and then walking briskly, not wishing to lose any more face, coming up to John’s side and keeping pace with him. John motioned to a wooden bench and sat down without waiting for Dale.
“I can signal for someone to bring us something cool to drink, if you need it after that,” John said with a smile. “No booze, though, only water. But if you need some of what the locals call white lightning, I’m certain we can find a mason jar.”
The sight of the troops up on the roof when Dale had foolishly believed he had the upper hand in the middle of what indeed was John’s town had obviously shaken him. It showed John as well that this man had absolutely zero field experience. If it had been his intent to kill Dale, the entire unit would have been wiped out in a few seconds, as easily as swatting down a fly. His men might look tough in their black uniforms, but if they were indicative of what the so-called Army of National Recovery was made of, it was indeed a pathetic indicator. Up against a group like the Posse, they literally would have been dead meat for their dinner table.