Chan bristled. “Professor, Earl Manning is gone, and in two days I’ll be gone too. You more than anyone should be able to understand my desire to rid myself of this land.”
Unable to argue against Chan’s feelings, Harvester grew quiet. Chan and Duke discussed the agreement until they were satisfied.
“I’ll have our attorney draw something up,” Duke said, rising to leave.
EIGHTY-EIGHT
Pulling into Miss Bertie’s driveway, they could smell breakfast.
“Miss Bertie sure knows how to cook,” Ryan said.
“I’m going to miss her,” Lani said. “Daddy, can we come back sometime? I know you’ll want to visit Miss Traynor.” She giggled.
It had been three days since the meeting with Duke. Chan had spoken several times with the General Manager at the Louisville TV station. He would be starting work next weekend, a few days late, but he needed time to unwind.
He and Duke had scheduled a meeting to sign the agreement and formally pass ownership of Grebey Island to Lighthouse Church. It seemed best for all sides, Miss Bertie concurred. She held Duke in high regard, and looked forward to watching the rebirth of Grebey Island.
Harvester still had little to say. Chan wondered if the Professor felt he’d been sidestepped somehow. Whatever. He would just have to get over it.
Lani and Ryan hurried ahead and were already at the table when Chan came in.
“Are you making cheese grits?” Ryan asked.
“Ryan, I can’t stand grits, cheese or otherwise,” Miss Bertie said.
“Professor Stanley makes the best cheese grits,” Lani said. “But nobody makes better bacon than you.”
“Any word from Duke?” Miss Bertie asked as she took dishes from the cupboard and handed them to Lani.
“Nothing,” Chan replied. “He’s supposed to be here at eight to pick me up. I guess he’s running a few minutes late. You sure it’s okay for these two to stay here?”
“They’d better stay here,” Miss Bertie said, adding sadly, “I may not get to see them for a while.”
Ten minutes passed without any sign of Duke. Chan’s calls went to voicemail.
“Maybe something came up,” Miss Bertie said. “Let’s start eating; he’ll be here.”
Thanks to Miss Bertie, they’d eaten like starving refugees the entire time they’d been here. Still, Chan was hungry. Through two helpings of bacon, four pancakes, and two scrambled eggs he kept pace with Ryan. Chan noticed there was one pancake left on the plate, did the math, and figured his stomach could find room for it. He delayed a second too long. Ryan snagged the cake and drowned it with syrup.
“I’ll make some more,” Miss Bertie said, wiping her hands on her apron as she got up.
“Please don’t,” Chan said. “We’ve bothered you enough.”
“Ha. Who will I have to cook for when you’re gone?” With a smile of pure pleasure, Miss Bertie cracked some eggs and poured batter.
Two pancakes later Chan pulled away from the table.
“Delicious as always, Miss Bertie,” he said. Then, glancing at his phone, he added. “Do you have Duke’s home number?”
“Sure. I’ll call.”
While Chan was giving Lani and Ryan final instructions for how to behave, he overheard Miss Bertie on the phone in the next room. A few moments passed before she returned.
“Dutchie said Duke left the house an hour ago. He was headed to your father’s house.”
“I guess I misunderstood,” Chan said. “I’ll try calling him again.”
Voicemail.
“Phone service on the island is spotty,” Chan said. “I’ll drive down and meet up with him. Miss Bertie will you call the title company and tell them we might be late.”
“Certainly. I’ll also tell them to keep Duke there if he shows up.”
###
Chan tensed when he saw the patrol car parked at the house. The entire county probably knew what was happening this morning. It would be just like Stan Slaven to check things out so he could report back to his Covenant buddies.
He brought the Explorer to a halt just short of the cruiser’s rear bumper, blocking it in. Slaven wasn’t leaving without going through him. He approached the house and checked the back door. Locked. Chan unlocked and opened it slowly.
“Slaven!”
No response.
“If you’re in here, Slaven, make yourself known.”
Silence.
Back outside, Chan walked toward the barn. He didn’t go far before he caught a glimpse of something out back.
Duke Windsor’s pickup.
“Duke?”
“Stay there, Chan! Don’t come back here!”
Slaven.
Defying the deputy’s order, Chan crept to the corner of the barn.
Blood was everywhere.
It covered the driver’s side window and the ground around the truck; blood and gray matter that Chan recognized as brain tissue. Stan Slaven was leaning heavily on the front of the pickup, his head hanging as he wiped his mouth. Chan could see he had been retching.
Overcome by anguish at the sight of Pastor Duke slumped in his seat, Chan thought he might vomit as well, but the fear of Slaven taking him out the same way he had Duke forced him to remain alert.
Slaven still hadn’t noticed his approach, and Chan didn’t want to give him the chance. Bolting from his hiding place, he covered the space between them in seconds, lunging at the deputy and bringing him crashing to the hard ground.
Suddenly, he was eighteen again, in the parking lot of the high school. He’d gone easy on Slaven that day, breaking his nose and his spirit, but stopping short of inflicting any long-term damage. Today would be different. In a rage, he pummeled the deputy. Slaven’s words barely registered the first time he said them. The second time, however, Chan heard.
