The Sword of God - John Milton #5 (John Milton Thrillers) (17 page)

Milton brought them out of the wilderness at the same point where they had started, the tall field of corn swaying angrily in the strong, wet wind. They marched in single file through the gap between the crops, thunder rumbling overhead.

Ellie’s Escalade was where they had left it.

“We won’t get them all in the car,” she said.

“Me and Arty could go into town and get the sheriff?” Mallory said.

Milton shook his head. “I’d rather we stay together until it’s done. We might as well just keep walking.”

He stayed at the back of the formation as they finally trekked back into Truth. He was tired, and his feet were sore, but he was used to feeling like that, and in a perverse sort of way, it was reassuring.

They crossed the railroad track and entered the outskirts of town. The weather was awful, but there were plenty of people around. Milton had told Mallory to lead them to the Sheriff’s Office along the quietest route possible, but even so, they had to pass along the main street for a stretch. Johnny’s Bar was busy, and after they were seen approaching by a customer who was outside smoking a cigarette, the bar emptied out, and the drinkers gaped as they walked by.

Milton had known that this would be the most difficult part of the journey. The four fugitives were well known from their mugshots, and it didn’t take long for a small crowd to gather, following just a few steps behind them. Some of the crowd had joined from the bar, and some of those were drunk. Ellie dropped back so that she could speak to him without being overheard.

She looked anxious. “I don’t like this.”

Milton looked back at the crowd. “Neither do I.”

“Some of the people we spoke to up here, they saw those boys as modern-day Robin Hoods. Taking from the rich, giving to the poor, all that nonsense. They don’t seem to remember that guard they shot and killed, the family he left behind.”

“Doesn’t fit in with the story,” Milton said.

“Hey,” someone shouted out. “You let them boys go. They ain’t done nothing wrong.”

“Who deputised you?” another called. “That ain’t right, marching them in like that.”

Milton felt an itchy sensation between his shoulder blades. He tightened his grip on the shotgun.

“It’s not far,” Ellie said. “Five more minutes.”

“We’ll be okay.”

They had turned off Main Street when Milton saw Lester Grogan running towards them. He had a rifle clasped in both hands, the gun swinging left and right and bouncing up and down as he pumped his legs. His cuffs jangled on his belt. He slowed to a walk as he approached, his mouth dropping open.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

Mallory spoke first. “I told you,” she said with a faint hint of accusation. “I told you they were up there with my brother.”

“You did,” he said. “Looks like I owe you an apology. Where were they?”

“The old mine up by the Lake of the Clouds.”

“Jesus,” he breathed out. “How…?”

“Can we get them in a cell, please, Sheriff?” Ellie said. “I’d feel much better with them locked up.”

Lester nodded. “All right, folks,” he called out to the crowd. “There’s nothing to see here. Go about your business.”

“Come on, Lester. That ain’t right, bringing them in like that. Man’s innocent until he’s proved guilty, ain’t that right?”

Lester looked over at the speaker, a big man in a check shirt, and nodded his agreement. “That’s right, Morris, and these boys haven’t been convicted of anything yet. That’s a matter for the FBI now.”

“Sheriff?” Ellie pressed.

The sheriff rested his rifle against his shoulder and pointed down the road. “Let’s get going.”

LESTER UNLOCKED the door at the back of the Sheriff’s Office and went inside. Milton waited in the yard, the shotgun aimed ahead, his finger settled loosely around the trigger. Callow, Chandler, Sellar, and Sturgess followed the sheriff inside. The crowd had disbanded a little, but there were still a handful of hotheads who had followed them, and Milton was pleased to go into the building himself. He shut and locked the door behind him.

Lester looked at him with an expression that said he wanted to know everything that had happened, but knew that his questions would have to wait. He opened the door to the corridor and went inside, leading the way down into the basement and the single cell. The four men followed him down, Ellie bringing up the rear.

Mallory waited. She still held her brother’s hand.

“Are you all right?” Milton asked her.

