Ashes (26 page)

The woods and the kitchen. Fine things to look forward to, one for every morning, the other for meetings. He was a bit surprised that the meetings were not held more often, but then Richard was cautious, reluctant to do anything to cause suspicion. All it would take was someone to notice all-too-frequent gatherings, perhaps connect that to a body (or two) fished out of Deer’s Head Lake, and the game would be up. Sean wanted to avoid suspicion as much as any of the group, for above all, he did not want the law to catch Richard. If the law got Richard he’d no doubt get the needle, but only after years of hearings and appeals, all the while getting his three hots and a cot — though prison cooking would be a big step down from Anna’s fare. But Richard would be better off than those 361 others who would never eat a nice dinner again. Better off than Jennifer when he’d last seen her picture, poor thing, so thin. No, his way — and Jennifer’s way — would be much better for everyone.

* * *

T
hey sat in a circle, seven men. Sean, Richard, MacReady, the Wickersham brothers, two others. Richard toyed with a ball-point pen, as was his habit, but he wrote nothing down, never did. Richard’s eyes went to the person he wanted to address before he spoke to them. Now he looked at MacReady, and after a second he asked, “Doug, what do you have for us?”

MacReady smiled quickly, then got down to business. What he had was a list of IRS buildings that might make good targets. Reciting from memory, he offered up the proximity of other government buildings and of the local and federal law enforcement. The next logical step would be to send people to scout out the areas. “Look things over, so to speak. Get the lay of the land,” MacReady said.

Sean had to admit he rather liked MacReady. He was the sort of person that was often overlooked and yet so essential, the born second-in-command. Reliable and capable, but not able to make that leap toward leadership. It was a rare breed — most were too hungry for power to play the role, and others were too incompetent.

Speaking of which.

“What was that last one, Doug?” asked Eddie, jotting away in the looping scrawl of the high school dropout.

Sean reached across the table, across Steve Wickersham — who, as always, sat next to him — and took the notepad from Eddie. “Hey,” said Eddie, “Hey!” as he ripped the page Eddie had been writing on, plus the two beneath it, out of the notepad. Without a word he crumpled the papers into a tight ball, and tossed the notepad back at Eddie.

“What are you —” Eddie began.

“Throw that in the fireplace on your way out tonight, Sam? Thanks.” Richard turned his steel-colored eyes toward Eddie. “I’m not going to remind you about that again.”

“But —”

“If you can’t follow the rules, I need you to leave,” Richard said in a voice that would allow no argument. “There’s a lot at stake here and no room for goofups. Understand?”

Eddie nodded, turned crimson.

Richard’s voice and eyes softened a bit. “You’re a good man. But that's not enough. I need good soldiers. If you can’t do that, then leave. I won’t think less of you, nor will any man here. But if you stay, no more slip-ups. Got it?”

Eddie said nothing.

Brother Steve said, “We got it. We’re in.”

Sean could feel Steve’s eyes on him, ignored the subdued malice in them. Steve had said no more than ten words to him since their confrontation — if you could call it that — the first time he’d come to dinner. But if Steve’s words had lessened, his animosity had grown. Sean knew whenever Steve’s eyes fell on him; a prickling sensation ran along his nerve endings, as if dislike and distrust had a physical touch. He knew that Steve always sat next to him at the meetings because he was waiting. For a slip. A giveaway. Some reason — or excuse — to denounce him.

Perhaps Steve was one of those people, rare but out there, who had a sixth sense about the wolf in the midst of the sheep.
Spook radar,
Beatty had called it. (God, when would he be able to think about Beatty again without feeling that cold stab in his heart?) Let that wolf look and smell and act and sound like a sheep, but these sorts could always sense the wolf. Perhaps Steve was one of those.

Or perhaps Steve Wickersham was just an asshole.

Sean was inclined toward this latter view. He felt sure that Steve’s dislike had not escaped the notice of Richard or MacReady — one would have to be a far bigger fool than those two were not to notice. But if they thought anything of it, he’d had no sign of it. He would just have to watch himself around Steve, and trust in his instincts. The usual routine.

* * *

M
arch.

