Rydel watched with what was initially confusion that soon turned to worsening panic as he realized Sage’s glorified secretary was pointing a nine-millimeter handgun with an attached silencer at him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Fenwick Sage cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest, looking every bit the happily content child.
“I believe she’s making a point, Agent Rydel.”
Rydel glared at Sage and then turned his full attention on the woman who dared point a gun at him. His lips drew back into a savage snarl as he growled his discontent.
“That’s not a pen.”
Glenda Green cocked her head to the left and then lightly licked her lips as she continued to take aim at Rydel’s head.
“No, it is not.”
Rydel’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open at the very moment he realized the trigger was being pulled. Part of him remained in disbelief that such a thing could be happening while another part prepared to scream that his life be spared.
The EPA agent had little time to do anything else.
The single bullet struck Rydel just above the center of his nose. His head rocked violently backwards even as his body began to fall forward onto the pristine carpet of Sage’s office. The noise of the shot being fired made little more than a muffled thump, like a fist hitting a soft pillow.
Fenwick Sage was fascinated by the EPA agent’s falling body and the dull thud it made when it collapsed onto the floor. The doctor watched Rydel’s extremities twitch for several seconds and then go still. Sage then raised his eyes to look upon the deadly glory that was Glenda Green.
“That was beautiful, Ms. Green, a most impressive display.”
The office assistant lowered her gun and issued a very satisfied smile before pointing toward the floor to ceiling window directly behind Sage’s desk.
“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a mess.”
The doctor turned around and saw the remnants of brain matter and blood splattered across a small section of the window.
“Oh, yes, I see what you mean.”
Sage looked to his left and saw his assistant standing next to him as they both ignored the dead body that lay just behind them and instead looked out upon the Chicago cityscape through the red lens of Agent Rydel’s blood.
“I hope to accomplish great things with you, Dr. Sage.”
“Are you certain you wish to replace Agent Rydel in the field, Ms. Green?”
Glenda Green reached out with her right hand and waited. A moment later saw the two of them holding hands as they marveled at the blood-tinted version of Chicago.
“Yes, Dr. Sage, I very much want to see your vision become this country’s absolute and undeniable reality. I’m ready, and as I hope I just proved, quite capable of doing just that.”
Sage had no doubt as to his assistant’s abilities. Her personnel file showed her to be a woman with considerable tactical skills. Four years earlier she had tried and failed to be selected for a position with the Secret Service. It was her psychological profile that led to her application’s dismissal – significant moral detachment was the term used. For Fenwick Sage it was that designation of moral detachment that had brought Glenda Green to his attention in the first place. He didn’t see such a thing as a weakness, but rather a sign of her superior emotional development.
“It is a great deal of responsibility, Ms. Green. Time is no longer our ally in this. We must assume Agent Rydel was not the only source being utilized by Admiral Briggs. For the next few months our field operations must be carried out with the greatest degree of discretion. We cannot afford to have any further significant failures linked to this department.”
“I understand, Doctor, and agree completely. I believe at this time we have a great asset that has yet to be more fully utilized. With your approval, I hope to make that my first priority.”
Sage’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he regarded his assistant’s words.
“And what asset might that be?”
“I intend to unleash the Beast, to free him entirely so that he can do what he was born to do – kill. He is to be the tool for your ascent, Doctor.”
Sage’s mouth tightened as his mind raced to determine if Glenda Green might yet have an ulterior motive. He related their interaction to that of two spiders engaged in a potentially deadly mating dance.
I have no intention of getting myself caught and unable to escape from her web.
“The Beast is not one to be regarded as easily controlled, Ms. Green. He is a dangerous, powerful and unpredictable thing, best monitored from a distance.”
“I agree in part, Doctor, but I also think he is something that will serve best when serving a purpose. Dangerous and powerful are things we need at this moment, and with just a little focus and encouragement, I think the Beast is to be your own personal, avenging angel.”
Sage looked up at his assistant, grateful for her words as he caressed her form with his myopic eyes.
“That would make me God.”
“Yes, Doctor, it does. I wish to serve you. I wish to serve…God.”
The doctor felt his hand being squeezed more tightly and was delighted by the sensation. Both he and Ms. Green continued to stare out at the city through the macabre haze of Agent Rydel’s fatal head wound, hoping to see a similar blood-drenched stain fall upon the entirety of what little remained of America.
--------------------
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The fight to survive the RACE WARS continues as General Reg Thompson, Sabina Markson, Preacher, Tom Dolan, and others begin to form alliances in the face of the growing threat posed by the evil Dr. Fenwick Sage and his globalist plans to utterly destroy every remaining remnant of the former United States.
SEASON EIGHT AVAILABLE NOW! http://amzn.to/1S4UlQK
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FREE excerpt of: THE IRISH COWBOY
For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.
