She inhaled deeply. “Then the leader approached me. With a knife.”
Ben squeezed her hand tighter.
“He pressed the knife against my neck, my face. He toyed with me. Of course, it was Grand Dragon Dunagan, but I’ll never be able to prove it. He hooked the knife inside the collar of my blouse …” She looked down at the ground and covered her eyes. “… then cut the blouse off my body. Then he cut loose my skirt. Underclothes, too. Bra, panties. I was tied to that cross, stark naked, clothes dangling from my wrists and around my ankles.”
Ben’s hands trembled. “Did—did they … ?”
“Rape? No, that wasn’t the first item on his agenda. He ran the blade all over my body, threatening me. Fondling me with his knife. Then he put it down and took up a bullwhip.”
“My God! They didn’t—”
“They did. Twenty-five times.” Her eyes began to well up. “I’ve still got the scars to prove it. They might still be beating me if Frank hadn’t shown up with the cops. Although I think they had something else planned for me later.”
Ben took her into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder.
“The ASPers got away, but at least Frank rescued me before—” Her voice choked. “Before it was too late.”
“And after all that,” he murmured, “you’re still fighting them.”
“More than ever,” she said solemnly. “So you see how dangerous it would be for you to go to that camp.”
Ben embraced her tightly. She didn’t seem uncomfortable, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to end it. “Well, at the moment they seem to be my friends.”
“That won’t last long once you start asking the hard questions. Ben, this is not a smart idea.”
“I’m sorry. I have to.”
Belinda gripped his arm. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. I don’t want you to—I—” She stopped, reformulated her sentence. “Ben, don’t do it.”
They looked at one another, their lips barely inches apart. “I don’t have any choice,” Ben said. He stroked her cheek. “But thanks for being concerned. It’s a refreshing change.”
22.
FINDING THE ASP ENCAMPMENT deep in the Ouachita Mountains was not easy for Ben, but then, Ben was not great with directions. Geographically challenged, Christina called him. Being male, of course he didn’t ask for help. Not that there was anyone to ask on this particular occasion.
The map he had obtained from District Attorney Swain got him to the end of the dirt road, but from there he had to walk an additional half mile on foot. Honda Accords were not generally considered all-terrain vehicles. The journey was an exhausting series of ascents and descents. Ben felt winded after the first fifteen minutes. There was no point in kidding himself; he wasn’t in shape for this sort of exertion.
Finally Ben topped the final hill and saw the ASP camp in the valley below. The encampment was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. To his relief, he didn’t see anyone on duty at the sentry posts. He had a hunch visitors weren’t greeted with open arms.
Attempting to look casual, Ben pushed open the heavy metal gate bearing a friendly sign that said TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. In a clearing, perhaps a hundred yards away, he saw about fifty men running through field maneuvers. They were dressed in camouflage-green fatigues, heavy boots, web gear, and matching caps. They were all carrying weapons; from where Ben stood, they looked like assault rifles.
A brief glance was sufficient to tell Ben that these men took what they were doing very seriously. Their expressions were determined and they rarely missed a step. Two men stood apart from the rest, barking out commands. Drill sergeants, apparently. He heard one of them shouting about kill zones.
This explained why no one was guarding the front door, Ben thought. They were all out in the field high-stepping through tires and crawling under wires on their elbows. He was relieved, although he realized this could make it difficult for him to interview anyone. On the other hand, it could give him an unexpected opportunity to survey the grounds unrestricted.
Four barrackslike buildings were positioned in the center of the encampment. They were cheap, portable, prefab constructions that kept the rain off your head and not much else. Two were considerably larger than the others. One of them was blackened on the north side, as if it had been subjected to a mild fire.
Ben stretched up on his tiptoes and peered through the window of the building closest to him, one of the large ones. The main interior room was filled with cots lined so close together they almost touched. These two buildings must be where the men slept, Ben realized. At least, those who didn’t have a place in town like Vick.
Ben assumed that one of the other two buildings performed an administrative function. And that meant, with any luck, he might find files. Records. Maybe the answers to a few of his hundred or so questions about Donald Vick.
Ben was just rounding the building and heading toward the door when he heard a loud voice directly behind him.
“Intruder!”
Before Ben had a chance to react, someone knocked his feet out from under him. He slammed into the side of the building, then thudded down on the ground.
He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. He rolled over onto his back, just in time to get the business end of an M-16 poked directly into his face.
23.
“WAIT A MINUTE!” BEN shouted. “Don’t shoot!”
“Shut your goddamn mouth!” the soldier hovering over him growled.
Two other men appeared on either side of the first, seemingly from nowhere. They were all dressed in standard ASP drill uniforms. They even had black charcoal smeared on their faces.
“Report, private!” one of the newcomers shouted.
“Sir, yes, sir!” The young man raised his gun and stood at attention. Ben took the opportunity to climb back to his feet. “Found the intruder sneaking around the barracks. Saw him looking through the window. He must be the one. Sir!”
The leader, a brown-haired man only marginally older than his so-called private, glared at Ben. “I’m Corporal Holloway. Do you have a pass?”
Ben swallowed. “Well, no …”
Corporal Holloway grabbed Ben by the neck and shoved him back down on the ground. Ben fell to his knees and caught himself by his hands, but a swift kick from one of the men’s boots flattened him. His chin pounded against the dirt.
“Search him, privates!”
Ben felt four hands roaming all over his backside. He didn’t care much for the sensation, but under the circumstances, he decided not to complain.
After the search was completed, Holloway pried the butt of his rifle under Ben’s ribs and rolled him onto his back. One of the privates clamped his hand down on Ben’s throat, securely pinning him to the ground.
“Who authorized your presence?” Corporal Holloway barked.
Ben didn’t feel lying would improve his standing in the community. “No one.”
“State your business!”
Where to begin. “Well,” Ben said hoarsely, “I came for information—”
“Spy!” The private squeezed his throat.
“Look—” The grip on Ben’s larynx was so tight he could barely whisper. “I’m not any kind of—”
“Who sent you?”
“No one sent me.”
Holloway drove a boot into Ben’s ribs. The kick would have smarted under the best of circumstances, but in this case, it landed in the area already softened up by Deputy Gustafson’s pummeling the night before last.
“Let’s try it again,” Holloway said, teeth clenched. “Who sent you? Hatewatch, or the gooks?”