Fire in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ben looked at the chief of police. “You were aware of all this?"

  “Yes,” the man replied.

  “And you did nothing to stop it?"

  “People have to have respect for the law."

  That brought a huge roar of laughter from the crowd, the sound of it rippling around the chief. His face reddened and he became uncomfortable in his chair.

  “Seems like the people in this town don't think much of your concept of law and order, Chief."

  “You're an anarchist!” the chief hissed. “You want to destroy all forms of law and order."

  “No, Chief,” Ben said, speaking so his voice carried over the PA system. “You're wrong. I'm going to put the law back into the hands of the people, then they can decide what they want to do with it."

  Applause greeted those words.

  Ben looked at the chief. “Tell me, Chief—if that had been your daughter, what would you have done?"

  “I would have obeyed the law."

  “You're a liar and I'll prove it,” Ben challenged the man. “No cop is going to grab the daughter of a chief of police or a sheriff and subject her to what these local girls went through—and you know it. You would have been notified and the girl would have been handled with kid gloves. And that's a fact you or no other cop will deny. That's the double standard that's been in operation for years. How old is your daughter, Chief? Where is she?"

  “She's sixteen years old,” the man spoke darkly. “And she's in this back classroom.” He pointed behind him.

  “Go get her, Bobby,” Ben ordered. “Strip her and search her."

  The parent leaped to his feet, knocking the chair spinning. Two Rebels kept him from reaching Ben. Ben stood calmly by the podium, a half-smile on his face. “I'll kill you!” the chief screamed, his face white, ugly with rage and hate. “You put your goddamn hands on my daughter and I'll kill you! All of you! Can't subject a young girl to that kind of treatment ... that's my daughter ... she's only..."

  He stopped his screaming tirade and stood silent, trembling with rage. It was very quiet in the auditorium. The chief of police looked hard into the eyes of Ben. He knew he'd been sandbagged. All his words about law and order were a lie. He would have behaved just like any other parent and the law be damned.

  Ben faced the crowd. “None of you have to be afraid of the law anymore. Put the people you want behind the badges, put the laws you want to be enforced on the books. That's the democratic way to do it. The law is to be respected, not feared. One way or the other, the hassle is over."

  He looked at James Riverson. “James, take this young cop to the locker room.” He found the parent in the crowd. “Mister, you want your lick at him, man to man?"

  The angry parent's smile was grim. “You better believe it, General."

  Ben jerked his thumb in the direction of the locker room. “Have a good time."

  Four

  Ben watched as James came out into the hallway by the stage. The big ex-truck driver grinned and gave a thumbs-up sign for victory. Before he reached the stage, there was a terrific crashing sound from the locker room. A man's body smashing into a metal locker might make a similar sound. All listened for half a minute to the sounds of fistfighting. “Somebody is gettin’ the shit beat out of them,” a citizen spoke.

  “You won't get away with this!” the sheriff yelled from the stage. Ben turned to face the man, but the sheriff wasn't speaking to him. He was addressing the townspeople.

  “Have your fun,” the sheriff shouted. “But these ... hoodlums will be leaving town shortly, then by God we'll see who runs this country—this town. Goddamn you, law and order will prevail—I'll see to it."

  Ed Vickers jumped to his feet and ran down the center aisle. He moved well for a fat man. “I don't like your attitude, Sheriff."

  Crashing noises from the locker room.

  Ed shook his finger at the sheriff. “By God, the people didn't put you in office, Jennings; but the people will damn sure remove you. And as to who runs this country—this town, the people run it, you son of a bitch! That's who runs it."

  Crash. A yell of pain. A curse. Another crash.

  “Are you condoning that type of justice?” the sheriff asked. “That's nothing but vigilante justice."

  “No, it isn't,” the mayor disagreed. “That's just two healthy adult men fistfighting. And that's been going on for five thousand years before Christ. But, as far as vigilante action goes, maybe it takes something like that to get a town back to dead center again."

  Crash.

