Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  John got a water from the fridge. On the door was a whiteboard calendar with every available space filled in. “Busy.”

  She grinned. “I was nominated the community’s social coordinator.”

  “Of course you were.” His mom lived in a community of retirees who golfed and hung out at the complex’s centers and clubs. After half a lifetime on a Kansas farm, his mom had morphed into a social butterfly. He was also pretty sure she currently had a boyfriend.

  She’d toned up, lost weight and dressed stylishly now. But not like she was trying to look fifty instead of seventy. “You look good, Mom.”

  She danced to the opposite counter and opened a high cupboard. “Thanks, darlin’. But I’m thinking that’s not why you don’t look happy.”

  “I’m happy.”

  She stopped her near-constant movement and focused on him. “I’m not buying it. What did Grant say? Did he tell you about Genevieve?”

  John nodded. “He wants me to take a job out of town. A sheriff’s job.”

  “And Pat?”

  “He’ll be going with me.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “You walk the path the good Lord puts in front of you. There’s nothing else. Not if you want to be really, truly happy.”

  “You’re not mad you won’t get to see Pat too much?”

  “That’s what Skype is for, darlin’.” She picked up the knife and grabbed the lettuce again. “Besides, your momma’s a busy woman.”

  John drained the bottle of water.

  “Did you think I’d be mad?”

  “That seems to be going around lately.”

  “Tell me about it. Your brother, last night.” She shook her head. “That boy needs help.”

  “He’s forty-eight, Mom. That’s not the definition of a boy.”

  His mom nodded once, fast. “Ellen showed up at Grant’s place last night with Pat, before she brought him here. Genevieve answered the door. One of the girls called him and he rushed over. Wouldn’t accept all the boxes the delivery men were trying to leave, yelling about how kids should be with their fathers.” She sniffed. “I don’t think it was about Pat. Not totally.”

  “No kidding.” John sighed. “Did anything else go to crap while I was gone? I heard Nate made the Dolphins’ team.”

  The ghost of a smile flashed on her face. “He’s happy. I think.”

  “And Ben?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Who knows with that boy? He’s too much like your father, keeps everything to himself.”

  Like high blood pressure.

  She didn’t have to say it; John heard it in the silence. She was worried Ben would die the same way their father had. John wrapped his palm around the back of his mom’s neck and kissed her forehead. “You’re not going to lose us. I promise.”

  She waved him away. “Tell your son dinner is ready.”

  That was two promises in two days. Unless you counted the promise to Grant that he’d give him an answer soon.

  John trailed through the modern house to find Pat. If this was his mom’s taste, how had she ever survived being a plumber’s wife? She’d either done what was necessary to fit herself into his dad’s life, or she’d since discovered something she hadn’t known before.

  The light was on in the guest room where all the grandkids slept when they visited. “Hey, Pat.” John sat on the side of the bed and squeezed his son’s white socked foot. “You doin’ okay?”

  Pat lowered the book. “What’s this word?”

  John looked where he was pointing. “Liege. What are you reading?”

  “It’s about knights.” Pat chewed his lip. “Are we really moving?”

  “If that’s okay with you. It’s a mountain town, kind of remote.”

  Seriously remote. As in, no roads, no cell reception, very limited internet and more stipulations than tax law.

  “I’m going to be the sheriff. The school has five kids so they only do class in the morning and then you’ll get to spend the rest of the day hanging out in town or with me at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Can we go hiking?”

  “Sure.”

  “Fishing?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Camping?”

  John laughed. “Whatever you want.”

  “Okay.” Pat smiled but he wasn’t fully happy. “I tried to call mom. I think she was out.”

  John did the same thing he’d done with his mom, he held the back of his son’s neck and kissed his forehead.

  “Gross, Dad.” Pat broke away and wiped his sleeve over his face. “You slobbered on me.”

  “Get used to it, kid.” John pulled his son to his feet and put his arm around Pat’s shoulders as they headed back to the kitchen.

  “Are we going to have a house, or an apartment like you have now?”

  “A house, I guess. We’ll have to see.”

  “With a yard?”

  “Probably.”

  “Can I bring my rat?”

  Just before five the next morning, someone moved through the darkened living room. John was about to sit up when his son crawled onto the couch and snuggled against him.

  Chapter 3

  John sat in the back of the black, unmarked car. Beside him, Pat gripped the small cage housing his rat. They pulled up to the Air Force base and the driver gave a set of papers to the guard. When they were handed back, the guard moved to John’s window. He rolled it down and handed back his badge and ID.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  John accepted his stuff back. “Good morning, Sergeant.” He looked at his son. “Pat, you want to say hi to the sergeant?”

  “Hi.”

  The sergeant grinned. “What’s up, little man?”

  John smiled and beside him on the leather seat, Pat giggled.

  “You guys are good to go.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “Y’all have a good trip.

  The car pulled forward through the barricade. John left the window down and Pat leaned over his lap to get a look at their surroundings. They drove through residential areas and military buildings to an airstrip on which sat a huge plane that would take them across country to Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho. From there a helicopter would take them to Sanctuary.

