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"I appreciate that, Howard.  As soon as he's ready to move, we’ll be on our way."

**********

For three days, what was left of Captain Butler's unit stayed on the compound.  They set up a makeshift command post in the guesthouse, and the men set up camp in the field north of the main residence.  Captain Butler was insistent that his men respect Howard's privacy.  No one was allowed to enter the main residence with the exception of Staff Sergeant Willis and his medics.  Every evening Howard invited Captain Butler and First Sergeant Bankhead to dine with him.  Howard had a hard time making friends; in fact, he preferred not to since he considered most people to be insufferable.  Once Howard took a liking to someone, he was a fierce and loyal friend.  Captain Butler was an exceptional officer and very intelligent.  Howard enjoyed his company and looked forward to having dinner with him.  When things calmed down, he was going to discuss Captain Butler's career with President Powers.

Two days after they arrived, Lieutenant Christopher finally regained consciousness.  Staff Sergeant Willis continued to monitor his progress and informed Captain Butler that by the end of the week, his XO would be back on his feet.  Captain Butler was anxiously awaiting his departure from the estate so he could get back in the fight.  He had been spending many long hours speaking with command.  The Unified National Guard was coordinating a counter-attack to take back Denver from the rebels.  Troops were arriving every day.  Captain Butler had set up a base camp in the field directly in front of Beck Estates.  His original plan was to set up camp a few miles outside of Denver but the brass had other ideas. Captain Butler had no intention of asking Howard to allow more troops to enter his property.  He was grateful for Howard's hospitality and wouldn't dare impose any more than he already had.  By the end of the week he would be in command of three regiments, and the Battle of Denver would commence.  Captain Butler realized that a full bird Colonel should be in charge of the forces under his command and recognized the full weight of the responsibility he had been given.

On the fourth day of their stay, Captain Butler was sitting in the guesthouse with his First Sergeant when he received a message on his iPad from command.  He read it twice and passed it over to his top NCO.

"Are they serious?"

"Looks that way, Top."

"Let's go tell Howard."

Hal had of course been monitoring the entire conversation.  He was unable to intercept any incoming or outgoing messages from Captain Butler's command post since one of his siblings was sending the communication.  Hal could tell that the two men were going to be delivering bad news to Howard.

Howard Beck was sitting his library reading Orwell's
1984
for at least the tenth time and watching
The Wrath of Khan
for at least the hundredth.  The movie filled the holographic screen in front of Howard.  The bridge of the
Enterprise
was in front of him, and Captain Kirk was getting his ass handed to him by his nemesis.

"Excuse me, sir?" 

"What is it, Old Man?"

"Captain Butler and First Sergeant Bankhead are on their way to see you."

Howard didn’t look up from his book.  "What for?"

"I'm not sure, sir.  Captain Butler received communication from his superiors.  They left the guest house and are walking up the path to the residence."

"Thank you, Hal.  Direct them to the library."

"Very good, sir."

The two soldiers entered the residence, and Hal dispatched one of his robots to serve as butler.  The robot escorted the two men through a maze of corridors to the library.

"That thing gives me the creeps," said First Sergeant Bankhead.

"I think it's pretty cool.  Top, you act like you've never seen a robot before."

"Not in someone's house, I haven't."

The robot stopped in front of the double doors to the library and opened them to allow the men inside.

"Jesus Christ!"  First Sergeant Bankhead was looking at a gigantic spaceship being ripped apart by torpedoes.

Howard was laughing hysterically.  "Hal, pause playback!  You know better than that!"

The
Enterprise
was suspended a few feet off the floor, one of her nacelles ripped apart by Khan from aboard his hijacked vessel.  The damaged nacelle was hurtling towards the two men in the doorway when the movie was paused.  First Sergeant Bankhead leapt out of the way and was crouching by the wall.

Howard tried to stop laughing but couldn't.  The crusty NCO was not in the least bit amused.  Howard finally regained his composure.  "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please come in and make yourselves comfortable.  I apologize for frightening you.  Hal usually pauses the movie when someone enters the room."

Actually, Howard had instructed Hal to do no such thing.  He purposely set up the gag and timed it perfectly so the space battle would be in all its glory when the door was opened.