“Yes,” she said. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m happy to help.”

“You were the only person who listened to me.”

“You caught me in a good mood.” He nodded down in the direction of the basement. “I’d had a good night’s sleep in there. I’m not normally so friendly.”

She looked up at him and smiled. Happiness seemed to be a rare emotion for her, and he was pleased to see it.

“I’m going to get a taxi and take Arty home,” she said. “It’s been a long day. It’s been longer for him, being stuck up there, and he’s tired. I’m tired. Is that all right, do you think?”

“Yes,” he said. “I expect so. Ellie will want to speak to you, though. And Arty, too.”

“That’s fine.”

“Where can she find you?”

There was a stack of flyers on the shelf next to Mallory. She licked her finger and separated one from the pile, took a pen from the desk, and wrote her address down. “We’ve got an RV,” she explained. “There’s a trailer park west of town, you drive through there and we’re right out back, next to the woods.”

“I’m sure she’ll find it.”

She paused there awkwardly for a long moment.

Milton put his hand on her arm, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mallory. Get a good night’s sleep.”

She smiled at him again, the bobbing of her larynx betraying the fact that her throat was choked with emotion. Milton went across to open the door so that they could get outside. The crowd had gone, the show over for the day. Milton watched as they stepped through the yard and walked to the town’s only taxi office. He shut and locked the door and went downstairs.

Lester had unlocked the door to the cell and stood aside as the four men filed through.

“It’s going to be a little squashed,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

Callow was the last one in. He paused at the door and turned back. He ignored Lester and looked straight across the room to Milton. “You just made the biggest mistake in your life,” he goaded. “You’re going to pay for it in full, you’ll see. All of you, you’re all going to pay.”

“That’s enough, son,” Lester said, putting his hand on the young man’s shoulder and gently pushing him inside.

“You know your scripture, Milton?”

Milton turned his back.

“Let’s leave these boys to stew,” Lester said, ushering Milton out.

“‘If you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain.’”
Lester shut the door, but Callow raised his voice, shouting the words so that they were still audible.
“‘For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.’”

“You’ve got more patience than me,” Lester said. “If he kept talking like that long enough, I would’ve knocked some sense into him before we were halfway home.”

Milton frowned. For all Callow’s bluster, there was something about him now that he hadn’t noticed before. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but he knew it was important.

Lester locked the door, pocketed the key, and indicated the stairs back up to the ground floor. “Let’s go,” he said. “You’ve got a story to tell, and I’m practically dying to hear it.”

LESTER BOILED the kettle and made coffee for Milton, Ellie, and himself. They took their mugs into his office and sat down. He reached up to his shelf and took down a bottle of whisky that Milton hadn’t noticed there. He brought it around the desk to where they were sitting.

“Want a little something extra?” he asked.

Milton held his hand over the mug. “Not for me.”

“You sure? Something to warm you up?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

He shrugged. “What about you?” he said to Ellie. “You going to join me for a pick-me-up?”

She held her mug up for him. “If you insist.”

Lester poured a generous measure and then poured another into his own mug. Milton looked away and tried to ignore the sharp, acrid smell of the alcohol.

“You want to tell me what happened up there?”

“We brought them in,” Milton said. “Not much more to say.”

“Two of you, four of them. How’d that play out?”

“They were a little lazy. They weren’t expecting us.”

“They were just camping out?”

“That’s right.”

“Come on, Milton. Throw me a bone. How’d it go down?”

Milton told the story quickly and efficiently. He had no interest in the limelight. Ellie filled in the gaps.

Lester leaned back in his chair and rested his boots on the desk. He looked at Ellie and nodded in Milton’s direction. “He ever tell you what he used to do back before whatever it is he’s doing these days, all the wandering and shit?”

“Vaguely. He’s very coy about it.”

“SAS,” he said with an appreciative nod. “Special Air Service. I served with those boys before, when I was in the service myself. Hard as nails.”

“That was a long time ago,” Milton said, waving it off. “Another lifetime.”

