by David Wood
“Bones,” he whispered.
“That’s me. Had to haul my butt half a mile downstream and then row this piece of junk back here so I didn’t give myself away by turning on the outboard. Plus, the outboard is about as powerful as a two-gerbil wheel on a starvation diet. Any luck on your end?”
Dane explained what he’d done.
“Nice move with the van. Hey by the way, what color was it?”
“White, why?”
“Because it’s headed back down this way.”
Dane turned and could see it coming back down the hill that had slowed him earlier before he jumped out. It came to a stop before the warehouse, about fifty yards away.
He and Bones looked at each other and shook their heads. Bones said, “No way that just happened from momentum. Someone launched it. Probably the shooter trying to draw us out.”
“That means the shooter has to be back upstream near where I left the van.”
They both stayed in the dark along the edge of the river until they were even with the road where the van was stopped. They bolted to the front of the van, keeping it between them and where they figured the shooter was.
“Look!”
Bones pointed over the top of the van. Dane couldn’t see that high, but risked a peek around the edge. Beyond where he’d jumped out of the van, a figure in black stood, the outline of what was probably a rifle hanging from one hand. The figure raised the other hand and flicked it sideways before turning and starting to move away at a run.
“Was that a wave at us? That is not cool.” Bones started to move, but Dane grabbed his arm.
“There’s no point. I can tell from here he’s moving fast enough that we have no hope of making up more than a hundred yard gap.”
Bones scowled before nodding. “Maybe you’re right, but you’re wrong about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That person we just saw? Men don’t move like that. The shooter is a woman.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Oh yeah, now that’s what I’m talking about.” Bones held the weapon in both hands as if it were an extension of his fingers. After being shot at twice in one day, they had decided that the first order of business in the morning was to obtain weapons beyond their knives. In Pennsylvania, long guns can be purchased without any dealer involved, and their Navy connections easily steered them towards a couple of mint condition Colt AR-15’s with 30 round magazines. They also picked up two Glock 17 handguns.
“I don’t know Bones, my credit card is going to be on life support after this.”
“Hey, better your credit card than our butts if we meet that sniper again.”
“True enough. I keep wondering if we need flak jackets.”
“Nah, those things make me look fat. So what’s next, anyway?”
“Well, we need to research Franklin’s Legacy and the creator of the five hundred. They have a huge library in the city, so we probably should start there.”
“What about checking Jimmy’s beloved Internet?”
Dane hadn’t really gone on the Internet much, but he knew more and more information was becoming available with a few keystrokes. The thought of using it for research hadn’t occurred to him. “You think we can access it at the library?”
“Probably. It’s a lot better than losing your eyesight reading through some index printed so small even a lawyer couldn’t read it.”
“Well we’ll give it a shot. After that, we could try the National Archives.”
“What fun.” Bones rolled his eyes. “After that, can we go bang our heads against a wall? It’ll be awesome.”
“You got a better idea?”
“As a matter of fact I do. Let’s give Jimmy a call. He ran down those license plates in no time flat. I bet he can get us something useful.”
“Okay, I’ll give him a call. We’re gonna owe him another bottle of Wild Turkey.”
They didn’t head for the library until after lunch. Dane had called Letson earlier, but wasn’t able to get through and didn’t feel comfortable leaving a message with the clues they had found. They parked at the art museum a short distance away from the Central Library, and figured on making the walk there past the monuments and fields. The fact that snow had started falling two hours earlier did not deter Bones, although he did agree to keep the top up.
“It’s just a little snow. We need to keep moving so we don’t get fat and lazy. I’ve always wanted to see the museum.”
Dane knew the real reason Bones came up with the place, but he didn’t say anything. When they arrived, Bones’ first move surprised Dane not at all. He let out a whoop and started running up the steps made famous by Rocky Balboa. Dane followed at a more normal pace, reaching the top to see Bones standing with his arms above his head.
“Yo, Adrian.”
“Bones, you just butchered the accent worse than Stallone.”
“Nah, I made it better.”
Dane gave Bones a quizzical glance.
“When he says it, it just sounds dumb. When I do it, it’s sexy.”
They turned to take in the view of the skyline obscured by the now heavy snow. The strip of green extending in that direction was now powdery and white.
“Pretty cool view,” Bones said. “Think old Ben knew how big his city would get?”
“Of all the people around back then, I bet Ben Franklin could have pictured it as much as anyone. Come on Bones, we need to get moving.”
They made their way down the steps and then Bones let out a roar, slipped onto his side and rolled the rest of the way down. Dane hurried to the bottom where Bones was pushing himself into a seated position, grabbing his left shoulder with his right hand.
“Smooth move,” Dane jibed. “You new to walking?”
“Dude, somebody shot me.”
“Come again?”
Bones’ voice remained calm, but his words were clear. “I got tagged in the shoulder, that’s why I slipped.”
