The Keeper Returns (The Wallis Jones Series Book 3)

by Martha Carr

  “Jake, Jake,” Mark yelled as quietly as he could to get his attention. Jake stopped in his tracks and turned toward his father. The boy was already six feet tall and only fourteen years old.

  “Where are your brother and sister? Are they secure?”

  Use the least amount of words as possible, Mark thought. Only ask for information, leave any emotions or worry for later.

  “They’re in the safe room, locked in,” said Jake. He looked like he was waiting for further instructions. “The go bags are with them.”

  Mark winced. Jake was thinking they’d need to run again. He’s been waiting for this day, thought Mark.

  “Get the long guns and a tarp,” said Mark. “Not the Remingtons,” he added. Their shorter range would make them useless. “But do not fire unless absolutely necessary. They may be passing us by and we don’t want to get involved if there’s any way we can avoid it.”

  Jake spun around and bounded back up the stairs to the wide porch. It wasn’t long before he was back with two rifles, AR-15 semi-automatics, the civilian, hunting versions of the military M-16 that could reach out a few hundred yards. He passed one to his father.

  The other belonged to Jake and had been a present on his last birthday.

  A rifle is put together based on the job it has to do and the ammunition and accessories that are available for it. An advantage to being in the wide open spaces of Montana was that the same scope that was needed to see game at a distance could double as a sniper scope without standing out. Mark had hoped he would never need to be grateful for the dual purpose.

  The AR-15 shot a .225 round that was also widely available, and Mark knew from his days of training with Management, was one of NATO's standard rounds. It blended easily and was a popular weapon that Mark had been able to get a class three license for as a fully automatic weapon.

  In an area full of hunters going for the most firearms legally possible didn’t make someone stand out at all.

  “Tuck the tarp into your jacket. You have your binoculars with you?”

  Jake pulled out the Barska Blackhawk binoculars just enough to show his father. “Go out forty paces and only survey the area. We’ll meet halfway back, understood?” Jake nodded and took off in a run toward the woods, making almost no noise. Mark wondered if the boy had been practicing for something just like this. He moved like it was second nature to be quick and silent.

  Mark headed off in a quarter direction away from his son calculating when he had gotten to a hundred feet and crouched down, carefully looking for any signs of human beings trampling through the woods. Whatever he heard could have been miles away and headed in another direction. It was what he was praying for, over and over again.

  There was no sign of anything but a buck and probably his doe that must have startled and run at the same sound of gunfire he had heard. He went back twenty paces on an angle in toward where he knew he’d find his son.

  Jake was already there. The blood had drained out of his face and he was trying to steady himself and remain calm. He looked like he was fighting back tears.

  “What, what?” hissed Mark.

  “There’s a body,” said Jake, his body shaking. “It’s a soldier. I’m not sure he’s alive, about thirty paces in that direction. Come on.”

  Sergeant Leonard Kipling was wearing fatigues that did a good job of blending in with the snow and mud. It only made the thin trail of crimson near his mouth stand out even more.

  “He’s a Sergeant,” said Jake, pointing at the three stripes on his shoulder. “But who’s he fighting for? Is he one of us?”

  He must have seen the puzzled look on Mark’s face. “A Circle, is he a soldier for the Circle?”

  “Stay back,” whispered Mark. “I don’t know, son. I don’t know for sure that we have soldiers.” He rolled the Sergeant over and noticed there was no movement.

  Pinned to his lapel though was the circle of stars. Whatever he was doing, it was for the Circle. Mark wondered for a moment if this was the visitor the letters had mentioned or had they given up on letters and were that desperate to get him to acknowledge the message.

  “He’s one of us,” said Jake. “We have to help him.”

  “We don’t really have a side anymore and we don’t know who else is in the area.”

  “We have to help him, Dad,” said Jake, almost yelling.

  “Okay, okay, we’ll help him because it’s the right thing to do but we’re going to have to hurry. Keep watch,” he said, trying to give Jake something to do, to distract him from the body.

  Mark knelt down and felt for the carotid artery in the Sergeant’s neck. He was still alive but the pulse was thready.

