She still didn’t understand how Edward knew about her husband. Could it mean that John was somewhere in town? Was he being held in a cell just like hers? Her mind swirled with terrifying questions she had little hope of finding the answers to, at least not yet.
When no one was looking, Diane set the tray on the cot beside her, quickly removed the knife and slid it under the bed. There weren’t many hiding spots in an eight-by-five cell, which meant under the bed would have to do.
After taking back her tray, she caught Kay watching, a fearful expression blooming on her swollen face. “I hope to God you’re not about to do something that’ll get us all killed,” she said.
Diane didn’t know what to say. The knife had practically been thrust on her by Edward. There hadn’t been enough time to question him, let alone refuse. And even as she turned away and tried to finish the rest of her dinner, Kay’s words kept ringing in her ears.
Chapter 27
John arrived back at the Patriot camp the following morning. The shocked and surprised looks he received from the men guarding the main approach weren’t lost on him. Nor were the similar expressions he saw from the others in camp, going about their morning activities. Sweaty, covered in mud and leaves and limping slightly, John knew he probably looked as though he’d crawled up from hell itself.
Moss hurried over the minute he saw John approach.
“We doubled back looking for you, but—” Moss glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Sulli?”
“He didn’t make it.” John cut him off, feeling that sting of guilt he’d experienced many times before. It was the sensation every soldier felt when the man next to him didn’t live to see home again.
Moss nodded, trying not to show any weakness. He would keep the pain buried down deep, John knew, locked up tight with alcohol and denial. That was the heartache of losing someone who was like a brother to you.
“They came up behind us in three trucks,” John told him. “A patrol from Oneida. Sullivan got hit by a round through the back window. He died instantly.” John decided to leave out the rest of the gory details. He remembered the words from Confederate general Robert E. Lee to General Longstreet at the Battle on Telegraph Hill. It is well that war is so terrible lest we should grow too fond of it.
“We saw some tire marks on the street, but nothing else,” Moss told him, his eyes ringed with growing red lines. “They must have come and cleared everything away before we had a chance to go back for you.”
“They were really counting on those supplies,” John said thoughtfully. “When you got the trucks back, tell me you found something useful.”
“Get yourself all cleaned up and I’ll show you.”
John did exactly that. First, he made his way to the Blazer where he found Brandon oiling the pellet gun. On the ground next to him were three dead squirrels.
Hopping to his feet, Brandon ran up to John.
“They said you were dead,” the boy beamed.
John couldn’t help but laugh. “For a second back there, I was sure of it myself.” He peered into Betsy and saw George in the trunk. The back door was open to give him some air. Brandon saw what he was looking at.
“Rodriguez came up to me when everyone thought you were dead. He wanted George and I told him to shove it.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“He wasn’t happy, not one bit, but I told him the deal he had was between the two of you. If you didn’t come back that made it mull and void.”
“Null and void,” John corrected him, smiling. “I think one day you’ll make a fine lawyer.”
Brandon’s own smile brightened, then began to fade. “I’ve been thinking about my mom and sister a lot since you’ve been gone. I wanna be there when we go get them.”
John set his weapons down, along with the books he found at the pot farm. He then settled himself on the tailgate and peeled off his boots and socks. Next came the duct tape. It had done exactly what he needed it to do. Prevent a small blister from becoming large and possibly infected.
“Sometimes completing a mission isn’t as easy as just charging in guns blazing. Fact, that’s usually the best way to get yourself and all your friends killed.”
Brandon seemed to be mulling over John’s words.
“We need intelligence on how many people are in Oneida. How many of them are armed. What they’re armed with. What building the prisoners are being held in. On top of that, regardless of why we’re going in, the people there will see us as invaders, trying to steal their resources. There will likely be a fight, maybe a big one. If we go in without the proper knowhow and gear, we might just blow the one shot we have of getting them back.”
Brandon put the pellet gun down and stared at the dead squirrels.
“I told you earlier that, fourteen or not, you’re a man now, Brandon, whether you like it or not. I’ve seen you handle yourself in a tight situation. That isn’t the issue. But being an adult also means making tough decisions. Sacrificing things we like in order to preserve things we love and need.”
“You mean like freedoms and stuff?”
“That’s part of it, sure, but it also goes beyond that. Sometimes it comes down to choices we didn’t think we had the courage to make.”
Brandon was about to ask John something else when Marshall, Moss and a small entourage of other men appeared before them.
Marshall extended a hand and John took it.
“I was sorry to hear about Sullivan, but I understand without your actions, the entire mission might been compromised.”
Perhaps Marshall was right, but John wasn’t about to gloat. The truth was, a good man had been killed at a time when they needed everyone they could get.
“A lot’s happened in the short period you’ve been gone,” Marshall said.
“You found something in the trucks, didn’t you?” John asked.
“We did. But you should probably see for yourself.”
Chapter 28
The eight rigs they had captured during the ambush were parked in a field next to the Patriot camp. The way the vehicles were lined up, it looked from here as though they were approaching a truck stop. Marshall explained that the men who’d been taken during the assault were being held in a makeshift jail and were currently undergoing questioning. When John asked if they’d revealed any useful intel, Marshall brushed aside the question with a, “Let’s see what you make of this first.”
The Patriot leader was referring to the trailers ahead of them. The cargo doors for each stood open, awaiting inspection. Many of the items inside appeared to have been moved around already, perhaps as Marshall’s men had investigated their contents.
They walked up the ramp. The first rig was loaded with cardboard boxes. Each one had a red, white and blue sticker. But this wasn’t the stars and stripes. John ran his hand over the words and read them out loud: “State Reserve of the Russian Federation.”
He looked over at Marshall, Moss and the others and caught the grim expressions on their faces.
“What is this?” John asked, rather stupefied.
“We’re not entirely sure,” Marshall replied. “We’d assumed most of the trucks would be loaded with UN humanitarian aid, items from FEMA. Our man in Jefferson City mentioned weapons, so maybe a few crates marked US Army. You spent some time in Africa, so I was hoping you could shed some light on this for us.”
John opened the lid of a box that someone had already gone through. It was filled with a Russian brand of rice, divided in small plastic bags. Suddenly the strange markings on the trucks made sense. Kamaz must be a Russian truck manufacturer. “Are they all like this?” John asked, waving one of the rice bags in the air.