“You don’t forget it, though, do you? Those lessons are for a lifetime.”

“Evidently,” Ellie said.

Milton took off his wet jacket and hooked it over the back of the chair.

Lester shook his head. “Four young men like that, barely more than boys. What a waste.”

Milton slotted his rifle into the rack on the wall and sat down. He would go back to the hotel and take another night. He was getting too old to sleep out in the open without feeling the consequences the following day. It was ridiculous. He’d slept under the stars for weeks on end when he was in the army, and the younger him would never have credited the aches and pains he was feeling now. It was embarrassing. He was getting old and slow and soft.

Milton was brought back from his reverie by a knock on the door. Lester took the shotgun from his desk and went outside to the main room. Milton and Ellie followed.

“Yes?”

A muffled voice answered, “It’s Morten and Lars.”

The sheriff turned back to Ellie and nodded. “It’s all right,” he said. “Two of my men.”

Ellie nodded her approval and Lester unlocked the door. The two men came inside, rain dripping off the brims of their hats. They took them off, the water running down onto the floor. Milton recognised Morten Lundquist from before. The other man, thick set and with a soft, blubbery face, was introduced as Deputy Lars Olsen.

“What is it?” Lester asked.

“The Stantons,” Lundquist said.

Milton stepped forwards anxiously. “What’s happened?”

“There’s been an accident.”

“What?”

Olsen took over. “They were in Joe’s taxi, got blindsided by a pickup, smashed up pretty good. I was first on the scene.”

“Are they all right?”

“They were lucky. She’s got cuts and bruises. Looks like he broke his arm. Could’ve been worse.”

“Where are they?”

“On the way to the hospital.”

“But they just left here,” Milton said.

“It was just outside Joe’s office. Road’s wet, slippery, the pickup skidded, couldn’t stop… like I say, they were lucky.”

“Where’s the hospital?”

“Wakewood.”

“Twenty miles.”

“Give or take,” Lester said. “You want to see them?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll get a cab.”

“That won’t be easy,” Lester said. “Joe’s taxi is the only one in town and he’s not going anywhere. You’ll have to call Wakewood and have them send one to get you. Hell, I’d take you myself, but I’ve got to stay here until those boys are taken care of. You want me to get you a number?”

Olsen pointed back to the door. “You want, I could take you?”

Milton looked over questioningly at Ellie. “I’m all right,” she said. “You should go.”

“Yes,” Lester said. “Go. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s no problem,” Olsen said. “Got my car outside.”

Milton took his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

“No problem at all.”

“Lester—can I leave my pack and my rifle here?”

“Course. Hope they’re all right.”

Olsen opened the door, tilted his hat against the rain, and stepped outside. Milton followed him.

ELLIE TOOK off her wet jacket and went through into the restroom to get some towels so that she could mop the water from her face. Her hair was sodden, plastered against her forehead and down the back of her neck. All she wanted was a shower, to let the hot water run across her skin and get rid of the chill.

No,
she thought
, strike that. I want a long, indulgent bath.

She scraped her hair back with her fingers and stared into the mirror. She looked a terrible mess. She thought of Milton. What did he mean, dinner? In Truth? Or was he going to come back to Detroit with them? He hadn’t mentioned it today, but, she reminded herself, today hadn’t been the occasion for small talk. He had been focused on the four prisoners, following behind them, alert and vigilant from the first minute until the last. She had been nervous before they had started, but that feeling had not lasted very long. There was something reassuring about being with him. He was, she decided, relentlessly able.

And then she thought of Orville. He would have complained about the weather, about the chiggers and the insects that had buzzed around them, the mud on his clothes and the sheer inconvenience of being out of town, so far from his car and cellphone coverage and—

Shit.

Orville.

She should have called him. She had broken a bunch of rules already, and she had allowed the fact that she was off the reservation to blind her to proper procedure. First up, she needed to clear out the civilians. At least the Stantons had gone home, but there was Milton to think about, too. He would need to go back to the hotel.