Tin Man

by Dale Brown

  skin reddened, then turned dark, then peeled like

  burned paper.

  it was over as quickly as it began. The vegetation

  as far as Patrick's eyes could see was blackened

  down'to the earth. The ranch house and the buildings

  around it were gone. On the other side of Grant

  Line Road, over a half mile away, other buildings

  were on fire. The ground around him was crusty and

  smoldering. He did a systems check-the, suit was

  still functioning, although the environmental system

  was guzzling power at a tremendous rate. He

  took off his helmet to help it vent excess heat.

  "Nice try, flyboy." To Patrick's astonishment,

  Reynolds was still alive. "You almost got me out."

  "Try to relax. I'll get you to a hospital as fast as I

  can.//

  "Never been to a hospital, and I don't intend to

  go now, buddy," Reynolds said. "Damn, now I

  know how those salmon feel sitting in my skillet."

  He looked at Patrick, his face just visible in the

  faint glow from the fires. "You look like a good guy,

  brother. I seen you before, haven't F"

  "Don't know," said Patrick. "Maybe on TVthere

  was some stuff when my brother was in the

  hospital. Paul McLanahan, one of the cops who was

  shot by the Major. Is he part of Townsend's organization

  ? "

  "Yeah, The Aryan Brigade, they call themselves,"

  Reynolds said. "Although they don't do much Nazi

  shit except when there's visitors."

  That was an interesting tidbit, thought Patrick,

  filing it away. "They were the ones who staged that

  robbery at Sacramento Live!?" he asked. "They set

  up those explosions around Sacramento?"

  "Yeah. Townsend . . . what a piece of whackedout

  work," Reynolds said. "Kills two cops to steal

  enough money to build meth hydrogenators, then

  gives them away to the bikers, then blows them all

  up. Squandered hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  He tells me we can start up production again out

  here at the ranch, then booby-traps thousands of

  dollars' more worth of chemicals. One sick motherfucker

  . I knew I should've stayed away from him."

  "Where is he now? Where can I find him?"

  "Don't know," Reynolds gasped. He was having

  difficulty drawing breath by now. "Only place I ever

  been is right here." He was looking at Patrick, but

  his eyes were focused far away. "Hey, man, I'm

  sorry . . . sorry about your brother an' those cops,"

  he said weakly. "I never meant to hurt no cops. All I

  wanted to do was go about my business

  It was an apology, Patrick realized; the poor guy

  was trying to make his confession. But Patrick felt

  only disgust. "I guess your business is over," he

  said, then realized Reynolds had died before he

  could hear those words.

  Minutes later, Jon Masters arrived in the Hummer

  . He was as excited as a kid in Disneyland. "Oh

  man, did you see that explosion?" he asked as Patrick

  climbed in, turned on the generator, and

  plugged in the backpack. "It looked like a mushroom

  cloud, just like those old photos of aboveground

  nuclear tests in Nevada, except it was all

  fire! How close were you to the blast?"

  "About a hundred yards."

  "A close shave-awesome!" Jon exclaimed.

  "Hey, where's your prisoner?"

  "Dead," Patrick said. "Didn't you see his body

  lying there? He got burned up by the fire after the

  blast. But he talked before he died-he was the guy

  in charge of cooking drugs and building the equipment

  for a group called the Aryan Brigade." Patrick

  filled Jon in on what he'd seen at the Wilton hideout

  .

  "It looks to me like it must be over now, Jon

  said. "With his base of operations gone, this Townsend

  guy must be heading for the hills."

  "I'm not sure about that. Some things that Reynolds

  said make me wonder. Look-he said that

  Townsend staged the Sacramento Live! shootout to

  raise money to build the meth generators. Then he

  gave the generators away to the gangs-;knd blew

  them all up. The deal would have been worth hundreds

  of thousands of dollars a month. Why would

  he give all that up so Reynolds could go back and

  start making drugs all over again? It doesn't make

  sense. There's got to be some other agenda. And

  Reynolds said that Townsend and his group don't

  act like neo-Nazis except when there's someone

  around from outside their organization. I wonder

  what that means."

  "It means he's crazy," said Jon. "Maybe he

  thought he'd lose control of the Brotherhood unless

  he killed them all. Maybe he wanted to make his

  mark with the cops and the gangs, you know, sort of

  be the capo di tutti capi or.something. Or maybe it

  was some kind of tactic to run the price of meth up

  on the street, then make his own and make more

  money. Who knows? Who cares?"