Dane’s head snapped up and he scanned the area for potential vantage points for a sniper. In this weather, it had to be pretty close. No one was taking a five hundred or thousand yard shot in a blizzard. Plus, Dane figured this had to be a case of seizing the opportunity rather than the methodical setup needed for a long shot. He and Bones hadn’t even decided to come here until a few minutes before they left the hotel.
That meant someone had followed them from the hotel. They were checked in under their real names, which hadn’t seemed like a problem until someone decided to declare Dane and Bones season open.
He put the thought aside for the time being and focused again on where the shot might have originated. Bones was also on his feet looking around. There weren’t many perfect places to take a shot at someone coming down the steps, but there were plenty of decent ones. For a good shooter with the right weapon from fifty or sixty yards away, that’s all they’d need even in the blizzard conditions.
“Bones, we better get out of the open.”
“Yeah, but we gotta get her this time. There she is!”
Bones started running like a man possessed and Dane followed. He could barely make out a figure in black through the snow. Lucky for them, the shooter hadn’t been smart enough to avoid the dark clothes in this weather, or more likely had lacked the time to change.
They were closing the gap. By now he could see that Bones had been right and it was a woman. She must have realized that carrying her rifle was slowing her down, because she tossed it into some bushes.
Bones shouted to her when he had pulled within ten yards. “Hold it there, sister! The longer you make me run, the madder I’ll be when I catch up with you.”
She showed no sign of hearing him. Soon enough, he reached out a large hand and pushed her over into the snow face first. He put a boot on her shoulder. “Stay down.”
Her black headgear covered her entire skull except for her nose, mouth, and gray eyes. Dane could see enough wrinkles on her face to know that she was no twenty-something
. The side of her head pressed into the snow, she glared at Dane when he caught up with them. “Let me go!”
“Not until you tell my friend with the size thirteens here why you’re trying to kill us.”
She remained silent.
“Look, we know about the Sons of the Republic,” Dane said.
“Stupid name if you ask me,” Bones chimed in.
“We know you guys are hell bent on taking back the country, whatever that means. You’re willing to kill anyone who gets in your way. Here’s the thing. We were just minding our own business. Would have been happy never to hear about you again. But we land in Philadelphia and suddenly it’s all-out war with two Navy SEALS. What gives?”
“Minding your own business? Right, that’s why you killed two of us in Boston. That’s why you tried to beat O’Meara to Washington’s grave.”
Bones said, “Didn’t anyone tell you? Jillian Andrews asked us to help her. We didn’t find out she was one of you until she drew down on us.”
“Right, and now she’s dead,” the woman snapped. “You had nothing to do with that?”
“Are you kidding? Dane yelled at her to be careful, but she was way too full of herself over what we found to give it any thought. You watch any Indiana Jones movie and that’s what happens when you ignore the booby trap.”
The shooter just looked up at him. Dane decided to try another approach. “What’s your name?”
She paused. “People call me Long.”
“So tell me Long, why did you get into this?”
“Because things have got to change. Our government is corrupt, half the country is on the dole and half the rest just don’t care. The founders would have been disgusted.”
Bones laughed. “The founders were—”
Dane cut him off with a look. “Hey, I agree with you.”
Bones said, “You do?”
Dane ignored him and continued. “That’s why we joined the Navy, to protect the country and help it to become a better place. But those people who don’t care are still our fellow Americans.”
Long met his eye and then jerked her body up, sending Bones slipping to the ground. He landed on his wounded shoulder and let out a curse. Long crouched like a sprinter and exploded to her feet in a run.
Dane gave chase. She had gotten twenty yards with her surprise move, but Dane figured he could close the gap like they had before. Then she turned, her fingers wrapped around a small handgun.
“Stop right there.”
Dane didn’t stop, didn’t think, he just dove into a shoulder roll. He heard a shot fire and he knew he had no time and no more options. Coming out of the roll, he reached into his coat for his Glock. Instead of popping onto his feet, he went into a side roll and ended on his stomach with the gun stretched in the direction of Long.
Her aim was just settling on him as he whipped his head up and fired two shots.
She dropped quickly.
Bones reached her before Dane did. He kicked the gun out of the one remaining finger attempting to grip it, but he needn’t have bothered. Both of Dane’s shots had hit her in the chest, and she wasn’t wearing armor.
She was still alive, though. She coughed, and Dane knelt next to her.
“I hope it was worth it.”
She tried to force a laugh, but managed only a ragged cough. “Most of it was.”
“We still have no idea what you guys are after. As near as I can tell from what happened in Boston, you guys don’t even trust each other.”
Her eyes narrowed in thought and she nodded. “I don’t trust any of them.”
“Then why join them and why the hell try to kill us?”
She coughed again. “I was a sniper a long time ago. Back when women didn’t go into combat. Whenever they needed a kill at a distance, one of them would call me. Sort of pitiful.”
Bones said, “So tell us who they are. You know you’re not going to make it and they’re the ones who put you in this situation. Don’t protect them.”
Dane held his breath, hoping Bones hadn’t just killed any chance of getting the woman to talk. Telling someone they’re about to die doesn’t tend to put them in a good mood.”
