The Paper Detective

by E. Joan Sims

  “You see!” he laughed with satisfaction. “It’s already started. I knew you were a live one. You’ll make up for my having to shoot your friend in the back. You’ll give me a run for my money!”

  “They’ll find you,” I gasped. “They’ll know it was you, and then they’ll have even more reason to close down army bases that spawn crazy people like you.”

  He clenched his fist, thrusting it in the air.

  “Go, lady, go! Give it to me!” he shouted, grinning savagely. “But you’re wrong, you see. I’ve planned this for a very long time. Always have a contingency plan, that’s one of the first things they teach you in Officer’s Training School. When I heard there was a chance the base might be on the closing list, I started the ball rolling. I had looked the other way when Sergeant Callard and Lieutenant Yancey tried their flimsy little schemes to steal from the government because I knew sooner or later I would have a use for men with no morals or code of conduct. I kept them on the shelf just like I did this jar of Ricine until the time was ripe. Six months ago I began using them to spread disinformation through the militia.”

  He laughed again. “The federal government has no idea how vast this underground army is. These men no longer need to meet, or even to know each other to blow up gay nightclubs and abortion clinics. Communication is strictly thorough the Internet, which has no government regulation or watchdog committee. The only thing the militia really need is to be adequately armed. Callard found a way to do that, just like I knew a scumbag like him would. When the timing was right, I broke in on their little party. Clouded up and rained all over their parade. I like to think the mention of a firing squad was what brought them around,” he smiled in remembrance.

  “From that point on, they were mine. They were instructed to start sending information to the militia about an imminent attack from foreign terrorists. I purposefully left all the details vague and incomplete. Fear travels much faster when it has no shape. Sooner or later, in small towns all across the country, swarthy, poorly-dressed men who speak little or no English will be blamed for acts of sabotage like the one I’m undertaking here. Hysteria will sweep the land, and all the military bases will be put on alert. Bases that were scheduled to be closed will get fresh orders, and the American people will once more rely on their men at arms to defend them. We’ll be heroes in uniform again instead of millstones around the neck of the Congressional budget committee, and as an added bonus, we’ll get rid of all the foreign scum polluting our soil.”

  The contrast between his polished eloquence and his ranting and shouting punished my mind, and I shut him out for a moment or two. The burning in my leg had diminished somewhat and was now only a stinging pain. I reached down to rub it and felt two of the smaller plastic bottles under my knee. One of us must have kicked them during the struggle. My hand closed involuntarily over the bottles. If he didn’t miss them, I would have something in my own arsenal. I almost smiled to myself when I remembered what Dad used to tell me: that I was full of piss and vinegar. I had the piss now, fox and raccoon; all I needed was the vinegar.

  “Who are you?” I interrupted with a voice that was much calmer than I felt. “If you’re going to kill me, my knowing your name won’t make any difference.”

  “Ha! You got that right!” he laughed. “Burke, Captain Lawrence Talbot Burke, at your service, ma’am,” he added sarcastically.

  “Captain Burke? You’re the one Ta’Ronda said was in charge at Fort Morgan. You’re the Quartermaster.”

  “Right again, madam,” he sneered.

  He glared silently at me for a moment before he slammed the rifle hard into my ribs. I lay in the dirt retching and coughing while he hastily stuffed the plastic bottles and the pint jars into zippered pockets on each leg of his pants. Even in my agony I smiled because he failed to notice the two that were missing.

  “Put this on,” his said throwing the anorak in my face. “We have a lot of miles to cover. If you don’t keep up the pace I’ll have to shoot you where you fall. You know I’m going to kill you sooner or later. But just think—the longer you survive, the more false hope you’ll build up. I’ll get a real kick out of seeing that hope die in your eyes when I cut your throat.”

  “Is that what someone saw when they cut yours?” I whispered hoarsely.

  The rage that bloomed in his eyes was terrifying. For one dreadful moment, I truly thought that I had gone too far by guessing right. Then the murderous light died and he shook his head and motioned for me to precede him as we crawled out of the hut.