“I didn’t... kill... him!”
Something about the way he said it caused Chan to stop.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Then, what?” Chan looked at the blood splattered pickup, the horrible realization becoming clear.
“He... ?”
Slaven nodded weakly before turning on his side to throw up again. For a time, they stayed there, mired in dust, blood, and vomit. Chan sensed he should do something, but didn’t know what.
Lying on his side, Slaven actually smiled for a moment, before tears began to fall down his cheeks. He appeared to be going into shock.
“Look,” The deputy said, pointing to a white envelope under the pickup’s windshield wiper. Printed in large block letters, Chan’s name.
Chan stood up unsteadily and approached the truck, careful not to look at the carnage any more than necessary. As he reached up to pluck the envelope from the windshield, he saw a handgun on the seat.
“Have you called this in?”
Slaven shook his head.
Chan opened the envelope. The note was handwritten.
Chan,
I am a fraud. A sinner and a fraud. Nobody from Lighthouse Church is involved with the purchase of Grebey Island. That was all a lie. The group you know as The Covenant is using me to front their purchase of the island. They plan to use whatever means necessary to get rid of the migrant families, and use the island for a training retreat for themselves and other white supremacists.
Chan, many years ago, when I was still ranching, I had a relationship with a young woman in Texas. It was a sexual relationship that went on for two months. A child was born from that relationship. Dutchie never found out. Somehow, the leaders of The Covenant did. They used this information as leverage against me. At first, it was small things, arranging meetings, cashing checks, and providing a cover. The deeper I got, the harder it became to turn back. Today I did what I felt needed to be done to save others. To save my family.
It wasn’t supposed to go this far. If I had confessed to Dutchie when they first approached me, I would still be alive. Unfortunately, I let pride get in the way. I didn’t want to lose my wif
e, my family, or my church. Now I’ve lost everything.
Chan, this group is dangerous. They have hurt and killed many people over the years. Do not let them do this to the wonderful families on Grebey Island, or your own.
On the back of this page you will find a list of men from Saxon County who I know to be directly involved with The Covenant. I would recommend you bypass the local sheriff’s office and contact federal authorities immediately. Don’t waste time, and don’t stay here. There is a safe deposit box in the church vault that contains information related to crimes this group has committed. It is labeled Preacher’s Benevolent Fund. Take it with you when you go to the authorities.
I am sorry that I have fallen.
Chan turned the sheet over and counted thirty-one names. Many he would have suspected. Others were a surprise. His concentration was so complete he had not heard Slaven pull himself up from the ground.
“We’ve got to do something.”
Shielding the note so Slaven couldn’t see it, Chan ran his finger down the list. Duke had arranged the names alphabetically. When he reached the names beginning with ‘S’ he turned to Slaven.
“Yes we do.”
EIGHTY-NINE
Officer Melissa Powter led a swarm of federal agents into the station house.
“That’s him!”
Bump Cannon was thrown to the floor and cuffed.
The first of thirty-one men from Pastor Duke’s list was in custody.
Others proved almost as easy. Durwood Grimes, the bus driver who had turned a blind eye to Chan’s abuse in elementary school, was apprehended in his bathtub. Now in his eighties, Grimes was on record as having contributed one thousand dollars toward The Covenant’s purchase of Grebey Island. Two other octogenarian farmers were apprehended peacefully at their homes. One was putting the final touches on a hand-crafted leather saddle, the other was watching The Price is Right. Their combined contributions of just over a quarter million dollars raised serious questions with both state and federal authorities.
Police Officer Darrell Eskridge was arrested at home following a short standoff. Having spotted the dust kicked up by the feds storming toward his back-country trailer, Eskridge barricaded himself in a bedroom, threatening to kill his wife if the authorities didn’t leave immediately. They were able to enter the house when Eskridge handed his wife the gun while he went to the bathroom. Marilee Eskridge had long tired of her husband’s boorish ways. She held the gun on him while waiting for the arrest to be made.
The warrant for Adair School Board Member Ross Walker included money laundering, bribery, extortion, and hate crimes committed under aliases in Missouri, Illinois, and Arkansas. The bulk of the money going toward the purchase of Grebey Island was fronted by Walker. Federal agents had been tracking his online presence for months, since determining that his hunting supply business was one of thirty shell companies set up to amass funds on behalf of The Covenant. Walker was apprehended at the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport, boarding a plane using his given name, Jerry George Garricks.
Some of the men whose names appeared in The Covenant’s records were deceased. Lowell Surratt, Sr. died nine years earlier. His son, Adair School Principal Lowell Jr., could not be tied to the group. Records also included a large number of ridiculous aliases used by men operating in The Covenant’s upper levels of leadership. Fred and Barney, Amos and Andy, Fred and Ginger, and Larry, Moe, and Curly would likely never be apprehended.
The feds did their work with remarkable speed and efficiency. Most Saxon Countians were unaware of The Covenant’s clandestine presence, and were dumbfounded as they watched neighbors, friends, and relatives being taken away.
Following a discussion with the head of the federal operation, Chan was allowed to accompany one of the teams as they headed to the West End. He would be the fourth rider in the second car dispatched to the location, seven agents in all.