  Patrick let it drop. They took Douglas Road west

  to the east entrance to the Mather airport, which

  gave them a shorter drive to the old SAC alert facility

  on the southeast side of the runway. The roads

  were completely deserted. They turned down the

  long access road that led to the entrapment gate. As

  they pulled up, Jon activated his earsct cellular tele-

  phone and dialed the number for the guard shack so

  they could open the outer gate, but the line was

  busy. "Busy?" Patrick asked. "That doesn't sound

  right. You'd better let me

  There was a tap on Jon's window. They turned in

  surprise. To their astonishment, there was Tom

  Chandler, the muzzle of his 9-millimeter automatic

  pressed against the glass. He made a circular sign

  with the gun, and Jon reluctantly rolled down the

  window.

  "Good evening, Dr. Masters," said Chandler.

  "You're out late tonight." He looked into the backseat

  and saw a wiped-out Patrick McLanahan sitting

  by himself. He was in that Tin Man suit Chandler

  had last seen as he leaped away from the headquarters

  parking area. "And good evening, Mr. McLanahan--or

  should I say, General McLanahan. You've

  been very busy tonight, I see."

  "Go to hell, Chandler," said Patrick.

  "Easy, General." Chandler gestured behind him,

  and several sheriff's deputies in full SWAT assault

  gear emerged out of the scrub bushes and surrounded

  the Hummer. Simultaneously a dozen

  squad cars with lights flashing and sirens wailing

  roared down the access road toward them. "Party's

  over, boys. You're both under arrest. You have the

  right to remain silent." He held up a sheaf of papers.

  "I have a warrant to search this facility and take

  you and the suit. You and the suit are considered a

  lethal weapon and we can use any amount of force

  in our discretion in the name of officer safety. We

  won't hesitate to kill you if you try to resist. Dr.


  Masters, step out of the vehicle. General McLanahan

  , stay right where you are.,"

  SWAT officers opened the doors of the Hummer

  and leveled HK MP-5 submachine guns at Patrick.

  The helmet on the seat beside him was taken away.

  "Aim for the head only, boys," Chandler, said.

  "Okay, General. Do whatever you need to do to deactivate

  that getup and take it off."

  Patrick had no choice. He removed the gauntlets,

  then detached the backpack power supply. Chandler

  grabbed him and hauled him out of the Hummer

  . "Hands on the vehicle, spread-eagle." He

  began to search Patrick.

  "How did you find us, Chandler?" Patrick asked.

  "Give me a little credit, General," Tom Chandler

  said. "I may be a desk jockey, but I can still add two

  plus two.

  "First of all, of course, you told the chief exactly

  what you were going to do-in the hospital after the

  funeral, when he barged into your brother's room

  without checking with the doctors. Remember?

  You told the chief about what you did, the stuff you

  work with, the gadgets you could supply the department

  with. The chief probably doesn't remember

  that conversation, but I do. I didn't do anything

  about it, though. Even when you showed up in my

  office, I thought you were just an angry, frustrated

  relative who had a few too many beers back at the

  Sarge's Place.

  "But that image was so different from the guy I

  saw when you were getting ready to move your

  brother," Chandler went on. "You looked and

  sounded like a guy in control. You got Paul out of

  the hospital right out from under our noses. That

  took an organization and resources and training.

  That's when I knew you were much more than an

  angry brother and ex-bartender. I had my suspicions

  about you after that, but I expected you to just find

  a biker somewhere and shoot him with a handgun.

  But then I did a little checking, hit up my FBI

  friends, and found out about your military back-

  ground-even about your stint with the Border Security

  Force. Now you got my full attention.

  "You screwed yourself with those two attacks

  last week, McLanahan. My lieutenant briefs me on

  two specific locations that she wants surveillance

  set up, and a couple of days later a mysterious guy

  wearing some kind of lightweight body armor

  shows up at those very same two places and busts

  them up. Way too coincidental. You got my division

  bugged? You bribe a few dispatchers? Hell, my

  detectives are so pissed off these days, they

  might've volunteered information for you. You've

  menaced this city, McLanahan. You've broken the

  law."

  "Oh yeah? With who? Murderers, cop-killers, f

  robbers, drug dealers, child abusers

  "So now you become judge, jury, and executioner

  , right?" Chandler asked. "You killed a man,

  McLanahan

  "I did not," Patrick said. "I told you, it was some

  guy dressed in a black combat outfit who spoke

  German. He had a face mask on, like a commando.

  The two guys suspected as being part of the Sacramento

  Live! shootout, with the broken legs, the two

  you let go-they were Germans too. That's no coincidence

  , Chandler!"

  "These Germans plant the bomb in front of the

  doorway too?"

  "Okay, that was me, but I didn't kill that biker

  and I didn't try to rape that woman. I saw those drug it

  deals at that house in Rosalee go down just like

  your surveillance officers did. I saw that child in

  danger too

  "Oh bullshit."