"Shame on you, Hal!  Bad computer!"

"Gentlemen, my sincere apologies."

"Jackson, to what do I owe the pleasure?  Please have a seat. Can I get either of you a drink?"

"Howard, it’s two o'clock in the afternoon," Captain Butler said, smiling.

"I have a glass of wine two hours after every meal."  Howard had repeated this routine like clockwork for over thirty years.

"No thank you.  We're fine."

"Suit yourself."  The three men sat down.  Howard sat in a very old and ugly recliner that starkly contrasted everything in the room.  The two soldiers sat on the couch opposite him.

"Well, Howard, I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind."

"Go right ahead."

"I'm sure Hal has kept you up to speed regarding all of the movement outside your front gate."

"Yes, he has."

"I wanted to fill you in on exactly what’s going to happen."

"I'm all ears."

"By the end of the week three regiments will be under my command.  Once we’re battle ready, we are going to take back Denver from the rebels."

"I can't wait.  Should be exciting."

"I was wondering, exactly how big is your estate?"

"A thousand acres." 

"Would you be so kind as to show me a map of your property?"

"Of course.  Hal?"

The
Enterprise
and her torn nacelle vanished from the screen and a holographic map of Beck Estates took its place.  The main residence could be seen along with the guest house, private airstrip, golf course, garage, and stables.

"Holy smokes! You own all of that?  We've barely seen a fraction of it.  I must say, Howard, I can't picture you on a horse."  Captain Butler looked at First Sergeant Bankhead and they exchanged chuckles.

"Well Captain, you are most definitely right.  I'm not an animal person by any stretch of the imagination.  The stable belongs to my wife."

"Wife?  I had no idea you were married, Howard!  Will we get a chance to meet Mrs. Beck?"

"Regretfully, no.  She is away tending to something important."

"Shame.  I would like to meet her.  Who on earth takes care of your horses?"

"Hal."

"Of course.  I should have known.  I take it he also takes care of that grumpy cat over there?"

"Yes.  I can't stand that animal.  My wife's cat, Nala, is more Hal's pet than mine.

"She is a good kitty, sir.” Hal’s reply elicited laughter from all three men.

"OK, back to the matter at hand.  The reason I'm asking about your property is that I have a request."

"And what would that be, exactly?"  Howard's demeanor changed immediately.

"Well, I would like to move my forces into the compo..."

"Absolutely not.  Your soldiers are just fine where they are."

"Howard, please let me finish.  There have been security concerns addressed at the command level.  I gave them the impression that we were already inside the compound.  I wanted to respect your privacy and keep the promise I made to you when I arrived.  I've been able to keep my bosses in the dark until today.  Once they knew the bulk of my forces were outside the front gate they were not happy."

"Well, your bosses are not going to be happy at all.  When Lieutenant Christopher is on his feet, I want all of you out.  You're welcome to stay outside the front gate and the standing dinner invitation to the both of you will remain the same."

"Howard, I have bad news.  I had hoped that by asking you personally we could come to an understanding and everyone would be happy.  I have my orders.  Please reconsider and let's not make this any harder than it needs to..."

"No!  You need to understand one thing, Captain!  This is
MY
house, and I decide what goes on inside these walls!  When I speak with the president you will understand exactly who in the hell you are dealing with!"

"Mr. Beck, I'm sorry that it has come to this.  The order comes directly from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff with the approval of the president himself."

"The hell it does!  You are looking at the man who put Malcolm Powers in office, and you’re either lying to me or you’re being lied to!" Howard’s face flushed scarlet in his fury, his eyes full of rage. He jumped out of his chair and kicked over a table.  Papers and some of the rarest first edition books on the planet went flying across the room.   "Get the hell out of my house!   NOW!"

"Howard Beck, by order of the president of the United States, I hereby seize your property, and you will be confined to your suite under armed guard."

"I'd like to see you try, you stupid grunt!  Old Man! Lock down the estate, deny everyone but me access to your systems and deploy security measures immed..."