“You understand, Mr. Manning that you will stay in the car until we give you a verbal okay.” It was a statement, not a question, delivered by the agent in charge.
“Are you certain he’s there?”
“Our surveillance indicates that he’s been there for the past hour,” the agent replied. “No one has come or gone.”
Following quick bursts of back and forth radio communication, the cars rocketed up the paved drive toward the house. The lead car screeched to a stop inches from the front steps, while the car Chan was riding in swung to the side, agents bursting out to cover the rear.
Up close, Richard Smoot’s house was impressive; large, neat, and well-kept.
Agents descended from all sides. Chan could hear their shouted orders. After another rush of radio chatter, an agent stepped outside.
“You can get out, Mr. Manning. All secure. The suspect’s in custody.”
Chan joined three agents at the front door. After a few moments, the team leader came out. Behind him, in hand and leg cuffs, was Ricky Smoot.
Ricky and Chan locked eyes as the agents pushed him to the car. Chan turned to the agent who led the operation.
“Is he in there?”
“Living room.”
“Can I... ?” Chan motioned toward the open door.
“No reason you can’t, if it’s what you want. We can’t wait for you though. Ricky just took your seat.”
Chan entered the house.
The curtains were drawn, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. To his right, Chan was able to make out a large, formal living room. Richard Smoot sat slumped in a chair. Chan feared he might be unconscious or dead, until he raised his head and smiled weakly.
Smoot didn’t offer a seat, but he didn’t indicate that he wanted him to leave, either. Chan lowered himself onto a leather sofa.
“Your intentions were honorable.”
Staring at the floor, Smoot rubbed the back of his neck.
“I cost that preacher his life.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I shoulda known. Ross Walker and those Covenant boys have eyes everywhere.”
Chan took a deep breath. “Who would have thought a good man like Duke had secrets?”
Smoot looked up, eyes afire.
“Everybody’s got secrets, Manning. You. Me. Everybody.”
“What made you decide to give up yours?”
When he spoke again, Smoot’s voice was thicker, less certain.
“God... I guess. And a man named Beau Mullins.”
Chan waited for him to continue.
“Many years ago I considered joining The Covenant. They were looking for members in Saxon County and I knew several men who were already in.” Smoot paused before adding, “four of ‘em are being arrested today.”
“In the end, I didn’t join, but I was what you might call a sympathizer.” Smoot took a deep breath. “I didn’t have any use for black people or brown people. Jews or Muslims either, for that matter.
“Anyway, back to Beau Mullins. We were in adjoining rooms nine years ago, up at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis. I was recovering from a heart attack. Beau had gotten shot in the line of duty. He was—still is, a federal agent.”
Smoot struggled to remain composed.
“Beau came into my room. He asked how I was doing. I tried to make it clear that I didn’t want to talk, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Well, one thing led to another, and the conversations moved past the weather. We talked about family, hobbies, that kind of thing. Beau was a Christian and not afraid to let you know it. I always considered myself a Christian, but Beau was so open about it.
“After we parted ways, we still kept in touch. Beau would call now and again, and I would do the same. He was the first black man I took the time to get to know.”
Smoot spoke softly. Chan leaned closer.
“A year ago Beau contacted me about a list the feds had, a list of people either in The Covenant or associated with it in some way. He said my name was on that list.” Smoot sniffled and wiped at his te
ars.
“I was so ashamed. I thought about lying to him, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Beau asked if I still maintained contact with people who were part of The Covenant. I did.” Smoot glanced around. “A bunch of ‘em were people living right amongst us. I knew who they were.”
Smoot took a deep breath.
“One of ‘em was my own son.
“It was my knowledge of who was involved that led to me becoming part of the effort to shut them down. The Covenant knew me and trusted me, and Beau and his men decided to exploit that trust to do good.”
The house was quiet other than the ticking of a clock above a large fireplace. Smoot was emotionally spent. He made no effort to hide his tears.
“I’m sorry to make you relive all this,” Chan said, standing to leave.
“Please stay. You need to know what happened and I really don’t want to be by myself.”
Chan sat back down.
“Anyway, I got close enough to The Covenant to become sort of a front man for them. Ross Walker moved up here and got things rolling again. They’d been pretty quiet for thirty years or so, since...”
Shaking his head slowly, Smoot continued, “Ross Walker was really something. He built that big house outside of town, made it look like he was this prosperous businessman, basically made people want to trust him. Turns out, the fed had him in their sights all along.
“The Covenant boys wanted Grebey Island real bad. They planned on using it for a training ground.” Smoot looked up. “I saw the plans. Barracks, classrooms, a communications center. Grebey Island was gonna be their headquarters. Perfect location when you think about it; one road in and out, accessible by land or water. Even room for a small airstrip.
“I represented them in the deal. The Covenant was laundering money all over the place, and the Feds wanted to catch them in the middle of it. The Grebey Island deal would give ‘em what they needed.
“Your daddy was pretty weak, Chan. Those boys figured he would take the money and run. Then, word got out about Professor Stanley bringing in the migrants. That didn’t set well with Ross and the rest.”
Harvest of Thorns Page 39