  He was right about one thing. Once I had faced him down, my sense of hope, false or not, began to grow. This man was a monster, but he had his own demons to fight. Maybe those demons could be persuaded to come over to my side.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Captain Burke set a brutal pace. His legs, however, were not as long as Bert’s and I was just able to keep up with him. The rawness of the cold and the frigid bite of the wind were almost more than I could stand. To escape the misery of the present, I let my mind float back to better times and immersed myself in happy memories.

  I relived a pleasant sunny afternoon in the flower-filled garden of a British friend in San Romero. We shared a pot of Earl Grey and wonderful warm scones dripping with clotted cream and the tiniest of strawberries in sweet jam. My imagination was so strong I could taste the hint of bergamot on my tongue and smell the jasmine that bloomed on the garden gate.

  The memory of that fragrance reminded me of another, the cloying sweetness of a night-blooming cereus one New Year’s Eve in another garden, this one in my own home, Hacienda La Buena Suerte. The house and patio were full of the joyful sounds of laughter as I swirled in the arms of my husband to the wildly romantic music of Spanish guitars.

  We were surrounded by friends and family as we celebrated the happy promise of a year that was to bring us nothing but despair. But I didn’t dwell on that. Instead, I recalled the delicious aroma of meat cooking over the barbeque and corn cakes baking in the outdoor oven. I recalled little Cassie’s delighted giggles as she danced with her grandfather under the soft light of paper lanterns hanging from swaying palm trees. It had been a glorious night, and the pleasure I felt from the memory warmed my heart, if not my cold, tired feet.

  I trudged doggedly behind Burke, ignoring the pangs of hunger in my stomach and the dryness of my cracked lips. I neither asked for, nor did I receive, any attention or concern from the man who pushed himself as hard as he pushed me.

  We walked for hours, winding our way through the pine and cedar forest. Burke apparently knew the trail we were taking, because he never once hesitated or consulted a compass or a map.

  I watched for even the slightest opportunity I might have to escape. Unfortunately, the growth of young cedars in this part of the forest was sparse, and the thin trunks of the pines offered little protection to hide behind. Most of them were smaller around than my waist. I would have to run from one to another much faster then I knew was possible if I wanted to avoid a bullet in the back from Burke’s rifle. For the present, I put any escape plan on hold.

  We had been walking almost six hours when Burke held up his hand for me to stop. I opened my mouth to ask what we were doing. He slapped one gloved hand over my lips and jerked me closer with his other arm.

  “Up there.” he whispered urgently, “up in that tree. Do you see the deer stand?”

  I strained my neck backwards and searched all the trees within sight, but I could see nothing. I shook my head. Burke wasn’t happy with my negative answer. He slapped his hand against the side of my head and twisted my face around and up so that my line of sight was forced ten feet or so higher. Then I did see it, a crude plank shelf about six feet square built out from a fork in one of the larger oak trees. It was carefully hidden in the branches so that I would never have spotted it if he hadn’t been pointed out to me.

  “We’re going up,” whispered Burke. “And make it snappy!”

  I stared at the tree in utter di
smay. I was already exhausted and footsore. Even in my younger days I had not been able to climb trees very well. My sister Velvet had been the monkey in my family. Now I would probably be shot for my lack of talent. Weary tears coursed down my cheeks as I pondered the unfairness of it all.

  Burke shoved me roughly against the tree and placed my hands on the short wooden slats nailed to the side of the trunk. He stuck the rifle in the middle of my back and urged me painfully up the crude ladder one foot at a time. As I put my hand on one of the slats high above my head, it split and came bouncing down on top of us. I heard Burke’s muffled oath. I smiled grimly. It must have hit him harder than it did me.

  Fortunately, the missing step was one of the last ones, and I was able to pull myself up on the shelf without it. I lay there panting like a beached seal until Burke climbed agilely up beside me. He grabbed my collar and pulled me back up against the tree trunk.