  Ed looked at Ben. “I don't agree with everything this man advocates; I didn't agree wholly with his Tri-States. But most of what he says makes sense to me. This is our town, our community, and the people make the laws. The police enforce what the people tell them to, not the other way around."

  The fistfighting parent walked back into the auditorium. His shirt was half ripped off and there was a thin trickle of blood from his mouth. But he was smiling.

  “Somebody better get a doctor for that punk,” he said. “I know I busted some of his ribs and I know I kicked out some of his teeth. Other than that, he'll live."

  “Is the debt paid?” Ben asked.

  “As far as I'm concerned, it is.” The man used a piece of his shirt to wipe blood from his chin. He looked hard at the sheriff and the chief. “It's over, boys. I'll be carrying a pistol with me from now on, just in case any of you want to try anything. If you do I'll kill you both."

  He walked back to his place and took his seat beside his wife.

  Ben spoke into the mike. “We'll bivouac around your town tonight. Tomorrow we'll be gone. Radford now belongs to the people. What you make of it is entirely up to you. Good night."

  * * * *

  VP Lowry sat with his back to the roomful of men and women. He sat staring out the window, in reality, looking at and seeing nothing. He had been badly shaken by the events of the past few days. Portions of nine states were now under solid Rebel control ... more threatened. The people were in revolt. Sons-of-bitches hadn't turned over their firearms after all. They had buried them! Now, in addition to their arms, Raines was arming the citizens wherever he went, with weapons taken from guard and reserve units and disarmed federal police.

  The Army, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Navy still would do nothing to stop the Rebels. They would only assure Lowry they would act if Richmond was threatened. Act how? was the thing that bothered Lowry.

  And President Addison just behaved as if nothing had happened.

  Maybe, Lowry thought, the old man's plan was the way to go. Since they had discussed it, Lowry had become unsure. But now...

  And Lowry was becoming more and more unsure of Al Cody. Something was wrong with the man.

  Lowry swiveled in his chair and faced the group around him. “Well, ladies, gentlemen, ideas, anyway?"

  “Not unless we can include the military,” Senator Slate said.

  “We can't,” the VP replied. Lowry noticed Sam Hartline smiling. “What in the hell do you find so amusing at a time like this?"

  “I have an idea how we can get rid of Ben Raines and perhaps the entire Rebel movement,” the mercenary said.

  The VP leaned forward. “How?"

  * * * *

  Just as Krigel and Hazen and Conger and Ramos were doing in their sectors, Ben's Rebels rolled through the Virginia countryside. They were now only a few miles south of Roanoke. Their plans were to drive on to Charlottesville, then turn east to Fredericksburg. There, they would wait for Hector's people to punch up from North Carolina, halting at Petersburg. By that time, Ben felt, Lowry would be ready for a sit-down and talk.

  There had been hard resistance from federal agents and federal police and a few guard and reserve units. The Rebels had crushed it, brutally. They had taken casualties: twenty-nine dead, seventy wounded. But the toll on the federal people, including Hartline's men, was staggering by comparison. Fresh graves marked the battle sites all along the Rebel route.

&nbs
p; Now, the Rebels were adamant in their refusal to take prisoners; they had no place to keep them, did not have the time for political indoctrination. If you fought the Rebels, you were dead. The enemy knew better than to attempt any surrender.

  Recruits were joining the Rebels at the rate of more than twenty per day, usually men and women between the ages of eighteen and thirty. Ben incorporated the best of them into his regular ranks, using the rest as drivers, cook's helpers, runners, and any small jobs that would free his experienced men and women for combat.

  Ben sent a company into the middle of Virginia to a national guard camp. They returned with sixty trucks loaded with arms, ammo, clothing, and food.

  Other Rebel units had fared just as well in personnel, equipment, and supplies. All units had—at Ben's orders—bypassed the cities, focusing their attention on the small towns and communities. The larger towns remained cordoned off and under martial law from the federal police. Ben's Rebels ignored them.