  "I acted the way any good citizen would," Patrick

  argued. "I acted the best way I could with the resources

  at my command. It may have been illegal, it

  may have even been wrong, but it sure felt appropriate

  . I have seen my family torn apart by these

  creeps and whoever is supplying and feeding all the

  chaos in this city. Hordes of innocent people have

  been killed. I had the power to act, so I did."

  "Sounds like a confession to me, boys," Chandler

  said. "Place your hands behind your back." Patrick

  did as he was told, and Chandler snapped handcuffs

  on his wrists. "Frankly, General, I thought you'd

  offer a bit more resistance. An Air Force general officer

  , with his own private security team surrounding

  us and a special suit that he could've used to

  snap my neck in half-I expected you to put up

  much more of a struggle."

  "I want to talk with a lawyer," Patrick said flatly.

  "Good boy-that's the right thing to say," Chandler

  said. "But I think we already got enough to put

  you away for a very, very long time. Let's go."

  OFFICE OF THE MAYOR,

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  MONDAY, 30 MARCH 1998, 0747 PT

  All the local TV and radio stations, plus a number

  of national shows, went live at seven-thirty that

  morning Pacific time in the office of the mayor of

  Sacramento. Surrounding Edward Servantez were

  the chief of police, the sheriff of Sacramento

  County, the captain of the police Special Investigatibns

  Division, and the district attorney of Sacramento

  County.

  The mayor cleared his throat and began: "I am

  pleased to announce that an arrest has been made in

  connection with the bombings around the state, the

  recent invasion-style assaults here in the city of

  Sacramento, and the large-scale meth-lab explosion

  In South Sacramento County. Thanks to the efforts

  of the Sacramento Police Department, in particular

  Police Chief Arthur Barona and Captain Thomas

  Chandler of the Special Investigations Division,

  working together with the Sacramento County

  Sheriff's Department, a new and significantly dangerous

  menace has been removed from the streets of

  our city. This arrest may also shed some new light

  on the wave of bombings, shootings, and gang and

  drug violence that has plagued this city for the past

  several months.

  "Arrested this morning was forty-one-year-old

  Patrick S. McLanahan, last known residence and occupation

  unknown," Servantez went on. "McLanaban

  is the son of retired veteran Sacramento Police

  Department sergeant Michael Thomas McLanahan,

  deceased, and the brother of recently retired police

  officer Paul McLanahan, who as you might remember

  was seriously injured in the Sacramento Live!

  shootout with police last December. Also arrested

  was Jonathan Colin Masters, age thirty-seven, last

  known residence in Arkansas. Masters is the president

  of a defense weapons research and development

  firm. Let me ask District Attorney Scurrah to

  outline the charges against the accused."

  The district attorney, Julianne Scurrah, continued

  : "Patrick McLanahan was booked early Saturday

  morning into the Sacramento County jail,
r />   charged with second-degree murder in connection

  with the slaying of Joseph Brolin, a resident of Elder

  Creek and a suspected illegal-drug maker and

  dealer," she said. "He is also, charged with the attempted

  murders of five Sacramento Police Department

  officers, three civilians, and one child; four

  counts of assault with a deadly weapon; breaking

  and entering; and three counts of malicious mischief

  with the intent to do great bodily harm and for

  exploding incendiary devices within the county.

  Masters has been charged with conspiracy to commit

  murder and aiding and abetting in the commission

  of a felony.

  "McLanahan and Masters were arraigned this

  morning in Sacramento Superior Court before judge

  Richard Rothchild," Scurrah went on. "They both

  pleaded not guilty. They are being represented by

  attorneys from San Diego. Bail in the amount of one

  million dollars was given for Masters; McLanahan

  is being held without bail in the Sacramento

  County jail. Masters must surrender his'passport

  and may not leave Sacramento County.

  "If found guilty on all charges, McLanahan will

  have been convicted on more than three felony

  charges. If this occurs, the 'three-strikes' repeatoffender

  law would be invoked and he would have

  to spend a minimum of twenty years in prison, plus

  a mandatory additional seven years for each conviction

  of attempted murder against a police officer,"

  Scurrah concluded. "He can be found guilty on the

  lesser charge of manslaughter in the Brolin death.

  But my office is seeking a second-degree murder

  conviction and the maximum penalty because of

  the particular viciousness of the attack, and also because

  we want to show the people of Sacramento

  County that we will not tolerate vigilantism. The

  death penalty does not apply in this case. That's all

  the information I have at this time. Thank you."

  Scurrah stepped aside and let Servantez step up to

  the microphones again. "We are investigating the

  possibility that McLanahan and Masters are part of

  a militia movement and may have masterminded

  the recent explosions in and around northern California

  and indeed around the entire state, in coordi-

  nation with other extremist militia groups," he

  said. "It appears that McLanahan was trying to