  “Not a sound,” he whispered in my ear. “Someone has been following us for the last several miles. We’ll wait here until the unsuspecting little Nimrods make their appearance.”

  I started to tell him he was a paranoid schizophrenic son of a bitch, but decided my life was worth more than the pleasure of a few carefully chosen epitaphs. Instead of cursing him, I took advantage of the unexpected rest. I tried to relax as much as I could, considering I was perched twenty feet above the forest floor on a flimsy wooden shelf with a vicious killer. I was almost asleep when he jabbed me painfully in the ribs with his elbow.

  “Quiet!” he mouthed as he showed me a wickedly curved hunting knife. He held the knife underneath my ear and whispered with barely a sound, “Here they come. And remember, they’re just militia scum, not worth dying for.”

  I strained to see through the branches of the trees. So far I couldn’t see or hear anything. But even in the failing light of late afternoon, Burke’s trained eyes had picked up the two men picking their way carefully through the underbrush.

  I saw their heads as they walked in and out of the swirling fog. They looked as though they were swimming in deep grey waters as the dense air flowed and eddied around them.

  They were sitting ducks.

  Burke raised his rifle and took aim as the first man stepped into the clearing beneath our perch. For one crazy instance I considered calling out a warning, but at that moment I recognized the man who had treated Ta’Ronda so cruelly. I bit my tongue and closed my eyes as Burke squeezed off two shots.

  When I opened my eyes, the militiamen were nothing more than two heaps of crumpled clothing stained a bright and glistening red. I started shaking uncontrollably. Burke ignored me as he scrambled down the tree and ran over to bodies. He quickly searched their pockets and emptied out their backpacks. I heard him laugh as he dumped out the contents of the last man’s pack.

  “Hey, lady! Looks like you’re going to have a hearty last meal after all. These bastards have all the ingredients. Get your little butt down here and help me set up camp for the night!”

  How I got down that tree I’ll never know, but afterwards, the muscles in my calves and thighs were quivering and my arms felt like strands of spaghetti. The will to survive is stronger, I suppose, than we are. I imagine that’s the only explanation for the fact that I was still able to help Burke gather wood and start a blazing campfire.

  Burke seemed sickly elated, almost triumphant. He laughed and hummed as he cut open some tins of food with his hunting knife and set them in the coals around the edge of the fire. The aroma of warming beef stew filled the air. My mouth began to water, and as much as I wanted to refuse my captor by not joining in the meal, I couldn’t resist.

  We sat around the brightly burning campfire and shared a delicious dinner of tinned beef stew and Vienna sausages like two old friends. Burke laughed when I licked my fingers and passed his tin of sausages to me.

  “Here, I’m full,” he said. “Finish these off.”

  I thought only briefly about the “full mongoose” being the slow one and wolfed down the last two sausages.

  “You’re pretty damned gallant for a murderer,” I observed sarcastically.

  “Officer and a gentleman, at your service, ma’am,” he sneered.

  “What about that?” I asked. “What about your oath to serve your country? What about your sacred duty?”

  Burke grinned wickedly in the light of the flames. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I shivered and crept closer to the fire and the warmth of the glowing embers.

  “What about the respect I’m supposed to have?” he finally answered. “What about the flag waving and the parades and the admiration in other men’s eyes? What about having a country worth saving? What about having leaders who are above reproach?”

  He picked a stick out of the fire and lit a cigarette with the burning end.

  “I decided when I saw how the Desert Storm vets were treated that all bets were off,” he answered softly. “One of my best friends…”

  He threw the stick back in the flames.

  “Never mind that, he said brusquely. “I’m not here for your entertainment.”

  We sat in a quiet, almost companionable silence. It was strange, but I no longer felt threatened by this man. He said he would kill me at the very last minute and I believed him. I knew until we arrived at the reservoir I was safe, so I persisted with my questions.

  “Why the militia?”

  He stared at me angrily.

  “I thought you were going to shut up,” he barked.