  By air was the only way in or out. Sanctuary was inaccessible by road, since the closest dirt track lay fifty miles away. The surrounding area was a stadium of virtually impassable mountains it would take two days to hike over. John had searched for it online, but the satellite image of the general area showed only the ring of mountains with a bunch of grass in the middle.

  Sanctuary had its own water treatment plant, waste management, medical center, a small school, a farm which grew the bulk of their produce and a cattle ranch. Anything else they needed was flown in by plane, which was also how the mail and medical supplies were delivered. A dentist—which the town currently did not have—was flown in once every six months.

  Everyone in the town was required to perform a service that kept the town running, for which they were paid. That job was either their former career or their choice of a new job.

  Internet activity was contained to the library and every resident was given half an hour a day to go online, although their usage and activity was logged and monitored by the NSA. Anyone who broke their WITSEC contract was taken away by helicopter where they were either kicked out of the witness protection program, or put in jail. The “Memorandum of Understanding” each witness signed was a binding contract.

  No one ever just left, or went on vacation, as far as John could tell from the files. Any child born in town who wished to leave when they came of age had to opt out of the program and could never return—including going to school. If a Sanctuary resident left to go to college they could never return.

  John held the door while Pat scooted from the car. Their two suitcases were loaded onto the plane along with the lockbox holding John’s weapons. He led Pat to where Grant stood at the bottom of the steps.

>   “Ready?”

  John looked at Pat, trying to figure out if the boy was happy about this or not. He hadn’t said a word about leaving his friends. What was John supposed to make of that? Pat gripped the cage and gave John a small smile, apparently content to let his dad lead. John ruffled his son’s hair. “We’re all set.”

  “Call me when you get there?” Grant held out his hand and they shook.

  John pulled his brother to him and slapped his back. “Sure.”

  “I want weekly reports. Let me know if you need anything or if you have any questions. When the month is up, I want your final decision in writing.”

  “Got it.”

  John was eager to get the lay of the land and figure out how this was going to work. The file had confirmed what he’d suspected—there was little recorded crime in Sanctuary. But who knew what went on beyond what was recorded on paper? It depended on the people. And how the previous sheriff had chosen to do his job.

  Hours later, the military helicopter flew over mountains separated by a snaking river. Civilization dropped off to miles of trees and peaks topped with snow. When they rose over the highest peak, John heard Pat gasp and they dropped into a huge circular valley. It really existed.

  Faced with the evidence of a secret town hidden away in the Idaho mountains, he realized he’d doubted the story. John stared at the place he might live the rest of his life. The place his son would grow up—until he came of age and was able to make the choice to stay or leave forever.

  If they were to stay in Sanctuary, all the conditions of residency would apply to Pat. When he grew up and chose his own path, John might rarely see him. It was a high price to pay for a job he wasn’t even sure he wanted.

  The helicopter flew over fields of crops, a barn and a farmhouse. They passed two strips of residential streets. Three rows on the north and three on the south with a wide street between that was likely Main Street—enough housing for two hundred people. The town was a mile long with the ranch at one end and the farm at the other.

  To the north was all green—pathways and play equipment at the town’s park. Beyond that was more trees, followed by fields of cows.

  The helicopter flew overhead to the ranch, where a square of concrete had been turned into a landing pad with a giant H painted on it. They circled once and the pilot set them down. The radio in John’s headphones clicked. “Welcome to Sanctuary.”

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  John climbed out, pulling out the suitcases and his lockbox before he lifted Pat down. The rotors whipped up his collar. Together, he and Pat dragged their belongings a safe distance from the chopper before it lifted off, leaving them standing on the asphalt.

  A rusty, red pickup truck topped the rise, driving toward them from the fields. A Hispanic man in his late twenties jumped out. “Boss man says I’m to drive you into town.”

  His jeans and chambray shirt were worn. He clearly didn’t see shaving or getting his hair cut as a priority, since his dark hair curled from under his tan cowboy hat. “I’m Matthias.” He pulled off his glove, sticking his hand out.

  “Sheriff John Mason.” He might as well get used to saying it.

  “Yeah, I heard that. News travels fast around here. How about you, little dude?”

  “Patrick Garrett Mason.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m eight and a half.”

  “That half is very important.” Matthias grinned. “You wanna ride in the back? It isn’t far to town, just a mile.”

  Pat looked at John, fear mixed with little-boy excitement.

  John smiled. “I’ll ride back there with you, if you want.”

  “Yeah!”

  They loaded the suitcases and John lifted Pat up before he climbed in himself. Once they’d settled, Matthias climbed in the driver’s seat and slid open the back window. “Ready for the grand tour?”

  “Yeah!” Pat’s excitement was infectious and John actually laughed along with his son as they bumped across the field onto the gravel road.

  Main Street was flanked by storefronts with wooden walkways, a café, a diner. In the center was a meeting hall that looked big enough to hold every resident at once. People walked up and down the street, waving at the truck before they stopped to chat with someone. John half expected to see a horse tied up outside the hardware store, the whole place had such an “old west” feel to it.