Romans 3:23
…Sheriff Potts saw Hap Wilkes staring at him with the all too familiar intensity of a man who had lived under the open Montana sky all his life. They were eyes Dillon’s father had remarked some years ago, always warned of an approaching storm, their hazel green flash like the clap of thunder, a call to others that they would do well to seek cover.
Though now an old man, Hap Wilkes had once been considered by most around Savage to be among that area’s toughest. He didn’t suffer fools, and had a well earned reputation for letting anyone know it. Dillon’s father Stan, himself someone few would have wanted to tangle with twenty or thirty years earlier, whispered to Dillon as Hap walked by during Jan Wilkes’ funeral, “There goes the toughest man I ever known.”
That was ten years ago, and as the sheriff pulled his car up to the Wilkes’ home, he was saddened to see how much older Hap now looked. The stroke had certainly taken its toll, forcing Hap to lean against one of the paint chipped posts holding up the dilapidated front porch as the older man continued to glare at the arriving sheriff.
Beyond the stroke though, was something else. Hap Wilkes had always carried a mystery about him, a sort of invisible, yet impenetrable wall from behind which he kept himself hidden. It was a condition beyond his simply being a quiet man. Sheriff Potts had long considered Hap Wilkes to be a person inflicted by some kind of terrible, deep regret. There had been rumors of what that regret might have been many years ago, when the sheriff was but a boy, but such talk faded as the tellers of that tale died off, and the world stopped caring about the long ago lives of old men.
Every Sunday, as predictable as the rising of the sun, Hap Wilkes could be found sitting in the very back of the small Catholic church that had served the Savage community for the last century. The rancher said nothing while he listened to the Morning Prayer, his mouth drawn downward in a perpetual frown, his eyes seeming to never bl
ink. So too was the rancher’s Sunday attire always the same. A dark blue dress shirt under a grey jacket, matching grey slacks, and black dress shoes that were polished to a bright sheen every Saturday evening, the only other pair of footwear the rancher owned besides his long worn cowboy boots.
Sheriff Potts casually noted Hap’s presence on Sunday, while he sat with his own family at the front of the church. By the time the Sheriff, his wife, and their two daughters rose to leave, Hap Wilkes was already long gone, driving in his rust battered 1948 black Ford pickup truck back to the ranch, and the solitude he so clearly craved.
“Hello there Mr. Wilkes, I apologize for the unannounced visit, but your phone service was disconnected some time ago.”
Hap stood silently watching the sheriff while Dog stood next to the rancher doing the same.
“Anyways, uh, I’m here to let you know the Feds have been holding some meetings about your property Mr. Wilkes, specifically, about those horses that run around out here. Seems there was a study done a few years back, and uh, well, they think there might be an endangered species being harmed by that herd of horses. Apparently it’s some kind of lizard. I don’t have all the particulars just yet, but they contacted my office saying they were having trouble getting a hold of you, so I figured it’d be better if I were the one to come out here and give you the heads up.”
Hap’s posture straightened as his eyes flashed the approaching storm Dillon recalled his father describing to him years ago.
“Is that what you’re doing here Sheriff? Giving me a heads up?”
The rancher’s voice was a rasping whisper, barely audible, yet somehow easily understood.
“Yes Mr. Wilkes, it is. I figured you would rather have me be the one to show up unannounced rather than a bunch of people from the Bureau of Land Management.”
Dog had begun to growl again, the sound mimicking the silent noise coming from Hap’s eyes.
“You say the Feds want to come onto my property?”
Dog’s growl grew more intense.
“Yes sir, that is what they intend to do first thing tomorrow morning. They need to take foliage samples, observe the herd, stuff like that, I don’t know.”
Hap Wilkes held his right hand in front of Dog’s nose, quieting the animal’s growling, then looked back up to continue staring down at the sheriff. Finally, Hap turned to gaze out across his property, clearing his throat as his eyes settled on Vaughn’s Hill. His low whispering voice carried back to the Sheriff, even though his eyes remained fixed on the hill.
“These Feds you mention, the Bureau of Land Management, they have a problem with the horses?”
Sheriff Potts shifted on his feet, sensing the storm still brewing within the aged rancher.
“Yes, from what I understand, they have concerns about the endangered species around these parts. That the horses are damaging the lizard’s natural environment.”
Hap removed his tattered cowboy hat and brushed it off against the side of a pair of very faded and worn blue jeans as he shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I figure them horses and those lizards been sharing that same piece of land out there long before any of us, or these Feds, were ever a speck in God’s eye.”
The sheriff silently found himself in total agreement with what the rancher was saying, but he also knew where the federal government was concerned, it would do what it wanted, common sense be damned.