  * * * *

  The evening meal over, Ben and Dawn were relaxing. His command post, for that night, was the home of a man so overjoyed to see the Rebels and be free of federal police, he insisted Ben use his home for as long as the Rebels remained in the area. Ben had gladly accepted; it had been a long time since any of them had enjoyed the comforts of a lived-in home. He was enjoying the glass of brandy and reading about himself in the Richmond Post when Cecil knocked on the door.

  “Hey, Cec,” Ben called, as his friend appeared in the foyer. “Don't be so formal. Come on in and have a glass of brandy with us. I...” He cut his sentence when he noticed the young man with Cecil. “Anybody I should know?” Ben grinned.

  “Ben,” Cecil said, a look of deep concern on his face. “...this is Jerry James, he's a DJ at a radio station in Roanoke. They're on an AP wire. He ... got an urgent release in just about an hour ago. He came straight to us with it. You'd ... better fix another drink and sit back down, Ben."

  Ben shifted his gaze from Cecil to Jerry to Dawn. He sat down on an ottoman. “Give it to me, Cecil."

  Cecil nodded gravely. “Some of Hartline's men made a commando raid in northern California early this morning. They parachuted in. Others came in from the sea. An Air National Guard unit loyal to Lowry backed them up. It was swift and professional, Ben. We lost a lot of people. Crescent City and the surrounding area were destroyed—they used napalm. The report says nothing was left and the federal men took only one prisoner..."

  “Jerre,” Ben finished it for him. “I know she had twins a little over two months ago. Any word on them?"

  Cecil shook his head. “I've got people moving into that area as fast as they can get there, Ben. All we can do is hope."

  Ben sat motionless for several long heartbeats. Then he stood up quickly and faced his friend. His eyes were hard with a diamond-like quality. They glittered like a snake's eyes. “You know, of course, why it was done?"

  “Surely. To try to suck you into some kind of rash action."

  “Where is Ike?"

  “He left this morning. Took a team and went up to Camp A P Hill. Said he knew where a lot of goodies were stashed up here."

  “Well, a personal vendetta won't help Jerre; we don't even know where the hell Hartline has her."

  “I can radio Ike. He'll personally handpick a team and..."

  “No! No good, Cec. I don't think he'll kill her. She would be no good to him dead. It's going to be rough for her, but until we find out where she is, there is little we can do. Get hold of General Preston in Richmond; ask him if his people will help us on this—quietly. Once we locate her, then we'll move."

  “Right away, Ben."

  “Thank you, Jerry,” Ben said to the young man.

  “Yes, sir.” He left with Cecil.

  Dawn came to his side, putting her hand on his arm. “Is there anything I can do, Ben?"

  “I think the only thing that would help Jerre now is not of this earth."

  “I ... don't understand, Ben."

  “God,” he said.

  * * * *

  “Hello, baby,” Hartline smiled at Jerre. “My, you are a fine-looking cunt."

  Jerre looked up at him. “Where am I?"

  Hartline laughed. “'Bout a hundred miles from Ben Raines. You're in Virginia, baby. Didn't you have a nice flight out here?"

  “Not particularly. Some of your men kept feeling me up. Where are my children?"

  “They got away, so I'm told."

  “Matt."

  “I don't know his name. Big blond fellow."

  “Matt,” she repeated with a smile. “I know that my children are safe."

  She seemed satisfied with that.

  Hartline sat in a chair opposite her, a puzzled look on his handsome face. He didn't understand these people, these followers of Ben Raines. Even though he had broken half a hundred of them, physically, and tortured another half a hundred, including rape and sodomy, they always seemed to look at him as if he were the loser.

  Her smug expression infuriated the mercenary. He slapped her hard across the face, leaving a momentary imprint of his fingers on her flesh. She slowly brushed back her blond hair and continued staring at him.

  “What's with you people, anyway?” he demanded, his voice harsh. “You sluts and losers seem to think Raines is some sort of god. What kind of fucking special goddamned society did you people have, anyway, make you think you're so fucking much better than the rest of us? Answer me!” he shouted at her.

  Jerre realized at that moment she was dealing with a psychopath—at least that. And she had best walk softly in his presence.