The group kept a low profile, tiptoed around the anniversary of their handiwork like cautious cats. The Saturday just before the 21st, he and Richard sat in the living room, talking their camouflaging small talk. On the television, a “One year later” show was about to begin; he watched Richard out of the corner of his eye. Richard’s expression was that of mild boredom, the look of a man who is wondering what is on the other channel. Nothing more. No triumph, no guilt, not even a glance toward his wife, who had just brought in a plate of cheese and crackers. Anna stood holding her mug of tea, looked at the TV screen with wide eyes, said, “Oh, those poor people. That poor girl.” Sean dared not look up at that last because he knew who she was talking about and if he looked up it would be all too tempting to tell Anna who her husband was and what he had done and what he was planning to do again. So he said nothing, helped himself to Havarti on whole-wheat crackers, and later, in the safety of the downstairs lair, Richard said, “One hell of a poker face you’ve got, Sam. My hat’s off to you.” And gave him a grin both conspiratorial and charming.

How would it feel to empty the gun into that grin, to watch the spray of bone and blood and teeth?
More of a poker face than you know, Richard,
he thought. But only said, “Thanks much,” and tipped an imaginary hat back at Richard.

He was at a meeting the night the TV movie they made of Jennifer’s story was on. Just as well. He didn’t want to see it, even though he’d always had a thing for the lead actress; the commercials made it look like a hack job. His only worry was that Anna would be watching it, but when he came upstairs after the meeting she was watching
Some Like It Hot
, eating popcorn and giggling as Jack Lemmon lay on the bed waving maracas in the air.
Good taste, Anna.

* * *

A
pril, and the plans became firmer. Richard narrowed their targets down to a possible eight sites scattered throughout the Midwest. That was what Richard wanted, to strike the heartland, for that was where the country’s discontent came from. “We’ll split up and survey the sites. Four in May and four in June. Each take two. Then we’ll pick the target and get going.”

“Any idea of a date yet?” Steve asked. Eddie automatically reached for a pen and quickly pulled his hand back, clearly hoping that no one had noticed.

“When we’re ready,” Richard replied. “The date itself doesn’t matter.”

“But wouldn’t the anniversary of something be better? Like, I don’t know, Ruby Ridge or tax day?” asked MacReady.

Before Richard could say it, Sean did. “No,” he said. “It always has more impact when it’s not expected. Besides, my guess is they tighten up security around likely anniversaries.”

Richard grinned. “My thoughts exactly, Sam.”

“Kiss-ass,” muttered Steve, low enough so they could all pretend not to have heard him.

He couldn’t care less what Steve thought or said. Before too long, Steve would cease to matter, because as soon as they left for their scouting runs, he would go not to his target but after Richard, catch him, and take him west to Jennifer. It was the perfect opportunity, and no alarm would be raised for days. Weeks, possibly.

That night he checked his gear. Cracked his knuckles in anticipation. Next month, it would begin.

* * *

M
ay, and everything went to hell.

One Friday night he was heading out the door to the movies when his phone rang. Richard was on the line. Richard had never called him at home.

“Sam, I need to meet you. Know where the Hot Plate is?” Richard’s voice was casual enough, but Sean could detect a note of tension underneath it.

“Of course.” The Hot Plate was a diner on the south side of town. He knew it well; it was one of the only places other than Richard’s house where he could get a decent cup of coffee.

“Meet me there in twenty minutes.” A command, not a request. It felt very familiar. “Look for me at one of the inside booths.”

Richard sat by the kitchen, where the noise of clanking dishes and calls of “Fries are up!” would cover their conversation. Once again Sean was surprised, admiring, and a bit uneasy at how well Richard knew what to do, the way he kept his body language and facial expression one of casual, pleasant discussion. You would have had to look deep into his eyes to see what this was really all about.

It was the same look he’d seen during the hunting trip, when they’d had to dispatch Carl Miller, Richard’s would-be assassin. Anger, fear, cold practicality. He wondered if this look was directed at him.

Not likely. If Richard had found out something, they would not be in conversation. He would likely be dead by now.

“The shit has hit the fan, Sam,” Richard said. “Remember our old friends the Wisconsin Patriots?”

