Point of Crisis (17 page)

The second channel, “Patriot Five Charlie,” was a blind-response link to the battalion’s broadcast ROTAC net, giving Harrison’s people the capability to carry on conversations over the battalion’s primary tactical ROTAC channel, but not listen to exchanges initiated outside of Patriot Five Charlie. They would use this radio net to report intelligence or request assistance when required. The ROTAC in the armored vehicle following them was directly monitoring both channels. He selected Patriot Five Bravo and pressed “lock,” waiting a few seconds before speaking, like he was instructed.

“Guardian One-Zero, I need to make a quick stop at a church up on our right to talk with state police investigators.”

“Roger. Do you want us to proceed to the checkpoint?”

“Negative. We should probably show our faces together until I get you settled in with my folks.”

“Copy. We’ll stay right behind you.”

The trees opened, exposing a weather-beaten, single-steeple church. A stark white van marked “MOBILE CRIME LAB” sat next to a dilapidated gazebo behind the neglected structure. Parked cars with cracked and shattered windows appeared beyond the church. Something had happened here
.

“This is it.”

Gene took the turn carefully, easing the sedan over a partially exposed corrugated steel drainage pipe and onto a long gravel driveway. He had no idea when the police arrived at the site, since he had purposely avoided Foxes Ridge Road until Alex procured an official military escort. If Alex wasn’t exaggerating about what had transpired here, he didn’t think the state investigators would be too keen on having armed militia show up unannounced, especially with dead militia strewn about the scene.

“What do you think they found?” asked Gene.

“I don’t know for sure. Captain Fletcher reported finding Eli Russell’s people out here the day after the event. Claims they were stealing cars and executing the occupants in the woods. Jimmy’s crew was supposedly running the show. I had Dave Littner get one of the troopers to take a look. Looks like they found something.”

Gene grimaced and shook his head slowly. Harrison knew what he was thinking. Gene had been in the brigade long enough to know that Eli’s brother had formed a group within the Maine Liberty Militia. The stories circulated over whispers and shifty glances at the shit-ball taverns and out-of-the-way cocktail lounges in York County. Dark stories about initiation ceremonies, disappearances, murders…worse. Stuff you wanted to immediately “unhear,” because you never knew who was playing pool or sipping from a pitcher a few stools over. He hoped the news was true. The world was a better place without Jimmy, or
any
of the Russells.

“How does Captain Fletcher know Jimmy was involved?”

“Eli staged an attack on Captain Fletcher’s house in Limerick, nearly killing his family. Retribution for what happened here. He didn’t say, but I get the impression that they captured some of Eli’s men.”

McCall gave him a doubtful look.

“Have you verified that he was attacked?”

“I didn’t ask to see his house, if that’s what you mean. He had details about Eli Russell that aren’t public knowledge.”

“From what you’ve told me, Homeland appears to have cornered the market on information that isn’t public knowledge. Just saying. He seems to be on the up and up, but you never know, especially now.”

“I know. It’s something to keep a sharp eye on. Looks like we’ve attracted some attention,” said Harrison, nodding toward the crime scene van.

A trooper holding a shotgun at port arms approached their car, motioning for them to stop. He didn’t look happy to see them. Neither did the crime scene team standing outside of the doorway to the church’s one-story annex. Dressed in navy blue coveralls, gray booties, and elbow-length gloves, the group comprised of two men and a woman glared at them as they edged up to the yellow crime scene tape barrier. Harrison grabbed the radio again.

“Guardian One-Zero, I might need an assist on this one.”

“I was wondering. On my way over,” Staff Sergeant Taylor said, and the front passenger door of the Matvee swung open.

“Keep your hands where that trooper can see them,” said Harrison, studying the parking lot scene.

Something definitely happened here.

He counted nine cars parked against the white building, all with out-of-state license plates. All of them appeared undamaged, with the notable exception of the vehicle closest to the building’s entrance. The shiny black SUV showed clear evidence of a sustained shootout. All of the windows were shattered, littering the worn asphalt with hundreds of light blue safety glass particles. Small holes circled by chipped paint peppered the driver’s side doors and rear cargo area panels, leading to the rear left tire, which sagged into the pavement. A faint red stain traced down the siding panels located directly in front of the vehicle, extending below the hood. He didn’t see any bodies, shell casings or markings in the parking lot.