Captain Butler drew his sidearm, leveled it at Howard's head and pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Former Master Chief Petty Officer Richard Dupree was lying in his bunk in his private cell in the basement of the Winchester County Courthouse. He was thinking about the pedophile he had murdered. He didn't want to think about the monster but couldn't get the image of the man's face out of his head. The State of California knew that Richard had been highly trained in escape and evasion tactics and didn’t want to run the risk of him getting loose. They were right to be wary; Richard had no intention of attending his trial. A guard had been stationed in front of his cell twenty-four hours a day for the previous six months. At first it was just a guard getting paid overtime for sitting there in a folding chair with a clipboard. Within a month, a desk was moved in along with a comfortable office chair, a telephone, and a computer with limited Internet access.

The duty post had even been added to the weekly roster, thanks to a non-critical post being shuffled so a guard could keep watch over Richard. Every guard that worked at the Winchester County Sheriff’s Office was dying to spend a week with Richard. They all considered him to be a hardcore badass and a hero for murdering the disgusting abomination that was rotting in hell.

The former SEAL wondered why they didn’t just move him to a state facility that was far more secure than the rundown shithole in which he was currently housed. He spent a great deal of his overwhelming amount of free time thinking about this mystery. Richard finally figured out that the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation knew that he would be their problem soon enough and saw no rush to roll out the red carpet for Mr. Dupree. Richard was, in fact, correct and hoped his captors wouldn’t realize their mistake until it was too late and he was safely in Canada under an assumed identity he’d created for himself shortly after he became an operator. He loved his country and was a dedicated soldier, but he was not naïve enough to believe that his country wouldn’t disavow him should he be caught in a compromising situation that would cause an international incident.

His trial date kept getting pushed back further and further, thanks to his lawyer. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass what his lawyer did as long as he remained right where he was, and his best chance of escape was within reach. The only thing Richard was the least bit interested in hearing about was information about the monster he had killed. Who was Oswald Jefferson? How many other children had he abused? Are the children okay? Richard didn’t need any further justification for killing a pedophile, or killing anyone for that matter; killing the filth of humanity was how he had earned his living. He was simply concerned for the victims, especially his own children.

Oswald Jefferson had been a highly respected deacon at the Winchester Street Baptist Church. His father had helped found the church. His mother brought an infant Oswald to the very room in which he was murdered. He grew up in the church, was married there, and even watched his two children being baptized there many years ago. Detectives estimated that Oswald began acting on his perversion in his late twenties. By his mid-thirties, children would play naked in front of him while he pleasured himself, an art he was proud of until the day Richard did the world a favor and ended his life. No one had suspected him at all. He always ensured that the children he watched were under the age of three, far too young to understand shame and not possessing the vocabulary to explain to their parents what had been going on. From time to time children did try to explain and were unsuccessful in properly conveying what “special worship” meant. The ones who did garner some understanding left their parents confused. They would reluctantly approach Oswald and ask him about it, not wanting to offend him. He would place his hand on their shoulder, calm their nervousness with a smile and make up some excuse about a diaper changing gone awry that resulted in a giggling child running about the room. Oswald then simply excluded the children who told their parents about his “special worship” to throw off any suspicion.

Lolita Jefferson was never a stumbling block to her husband’s indiscretions. Many thought the woman to be mentally handicapped. This only endeared the congregation to Oswald even more. They were so proud that he could show that poor girl a good life and take care of her. It was obvious to the investigators why Oswald had married her. She was not intelligent enough to realize her husband was a pedophile, and he could control her with little effort. On the day of his murder, Oswald simply told his wife to go wait in the car and not come back inside until he came to get her. He told her that to pass the time she should pray to Jesus and petition Him to make her normal. Rather than explain to his wife what the word “petition” meant, he simply used an easier word and again told her to go the car and wait for him. His wife dutifully obeyed.

Starting about a year before his death, Oswald became more confident in his tactics and began including older boys and girls whom he thought would keep their mouths shut. He would frighten and intimidate them into silence; he knew he could do it. Once he found out how easy it was, he regretted that he hadn’t done it sooner. Richard faced an intense struggle with the knowledge that his son had been abused by this monster. His lawyer never dared tell him how often it had occurred, and Richard couldn’t bear to ask. He couldn’t very well kill the same monster twice.