Long shook her head. “No. I’m not going to give them up. Killing’s going to have to happen to get this country back on track, but not like this.”
Silence descended for a moment, and Dane held her gaze. Then her eyes softened as if she had made a decision. “Look for the Celtic Cross.”
With an obvious effort, Long whispered, “Look at the King of Pawns.”
Then her eyes lost their spark with a suddenness that surprised Dane, even though he’d experienced death up close before. He watched her for a few more seconds before standing up.
“Bones, I—”
“Don’t say it, Maddock. One more second and it would have been you instead of her. You gave her every chance and then some.”
“Yeah, I know, I just wish. . .” He stopped and shook his head. “We’re going to have to call the cops.”
“The cops? Are you kidding? They’re never going to believe that this woman was such a threat that two trained soldiers had no choice but to shoot her in a blizzard down by the river. We call the cops and there’s a hundred percent chance you wind up in jail. Better than fifty-fifty, so do I. And if you’re in jail, your whole career is in jeopardy.”
Dane knew it was wrong to just leave the body here and not call the cops. He didn’t just know it, he felt it to his core. But he also knew Bones was right. He wasn’t willing to go to jail for defending himself after being attacked three times in the past thirty hours.
“How about we call in an anonymous tip?”
“Again with the anonymous tip. Fine, dude, but first we move the car far away from here.”
“Sure, Bones. And then what, the library?”
“Screw the library. I never really liked that place. Isn’t our course of action obvious?”
“Humor me, Bones. It’s not every day I kill someone.”
Bones looked as if he might apologize, a grim expression on his lips. Then he shook his head and his smile returned.
“We need to go find the King of Pawns.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
They drove several miles before stopping at a pharmacy. Dane drove while Bones examined his wound, and pronounced it a mere scratch. Dane caught a glimpse of a big red gash right on the top of his shoulder and suspected his friend was downplaying it, but it did sound like the bullet had at least missed bone.
“I’m gonna get me a cold one and a thousand milligrams of ibuprofen and I won’t even feel it anymore,” Bones said.
“I don’t think drugstores in Pennsylvania sell beer,” Dane replied.
“Bummer. Maybe a nudie mag, then.”
After the drugstore, they stopped at a pay phone and looked at a phone book. The King of Pawns was the name of a pawn shop down closer to the airport.
Dane said, “That’s got to be it. The Celtic cross is the name of that logo we saw in Boston and in the pamphlet. It definitely means something to the Sons of the Republic.”
“Yeah, well, you know who else it means something to? The Klan.”
Dane nodded. “You’re right, I think I remember seeing that somewhere.”
“You think there’s any link between these jokers and the Klan?”
Dane shook his head. “Nah. These guys are about patriotism. Misguided and dangerous patriotism, but still. The Celtic cross has been around for centuries, so its importance to the Sons could easily date back to when they started a couple hundred years ago.”
“Good, because the Klan is full of rednecks, and you know how I feel about them.”
“I’d think you have enough motivation already,” Dane said.
Bones nodded and they returned to the car.
They drove in rare silence as Bones tended to his wound. The King of Pawns turned out to be in a pretty large space in a strip mall, with a big neon sign above the door. Inside, it had the same desperate
feel of most such places, full of junk, which had once meant something to someone.
The pasty scalp of the man behind the counter reflected off the fluorescents on the ceiling. His face was covered with a wispy beard that couldn’t fail to hide the scars of serious acne earlier in life, though he was now at least fifty-five. He grinned at the two of them with yellowing teeth.
“Hi gentlemen. How can I help you?”
Bones took the lead in walking up to the counter. “Are you the owner?”
He said it with a smile, but towering nearly a foot taller than the man added a certain amount of urgency to the question.
The man opened his arms and let his eyes roam around the space. “This, in all its glory, belongs to me.”
Bones chuckled and held out his hand. “I’m Bones.”
The man shook the proffered hand. “I’m Isaac McLeod. Nice to meet you lads.”
Dane looked at him. “McLeod, huh? Do I detect a hint of a brogue?”
McLeod again displayed what remained of his teeth. “Ay laddie, ma faither wis fae auld Scotland.”
Before Dane could ask him to translate, McLeod laughed and his accent returned to 95% Philadelphia. “Just having some fun. My father was from Scotland, brought me here when I was five years old. Now, what can I do for you? Couple of soldiers like you, I’m thinking you won’t be looking for some old rifle that no longer shoots straight. Maybe some jewelry for that special someone?”
Dane said, “Actually, we’re looking for something very specific. A Celtic cross.”
McLeod’s eyes darkened just a bit, though he still smiled when he answered. “A Celtic cross, huh? We get those occasionally. You looking for a specific one?”
“Have you gotten any recently?”
McLeod ran his eyes all the way up to the top of Bones’ head. Dane figured he was evaluating the risks of not answering. Apparently he didn’t like the odds. “I have. About two weeks ago”
“Can we see it?” Dane asked.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Why not? Is it not for sale?”
“Why? Are you buying?” the man asked.