  Aside from the ranch truck, John didn’t see another vehicle. Not even in the parking spaces, or around the island of grass and the tree dead-center in town. A golf cart came around the corner, driven down the center of the street until the man parked it nose-to-nose with the now crawling truck.

  MAYOR was painted on the hood.

  The driver hopped out. He had fully silver hair and a trimmed silver beard. A woman climbed from the opposite side of the golf cart, a purse on the shoulder of her pink skirt-suit. She wore pearl earrings and a pearl necklace and she’d done that thing women did to their nails, making them big with white tips.

  The man strode in his gray suit to the back of the truck and shot them what could only be described as a million-dollar smile. “You must be the new sheriff. I’m Mayor Samuel Collins.”

  Matthias gave the couple a wide berth and lowered the back hatch of the truck bed. John caught the grin Matthias shot Pat as he took the rat cage and then helped Pat down.

  John climbed out and shook the mayor’s hand. “John Mason.”

  The woman smiled. “I’m Betty Collins.”

  The mayor squeezed her shoulder hard enough she winced. “The old ball and chain.” He chuckled, but by the look on her face his wife didn’t find it funny.

  “We’re the welcoming committee.” Betty smiled. “We’ll show you to your office, where you can meet Deputy Palmer. Then there’s an eensy amount of paperwork and we’ll be out of your hair. Lots of things to organize before the welcoming dinner tonight.”

  Pat shuffled closer to his side and John gave his shoulder a squeeze. “This is Patrick.”

  “Aren’t you darling?” Betty squeezed Pat’s cheek and looked back at John, her face set like she didn’t know what else to do when faced with a small child. She squared her shoulders. “Ready to get started?”

  The mayor chuckled and they followed Betty across to the storefront with SHERIFF above the door. “Keeps me in line, that one.”

  “I’ll bet.” John smiled.

  Matthias passed them, carrying John’s bags. When he turned again to the truck, John followed. They dumped all the belongings inside.

  Betty said, “The sheriff’s office has an apartment upstairs, which you’re welcome to utilize unless you’d rather have a separate house. It’s a one bedroom apartment, so not conducive to a family. We’ll let you decide. There’s an open house but you may wish to be closer to the office.”

  Betty glanced down at her clipboard. “The sheriff’s vehicle is parked out back. It’s maintained by Max, who takes care of all our vehicles. Deputy Palmer has a vehicle, the ranch has two trucks. The farm has one plus his tractor and all that stuff for harvesting and whatnot. There are also four ATV’s, two with snow plow attachments and three snow mobiles. One is currently broken. Gas is delivered on Monday mornings.”

  John sucked in a breath at the flood of information and looked at Pat, who had wandered to the open jail cell at the back of the office and was looking around in awe, touching the bars.

  There was a door to the right of the room marked PRIVATE, which he figured went up to the apartment. Three desks, two of which were clean, filled the room along with a set of floor to ceiling cupboards, a coffee pot and small fridge. Pat was sitting on the bed in the jail cell, listening to Matthias, who had crouched to speak to him. His son grinned and nodded. Matthias ruffled his hair and strode out, giving John a nod.

  “See you around, Sheriff.”

  “Thanks.”

  Betty Collins cleared her throat. “As I was saying, keys for everything are on your desk and the paperwork needs to be mailed off at the next pi
ckup, which leaves Monday morning. That’s once a week anything arrives in or leaves town. Due to the nature of your position here there is a radio on your desk which doubles as a satellite phone. You can also send texts and basic emails from it.

  “The unit is encrypted. It’s a DOD prototype, so you can use it indoors or if there’s a lot of tree coverage. Your computer, as well as Deputy Palmer’s, connects to the internet. That’s something new. The rest of the town uses the library. Your log-in and the code for the safe are on your desk. You have twenty-four hours to change the passwords and set up a new combination to the safe.”

  She checked her clipboard. “Friday night is movie night at the meeting hall. Town members are requested to attend dinner before the movie, but it’s not mandatory. Since it’s tonight, we’ll be having a welcome dinner for you and Patrick.”

  “You can just call me Pat.” He hopped onto the chair at the desk that said SHERIFF and toed off his sneakers. “That’s what my dad calls me.”

  John grinned at his boots.

  Betty Collins started up again, but the mayor slung an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll let you boys get settled. If there’s anything else, we’ll let you know. And if you have any questions ask us at dinner. It’s at six. Four doors down other side of the street.”

  “Got it.” John shook their hands again, even though it made his shoulder throb. “I appreciate your being here to welcome us.”

  “You’re welcome.” Betty shot him a beauty-queen smile.

  The mayor and his wife wandered out. The bell above the door clanged and then it shut. John turned to his son and lifted his arms. “So…what do you think?”

  “Pretty cool.”

  “What did Matthias say to you before he left?”

  “He said he came here when he was six. He was really scared. But not for long.” Pat smiled. “He said if it’s okay with you, I can come out to the ranch sometime and he’ll show me how to rope a steer.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Yeah.” Pat paused. “What’s a steer?”

  “It’s a…uh…girl cow.” John cleared his throat. “Want to check out the apartment?”