Besides, Richard had his wayward wife to deal with. Monique was, in fact, cheating on Richard like he suspected. She married Bryan and within a year, Richard’s daughter was calling Bryan her “Daddy.” Richard’s sweet little princess would soon forget him. Monique had erased every trace of their marriage, every picture, every home movie. It was like Richard had never existed. Monique could have continued this charade, had it not been for their son. Bryan didn’t sign up for this kind of baggage; he looked at Richard’s damaged son and all he could think about was the gruesome murder that had occurred only months before their wedding. Bryan filed for divorce a few years later and never had contact with Monique or her children again.

His lawyer first tried to have Richard declared incompetent to stand trial based on the fact that he was insane. This went on for weeks and eventually failed. His lawyer then argued that Richard should be tried in a military court of law since he was wearing his Class A uniform when he committed the murder. Richard knew this plan was ridiculous and wouldn’t last long. To his surprise, the tactic worked twice as long as Richard thought it would. Next they tried a change of venue to a federal court since Oswald Jefferson was a disabled black man and Richard had committed a hate crime. Richard could never figure out if the hate crime due to Oswald being black, disabled, or both. The prosecutor representing the State of California looked up in utter confusion as the motion was made and asked if defense counsel was trying to help him convict his client of a completely new and unrelated charge. The judge was starting to get impatient, and Richard knew he didn’t have much time left before he must execute his plan.

Richard originally thought his best chance of escape was when they moved him from his cell to the courtroom four floors above. Each time he left his cell, four guards armed with tasers escorted him to a holding room to be placed in restraints. Two of the men pointed tasers at Richard while the other two placed him in chains. On one of his first trips out of his cell, one of the guards pointing a taser at Richard got scared when Richard sneezed and launched the two barbs into Richard’s left pectoral muscle, shocking him with fifty thousand volts. Richard’s lawyer had a field day with this and protested for a better part of a week that his client was being treated inhumanely and should not have to suffer such indignity based on his distinguished military career and being a loving father… blah, blah, blah. Richard knew it was a waste of time but welcomed the delay. Richard assumed that the leg irons he was forced to wear were a few links too short because it took him an eternity to make the trip to his seat in the stuffy, cramped courtroom. Next they placed a belly chain around his waist, fed the excess length back through a loop and padlocked the end of the chain to the small of his back. With each wrist cuffed snugly against his hips, Richard would not have been able to free himself from the painful bondage even if someone had placed the keys in his hands.

Richard knew he would have to find a way to get the guards to pull him from the cell in a hurry, ignoring critical security precautions in the process. During his third month of confinement, Richard decided to stick with the tried and true ‘Get a doctor, quick, I’m having a heart attack and need an ambulance’ escape trick. He had hoped that the lame attempt would garner some result. It did not. No one was willing to open the door to his cell unless four guards with tasers were standing right outside. Richard thought with some amusement that he could indeed die in his cell before he received emergency medical treatment.

Richard realized that he would have to take much more extreme measures. With careful thought and planning, Richard knew exactly how he was going to escape. The first phase of his plan was to break down and weep for hours on end. This part was the easiest; all he had to do was focus on the image of his trembling son sobbing in the corner and the tears flowed. The second phase of his plan required at least a week. He would need to ration small portions of his meals and hide them in his cell. When he left to go the courtroom, the guards searched his cell and didn’t really mind the extra food. No harm in letting him eat. Phase three of the plan was the most difficult. He waited until the Friday before his trial was to begin and spent the day carefully reviewing each step of his escape in meticulous detail. He would wait until 3AM on Saturday morning to execute his plot; the courthouse would be empty on a Saturday, so the building would be operating on a skeleton crew.

Friday after dinner, Richard laid in his bunk facing the wall and ate the extra food he had been squirreling away for a week. He would need his strength. At 10pm when the guards changed shifts and spent ten or fifteen minutes shooting the breeze, Richard began to tear his white t-shirt into long strips. Once that was done, he did the same thing with his bed sheet. It was pushing eighty-five degrees in the hot basement so Richard never used the sheet anyway, and the guards wouldn’t notice that it was damaged. By the time he was finished, the previous guard had left and Deputy Clements was checking his email.