“I understand, Mr. Wilkes, and I sympathize with what you’re saying, but they’ve completed the initial study, and now they intend to walk the property tomorrow and either confirm or deny the need to intervene.”
Sheriff Potts clearly heard the sound of thunder in Hap Wilkes’s voice, as Dog began growling again.
“And just what the hell does intervene mean in this situation, Sheriff? This here is my land, not theirs. You understand that, right?”
The sheriff placed his hands on his hips and nodded.
“I do, but like I said Mr. Wilkes, this doesn’t have anything to do with my understanding. It’s the government, and you know, if they think they need to look around, that’s what they’re going to do, and there’s not a thing to be done about it.”
The rancher made his way down the two steps of his porch, grimacing each time his left foot bumped across the surface. Despite the lame leg, and Hap’s advanced years, the sheriff realized more than a shadow of that legendary toughness his father had remarked on a decade earlier yet remained within the worn frame of Hap Wilkes.
“I asked you a question Dillon Potts. Don’t play politician with me boy. What do these people mean by intervene? What do they think they can do on my property?”
The Sheriff noted how Hap had addressed him without using the title of sheriff, no doubt reminding Dillon the rancher knew his father long before Dillon had come into the world.
“I was told they will have to relocate the herd, possibly sell them off.”
Hap Wilkes forced his spine to straighten to nearly his full height of just over six feet and then he spit within inches of Sheriff Potts’s boots. The rancher’s narrowed eyes expressed his outrage at the thought of anyone coming and taking a herd of horses that had made their home on his property since a time when America was still young.
“Like hell they will. You let those Feds know they step one foot on this property, and I’ll put them in the dirt! Those horses belong here as much as anyone or anything! You hear me Dillon Potts? Tell them there’s one mean old man with nothing to lose who’s willing to blow them all to hell before I see them lay one hand on those horses! You tell ‘em that!”
Sheriff Potts took a step back, realizing he could no longer see Hap’s dog, sensing the animal was circling around him.
“I need you to calm down Mr. Wilkes, ok? Making threats against federal workers who just want to do their job isn’t going to make this situation any better. I need you to move back, and call your dog.”
Hap Wilkes shook his head, his deeply lined, sun-worn face a mask of disappointment and disgust.
“Boy, you ain’t ever gonna be the man your father was, or the sheriff he was either. Get off my land. Get off my land, and don’t you or any of them Bureau of Land Management rats ever think of coming here again. I mean it boy, you’re gonna wake up a whole mess of trouble if I see any of you around my home. You all leave me, my property, and those horses alone.”
The dog’s growl was now directly behind Sheriff Potts, causing the lawman to move his right hand downward to unholster his weapon. The sheriff was shocked both at how quickly Hap Wilkes moved to clamp his right hand over his forearm, as well as how much power the nearly eighty year old rancher yet possessed. The grip was as strong as any the sheriff had felt before, and certainly stronger than his own.
“No need to be reaching for your weapon boy, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Hell, at my age, there ain’t much left for me to hurt but myself. Just relax now and deliver my message to those Feds. They’re to stay off my land.”
Sheriff Potts felt Hap’s grip relax, and quickly stepped back, careful to let the rancher know he wasn’t going to draw his gun. He knew he had every right to arrest the rancher for assault, but also knew doing so would only make him look weak and reactionary to the community, and God forbid if his dad found out. Dillon was up for re-election next year, and hauling in an eighty year old man over some endangered lizard dispute would not win him any votes with the rural voters who made up the majority of Richland County, Montana.
“Don’t you ever put your hand on me like that again, Mr. Wilkes. I know you and my old man go way back, but I’m the Richland County Sheriff, and I have a responsibility to uphold the laws of this county and its people. I can’t have you making threats or applying force against me, or any other law enforcement officer.”
The rancher grunted and then spit toward the sheriff’s feet again.
“Your responsibility is to do what’s right Dillon Potts. God help you if you don’t believe that. God help us all. Now you get of
f my land.”
Sheriff Potts shook his head and sighed, knowing there would be no changing Hap’s mind on this day. He only hoped he could delay the Bureau of Land Management’s scheduled arrival tomorrow. The old rancher would still be too willing to fight, and the sheriff knew there was likely at least a rifle or two inside the house, and Hap, like most anyone living in and around Savage, Montana would know how to use them.
“I’ll have to come out here again, Mr. Wilkes. I’ll try and do my best to keep the Feds from coming out here too, but if that’s what they decide to do, they will be out here, and if you try and stop them, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.”
Hap Wilkes hinted at a smile, the aggression in his eyes giving way to amusement.
RACE WARS: Season Seven: Episodes 37-41: MOLON LABE Page 7