“I need you to back your car up immediately. This is still an active crime scene,” said the trooper.

“We’re the ones that called this in. York County Readiness Brigade,” said Harrison, keeping his hands plainly visible on the dashboard.

“Doesn’t matter. I need you out of here.”

“We’re operating with 1
^st
Battalion, 25
^th
Marines based out of Sanford Airport.”

Staff Sergeant Taylor jumped down from the vehicle and called out to the trooper over the hood of the Matvee. “Officer, they’re with me. They just have a few questions for your investigators,” he said, squeezing between the two vehicles. “Staff Sergeant Taylor. I’m part of the Recovery Zone security battalion.”

“The what?” asked the trooper, still keeping most of his attention directed toward the sedan.

“Internal security for southern Maine. Any way we could get a word with your crime scene team?”

“Hold on,” he said and waved the team over.

“Do you mind if Mr. Campbell and Mr. McCall get out of their vehicle?” said Taylor.

The trooper hesitated for a moment before answering. “Sure. I don’t suppose that’s a problem. Keep any weapons in the car.”

Harrison didn’t feel like getting into a Maine firearms law discussion with the young trooper, so he nodded, placing his pistol on the dashboard. He had Gene do the same, under the watchful eye of the nervous trooper. The three officers ducked under the yellow tape and joined them in front of Campbell’s car.

“Harrison Campbell. York County Readiness Brigade,” he said, nodding a greeting. “I received the initial report about this place and had one of my people call it in. Looks like something big went down here.”

“Detective Jane Berry. Maine State Evidence Response Team,” the woman said. “We can’t share any information with the public at this time. You shouldn’t even be here.” She turned to the trooper. “We need to barricade the driveway closer to the road.”

Before anyone responded, Staff Sergeant Taylor stepped forward. “Detective, Mr. Campbell and members of his unit are working on behalf of the Regional Recovery Zone security team. We’re hoping to uncover any patterns or tactics that might assist with our security mission.”

“Doesn’t matter, Staff Sergeant. I was told to report directly to my boss in Augusta on this one. Plus, I don’t know a thing about this…Recovery Zone?” said Berry.

“What about the bridge at Milton Mills?” Harrison asked.

“We retrieved the bodies yesterday afternoon. Your people had already contaminated the crime scene beyond the point of investigation.”

“My people didn’t touch the bodies,” said Harrison.

“The bodies didn’t stack themselves,” Berry muttered. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. We’re in cleanup mode here. We’ll be gone in a few hours, but the area will remain off limits, and I expect you to observe that. Someone from the state police will be in touch to take statements.”

“Thank you for your time, Detective. Based on what I heard, this couldn’t have been an easy scene to process, on any level,” said Harrison.

She stared at him with a neutral expression. “Who exactly reported this to you?”

“One of the RRZ internal security officers,” said Harrison, keeping the title as vague as possible.

“Where can I find this unnamed security officer?”

“Ma’am, if you have a card, I’ll pass it along to him,” said Staff Sergeant Taylor.

“You’re really not going to give me that information?”

“That’s correct, ma’am. He’ll either contact you, or you can report to the RRZ’s Main Operating Base at Sanford Seacoast Airport and place a request in person with a representative from 1
^st
Battalion, 25
^th
Marines. They’ll pass the request along. We should head to the bridge, gentlemen.”

Detective Berry bristled at his rebuff, placing her hands on her hips and tightening her jaw. “Maybe I should contact Augusta and request that the entire bridge area be designated a crime scene.”

“We both have better things to do than step on each other’s toes,” said Taylor.

“I don’t think you have the authority to step on my toes, Staff Sergeant.”

Harrison was interested in Taylor’s reaction to her challenge. It would tell him a lot about the future of their collaboration with the Marines. If he threatened her with his authority, he’d be concerned.

“Honestly, ma’am, the command and control situation is a little nebulous right now, so I have no idea whether I have the authority to step on your toes. I’m not a big fan of toe stomping anyway.”