At 3am, Richard rolled over and watched the guard for a full five minutes to make sure he was fast asleep. His mouth gaped wide and spittle trickled down his chin. Richard even whispered the deputy’s name. Out like a light. He quietly sat up in his bunk and placed one of the strips of bed sheet around his neck. He rubbed the torn strip of fabric vigorously back and forth around his neck, causing a serious friction burn. He didn’t stop until the skin began to slough away and he felt blood trickling down his neck. Richard stood, checked on the guard and walked over to the sink. He looked into the mirror and saw his reflection. The mirror was not made of glass, but rather highly polished, thin metal that bore a reflection. Richard had thought about using the metal somehow but gave up on the idea when he realized he couldn’t get the metal sheet loose enough without making a lot of noise. Richard tightened the noose around his neck and pulled as hard as he could. His face turned three different shades of red and he stopped once he saw the blood vessels in his eyes begin to rupture, causing red flecks of blood to litter the whites of his eyes. Richard grabbed the sink so he wouldn’t pass out. He slowly took two steps back and sat on his bunk facing the back of the cell. He did not rise again until he was no longer dizzy and the room had stopped spinning.

Richard quickly tied the strips of cloth together and made a rope. He then grabbed his sock and filled it with wet toilet paper, giving it weight. Once he had tied the sock to the end of the rope he very carefully swung the rope up and over the beams twelve feet above. Richard carefully measured the rope and did a few calculations in his head to ensure the rope wouldn’t break or stretch under his weight bringing him back down to the floor. He tied the end of the rope to his bunk and grabbed the noose with his right hand. Richard then moved to the stage of the plan he looked forward to the least. Richard stood with his back to the wall and defecated into his boxers. Feces ran down the back of his leg and hit the floor. With his bowels empty, he began to urinate, soaking the front of his boxers and causing the urine to drip onto the floor, mixing with the feces at his feet. He knew he had only seconds before the stench might awaken the guard. He stood on his bunk, slipped the noose around his neck and jumped. He made sure to kick the top of his sink when he swung over to it. He managed to knock down a tall stack of legal papers upon which every single thing not nailed down in the cell was resting. The tower of paperwork fell like dominoes into a row of styrofoam cups filled with water and trash. If his guard was a heavy sleeper, he would be dead in a matter of minutes; he had no way to get himself free from the rope dangling from the beams above him. His life was now literally in the hands of the man sleeping three feet away from him. If he didn’t wake up and manage to get Richard down, he would begin to suffer brain damage in four minutes time and after that, death would come for him. Richard was ready for death and welcomed it; either way he would win.

**********

Deputy Beauford Clements had no idea that he was asleep. He usually drifted off and woke when the lights came on at 5am in the basement of the Winchester County Courthouse. Once the lights came on, Beauford had an hour before his shift ended. He had just enough time to rub the sleep off his face and drink a few cups of coffee from his thermos before he went home. It was the perfect arrangement, to Beauford it was like a vacation. He could go home and spend the day playing with his dogs, only needing a short nap in the afternoon to energize him for the rest of the day. He almost felt guilty drawing a paycheck from the good citizens of Winchester County. Beauford was reaching retirement age and had the most seniority of all the other deputies. When the SEAL had been given his own private guard on a permanent basis, Beauford knew a good thing when he saw it and jumped at the opportunity. The guy living in the cramped cell was actually quite interesting. Beauford had gotten to know the man quite well. For weeks he talked with the prisoner for hours on end before he settled in to get a few hours of sleep. That had changed recently, however, and the guy hadn’t spoken a word to him in days. Instead, he cried like a baby in his bed, calling out his son’s name. Beauford had to stop himself from crying as well; he hated to see his friend in so much pain. Poor guy. When Richard first arrived at the small prison, the stories he told were like something out of a Vince Flynn novel. If Beauford had possessed a talent for writing, he could easily write a best-selling novel. However, Beauford could barely pencil whip his logbook without it being chock full of mistakes, so his aspirations of becoming a famous novelist would never come to pass.