  “You said you wouldn’t kill me until later. I believe you’ll keep your word. Humor me now, and I promise I’ll put up a good fight when the time comes.”

  Burke threw back his head and laughed aloud. “You’re really something, lady. I like you.” He screwed up his face and did a fair imitation of Bogart. “Where have you been all my life?”

  “Staying as far away from men like you as I possibly could,” I blurted out without thinking.

  He stared at me angrily and then laughed again. This time the laughter had an edge that made me realize I could go too far despite his promises. Then his face grew serious as he stared into the fire and answered my question.

  “The militia poses the greatest danger to the very fabric of this democracy than any in the history of the United States. The formation of small unidentifiable cells of guerillas intent on disrupting industry and communication is quite possibly the most perfect military maneuver against a central government. The militia are practicing guerilla warfare at its best. And they have the advantage of fighting with the fervor of fanatics. Most of them are very religious and devoutly believe that they have been chosen to defeat the ungodly.”

  “And who are the ungodly?”

  “You, me—anybody who’s not like them. Jews, blacks, foreigners, and homosexuals mostly. And abortion clinic docs,” he added.

  “Gee, I’ve never been called ‘ungodly’ before.”

  “Yeah, they’re a pious and unforgiving lot.”

  “Not unlike Captain Lawrence T. Burke,” I snapped.

  “Captain Burke, pleased to meet ’cha.”

  The booming masculine voice came out of the darkness beyond the glow of the fire. Burke made a move to grab for his rifle. A flame burst in the night. Burke screamed and drew back a bloody hand.

  “Don’t think you want to try that again, buddy,” said Burke’s assailant as he stepped into the firelight. “Whoa, you two look as cozy as two peas in a pod. Nobody’d ever guess you was enemies.” He grinned slyly, “Or are you bosom pals, now that the little lady is all alone?”

  I sat and shook while I fought to control the nausea that threatened to bring up the hot sour liquid at the back of my throat when I saw his face in the firelight. It was Henry, the man who had captured me three days ago. Burke was a known entity. As crazy as it sounded, I knew I could count on him not to dispose of me until we reached the end of our journey. This man was unpredictable and volatile—a live grenade.

  Burke sat very still with his wounded hand held tightl
y against his chest. Henry pulled a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it to him.

  “Here, buddy, wrap that around your hand. I’ll need you to help bury my friends after you feed me.”

  Henry shrugged off his backpack and hunkered down to warm his hands in the flames. He laughed and pointed at his knapsack. “Here I am loaded down with enough money to burn a wet mule, and I ain’t got nothing to eat. What’s for dinner, sport?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Burke was unable to open the last two remaining cans of food with his injured hand. When Henry got tired of waiting for my poor efforts, he grabbed Burke’s hunting knife and attacked the cans himself. He didn’t wait to warm the food but swallowed the beans that were to have been our breakfast cold and congealed.

  “Ah! That really hits the spot,” he laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Got any coffee?”

  “No!” answered Burke abruptly. “What we had, we got from your idiot friends.”

  “Whoa, buddy! Careful how you speak of the dead. They might just be waitin’ for you on the other side.”

  Henry shifted his weight on one knee and peered through the darkness to the heaps of clothing that had been his compatriots.

  “Burial detail comin’ up right up, guys.”

  He turned back to Burke and grinned slyly.

  “You know all about that don’t you, buddy? Hear tell your best pal, old buddy, old friend for years, comes home from Desert Storm with some kinda’ weird brain disease. Somethin’ the docs don’t pick up. When he ain’t feelin’ so good, you take him in, only he wakes up one night and tries to cut your throat. Thinks you’re some kind’a raghead or somethin’, and damn near splits you from ear to ear. If you hadn’t got hold’a your sidearm he’d be somewhere makin’ baskets and you’d be pushin’ up daisies. Boy,” he said shaking his head, “that must have been some bloody mess. You bleedin’ like a stuck hog with his brains splattered all over the bed.”