Taylor passed Campbell’s litmus test, which hadn’t altogether surprised him. Like Staff Sergeant Evans, Taylor came across as a thoughtfully sharp, independent decision maker. Somewhat surprisingly, all of the Marines he’d encountered during the course of the day had defied the rowdy, impulsive jarhead stereotype. They carried themselves as restrained, competent professionals, giving him a little more confidence in his decision to assist the Marines with their security function. Taylor’s response to the detective had been perfect.

“Neither am I. Like you said. Better things to do,” she said, removing a business card from her pocket. “I’d appreciate a chance to talk to your security officer. I’ve never seen anything like this before. And I never want to see it again.”

“I’m guessing none of us do,” said Taylor.

Harrison was about to reinforce Taylor’s sentiment when a deep, rhythmic thumping filled the air, intensifying rapidly. They all started to search the sky for the source of the sound.

“Blackhawks. Really close,” said Taylor. “Probably the lead elements of the 10
^th
Mountain Division.”

“How many can we expect?” yelled Detective Berry.

“Helicopters?”

“No. Soldiers!”

“Several thousand, but you didn’t hear that from me!” said Taylor. “Not that it’s going to be a secret for very long.”

A UH-60 Blackhawk raced over the treetops behind the church, blowing a wall of dead leaves, grass and dust through the parking lot. The roar crescendoed as a second Black Hawk appeared at the eastern end of the church clearing, passing directly overhead and bathing them in debris. A few moments later, another thundered over the church. Within seconds the thumping started to abate, drifting east toward Sanford.

“I hope you were done,” said Harrison.

“I get the feeling it doesn’t matter,” said Detective Berry, staring east. “Are they all going to Sanford Airport?”

“Be glad you’re stationed up north. It’s about to get really crowded down here,” said Taylor.

Chapter 15

EVENT +9 Days

Milton Mills Crossing

Acton, Maine

The road straightened in front of Harrison’s sedan, giving way to a long stretch of white picket fence next to the road. A yellow house sat at the back of a sparse green lawn, overrun with patches of dead crabgrass. Two figures stood in the shadows on the farmer’s porch. The Boyds
.
A few days ago, he’d knocked on their door to let them know that the militia unit at the bridge was friendly. Without a doubt, the Boyds had heard the gunfire that left Jimmy Russell rotting in the sun. Curtis Boyd had smiled nervously through his partially opened front door, obviously eager to close it again.

He didn’t blame Mr. Boyd. Strange men with guns almost always spelled trouble, regardless of their intentions.
Harrison was well aware of this perception, which was why he’d shifted the brigade’s focus away from its previously unhealthy fixation on guns. Guns and the citizens’ 2
^nd
Amendment right to bear arms would always occupy a fundamental role in the brigade’s mission; they just wouldn’t be the “face” of his militia. The York County Readiness Brigade’s primary mission was to support the citizens. If that mission required firearms, so be it.

The couple vanished through the front door, likely responding to the second vehicle in their small convoy. Nobody was happy to see military vehicles.

“We have a problem,” stated Gene, slowing the car.

Harrison turned his attention back to the road. The stop sign at the intersection of Foxes Ridge Road and French Street caught his eye first, followed immediately by four soldiers in full combat body armor and protective helmets standing next to it. The soldiers kept their weapons trained on the sedan as Gene stopped more than fifty feet from the intersection. One of the men clad in Universal Camouflage Pattern ACUs beckoned them forward with one hand, letting his rifle hang from its sling. Harrison quit holding his breath when the entire fire team lowered their weapons. He twitched when Staff Sergeant Taylor’s voice broadcast over the ROTAC.

“I’m going to pull alongside you, Mr. Campbell. Looks like 3
^rd
Brigade Combat Team dropped us a gift.”

“Feel free to pull in front of me.”

Two of the soldiers jogged toward the sedan as Taylor’s Matvee pulled forward. Harrison remained in his seat, waiting for the staff sergeant to fully defuse the situation. Under a tree next to the bridge, a tight cluster of militia members lay face down with their hands laced over the backs of their heads. Two soldiers stood watch over them, pointing their rifles at the group.