He nodded. “The uninvited guest back in January.”

“Yes. We used to buy things from them. Turns out people were buying other things from them. Meth, to be precise.” Richard’s lip curled down in disdain. “And today they got busted, big time.”

“Oh, Christ,” Sean said, and his trepidation was genuine. All this work and effort to capture Richard, and it might be for naught thanks to a bunch of dope-dealing, pickup-driving yahoos.

“Nothing’s happened to any of us yet, as far as I know. But I don’t know how far the Patriots are going to go to save their own necks. They could rat out everyone who’s ever bought from them, they could keep their mouths shut to avoid other charges. And I don’t know how much they know, or if Carl put two and two together on his own. You see how it is.”

“I do.” He did. “You want us to lie low.”

“Yes. And I mean low. Don’t go anywhere near the places we talked about. Meetings are off until further notice. Don’t contact the others, don’t even go out for a beer or anything.”

“Keep the volume down.”

“Put it on mute. I’m very serious on this,” Richard said. That air of command was heavy on him, even sitting he seemed taller than he was. “If it was just our own necks I wouldn’t mind taking chances. But I have Anna to think about. The Wickershams have their parents. Jess, some of the others, they’ve got families. Brotherhood is what this is about, Sam. Petty shit like you and Steve rubbing each other the wrong way aside, we’re in this together. There’s no room for a loose cannon who could jeopardize everything. Do we understand each other?”

Through it all Sean never took his eyes off Richard’s. No, he understood, very well. It was the sort of spiel he’d heard a hundred times before, from all his bosses from Edwards on down to Halsey. He responded in kind, with all the conviction that was in him. Because he wanted Richard for himself and Jennifer. “We do.”

For the first time, Richard smiled. “I knew I could count on you, Sam. I just wish we’d met sooner. I mean, the others are good men, reliable. Get the job done. But you understand. You know what the situation is.”

“Thank you.” He also wished that they had met sooner, that he could have brought Richard into his world, that he could have had respect and admiration untainted by hate. He wished this not because it would have spared 361 lives, but because he would not be dreading the moment of betrayal.

* * *

S
ean did not hear from Richard again until Labor Day weekend. The rest of the summer he waited. At times he had to remind himself, when he woke, that he was not in Florida but in Wisconsin. It got harder as the summer wore on, because there were so many similarities and none of them were good. The summer heat, not as humid as Florida but not exactly a dry heat either, just as many mosquitoes and even an early morning run left him drenched with sweat. The waiting for a phone call. For something to happen. Anything. He almost began to wish for the law to bring its hammer down, if only because then he would have something concrete to work against.

There was loneliness to be reckoned with as well. Hateful though the group’s goals were, detestable as their actions had been, over the months he’d enjoyed not so much the company but the challenge of matching his wits against someone like Richard. And of course there was Anna; he missed her cooking, but was surprised to find that he missed her, badly. He hadn’t realized just how much her presence soothed him, eased the weight of doubt and lies and suspicion.

As the summer went on he worried. About Robert, who for all he knew was in remission or fighting the sickness of chemotherapy or perhaps even dying (he did not allow himself to think Robert might be dead). About Jennifer, who had now gone over a year without the justice that was her due; he wondered what she was doing, if she had fashioned a new life out of the ashes of the old, or if she was still sifting through debris. About Anna, who he saw in the grocery store just before Labor Day. She was in the freezer section, looking over the ice cream and frozen yogurt (trying to decide on a flavor, it seemed). He kept out of sight, thinking it best for her not to see him and ask questions about where he’d been all summer. But though he only saw her for a few seconds, he was struck by how pale and tired she looked; her eyes had dark circles under them and all the curl seemed to have gone out of her hair. It took a surprising amount of will not to ask her if she was all right. He told himself it was just the summer heat and humidity working on her. He hoped it wasn’t Richard’s situation working on her. Or Richard himself, which seemed highly unlikely, but you never knew. He almost hoped that someone
was
giving Anna grief; someone like (to pick a name totally at random) Steve Wickersham, someone he could then beat the living shit out of. That would cheer him up immensely.