  “We don't think we're better than anyone,” Jerre told him. “But we do believe we had a good society."

  “Perfect one?"

  “No. I don't think that's possible with humans being the carpenters of that society."

  “Ain't that pretty?” Hartline said, his voice leaking ugly sarcasm. “Did you make that up in your pretty little head, baby?"

  “No. Ben Raines did."

  “I'm tired of hearing about that motherfucker!” Hartline roared at her. “Sick of his name, you hear me? I don't want you to say it in my presence unless I ask you to. You understand that?"

  “Yes."

  He changed as quickly as the flit of a fly. He was now calm, smiling at her. “I think we'll get along just swell, Jerre-baby.” He reached out and cupped a breast. “That's nice, baby. I bet you could give a guy a ride, couldn't you?"

  “I ... don't know how you want me to answer that."

  “You like to fuck?"

  “I enjoy making love."

  Hartline leaned back in his chair. His eyes were once more clouded. “Tell me about love, baby."

  “Are you serious?” she blurted.

  She realized that was a mistake.

  He slapped her.

  Through her tear-blurred eyes she watched the mercenary unzip his pants and take out his penis. She felt hard hands on her shoulders and allowed herself to be forced to her knees, between his legs.

  “I miss it, baby,” Hartline ordered. “Just pretend it's a pork chop and lick on it. Unless, of course, you're a Jew. Then you can pretend it's a bagel."

  He thought that hysterically funny.

  Jerre bent her head.

  * * * *

  Tommy Levant wondered if he'd been found out. He thought all sorts of things as he walked to Director Cody's office in the new Hoover Building in Richmond. He was told to go right in.

  Cody pointed to a chair and Tommy sat, becoming more apprehensive with each tick of the wall clock. Al Cody turned and looked at the senior agent.

  “I want you to know I had nothing to do with that raid out in northern California, Tommy."

  “I ... didn't think you did, sir."

  “Tommy, I feel dirty. I feel like I've ... I don't know how to describe it. You know, of course, about VP Lowry's ... ah ... activities with Sabra Olivier. Tell me the truth, now, Tommy."

  “Yes, sir. The talk is out about it."r />
  “He's a sick man, Tommy. He's ... something must be done. And I don't know where to start."

  “I know how you feel about Ben Raines, sir."

  Cody shook his head. “Did feel, Tommy. I've had a lot of time to think about my feelings. I still don't like Ben Raines—but in retrospect, he perhaps had the right idea, after all. And he never harmed one innocent person; not to my knowledge."

  There was a desperation in Cody's eyes that Levant had never seen there before this. And more: the man seemed to be haunted by—Tommy didn't know what.

  “All those people killed out there in California,” Al said, as much to himself as to Levant. “Just to get one woman, to try to pull Raines out in the open, to do something rash. It won't work. And God only knows what Hartline is doing to that poor woman."

  He startled Tommy by suddenly grabbing the man's hands in his own. “Tommy,” he said, a wild look in his eyes. “I think we'd better pray."

  * * * *

  “What do you want?” the president asked Lowry.

  “Peace."

  “With whom?” Aston was immediately suspicious.

  “Both you and Ben Raines?"

  “You're not serious?"

  “Very much so, Aston. I've been doing some hard thinking lately. Thinking about ... myself and this nation. I don't want to see it torn apart any further. I think you should meet with Raines and sign a peace treaty. Let him rebuild his Tri-States. Let's put an end to this war. And I'll step down as vice president."

  “You'd make a public statement to that effect?"

  “Just as soon as you meet with Raines and get it all on paper. I give you my word. I'll even put it in writing and sign it and date it; you can keep it."

  Aston thought about that. He didn't trust Lowry, but a signed document ... “Why, Lowry? Why now? Why the sudden change of heart?"

  “I'm trying to make peace with myself, Aston. I ... haven't liked what I've become. Believe that or not."

  I don't, Aston thought. But he nodded his head. “Draw up your paper, date it, sign it, have it on my desk first thing in the morning. As soon as that is done, I'll send out feelers to Raines for a meeting."