  “He’s alive,” he said. Jake stopped for a moment and looked at the body. Suddenly, he looked more like the little boy that Mark usually could barely remember.

  “Go, check out the perimeter and get back here, double time but don’t fire on anyone.”

  Jake quietly ran through the woods and his father watched him disappear between the trees. He didn’t have the luxury of wondering whether or not a fourteen year old boy should be drawn into a battle. The war was here and Jake needed to know he could defend his family if he had to, it was alright.

  Jake came running back, his eyes wide. “A small squad about a mile away, headed in our direction. What do we do?”

  “Get out the tarp and lay it flat on the ground right next to the body.”

  Jake did as he was told and helped his father quickly move the Sergeant onto the tarp. The Sergeant let out a low groan but didn’t regain consciousness. Mark wrapped it around him and tucked the edges in tight.

  “We’re going to have to run while we carry him, you understand? There isn’t much time and we have to be careful not to lead them straight up to the house. You notice their firepower?”

  “Hard to tell,” said Jake. He looked worried.

  “It’s good that you’re afraid, Jake. Let it work for you. You ready to lift on your end? Grab the man by his ankles and the tarp. He’s going to be in a lot of pain and will probably resist. We don’t have time to be polite. You’re going to have to ignore that and keep up with me. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes sir,” said Jake. Mark felt his heart break just a little at the curt reply but there was no time. A mile could be crossed in just minutes even by a squad loaded down with equipment or minor injuries. They had to move out of the way.

  They covered the blood in the snow and Mark quickly cut down a small branch from a nearby fir, lightly brushing over the trampled area so it would appear more normal, at least to someone looking through a scope from a distance.

  “Are you ready?” he asked Jake, who nodded and picked up two corners of the tarp. Mark led them in a slightly zig-zag pattern being careful to step on roots whenever he could to hide his footprints. He knew Jake would know to do the same thing. It made it even harder to run quickly but adrenaline was helping.

  The Sergeant cried out in pain and tried to struggle but they had a tight grip on him and kept moving.

  “Not a good time to come to,” said Jake, breathing hard.

  “We’re going around back,” Mark said over his shoulder as they got closer to the house. They went to the door that opened into the basement and put the Sergeant on the ground. He let out another groan and seemed to be trying to sit up but the tarp had his arms trapped by his side. Jake knelt down by his ear.

  “You’re safe, we’re with the Circle too. Don’t struggle, we’re trying to get you inside.”

  Jake looked up at his father and Mark nodded. “Good job, son,” he said. They moved Sergeant Kipling to the room that was hidden behind the far wall and had been built for something just like this. Even if the Sergeant had decided to start screaming, no one would hear him in there and no one on the outside would be able to tell there was even a room in there.

  “Leave your gun in here. There’s plenty in the house and we can’t be seen running around the outside of the house with guns
in our hands.”

  They went out the way they came and headed for the front of the house.

  “Walk slowly,” said Mark. “We’re out looking at the property, that’s all. Slow your breathing down and get a positive image in your mind. Hold it there. We’re going to come into their view now and we need to look bored.” Mark slowed his pace.

  “Don’t look for them, son. They’ll stay hidden unless we give ourselves away. Come here,” he said and gathered his son under his arm. “I’m here,” he whispered and gave Jake a quick kiss on the top of his head. “You don’t even fit under my arm anymore,” he whispered. “Let’s go start dinner,” he said, trying to bring things back to a more normal level.

  They would take shifts that night checking on the Sergeant and watching for patrols. Peter and Ruthie would have to sleep in the safe room, just in case. If the Sergeant lived long enough to regain consciousness they could get some answers. Then they’d know if they needed to cut and run.

  Chapter Six

  Wallis took Joe, the family Bichon out for a walk in the early morning hours. Her mother, Harriet had stopped by for a visit and Wallis’ choices were to argue or get out for a little air.

  She’d already been outside for a few minutes just pacing back and forth in front of the taller bushes by the road where she couldn’t be seen as easily from the house.

  There were always a few kinks in her relationship with her mother, especially in the years since her father died. Both of the women were strong willed and loved their families. The only real difference as Wallis saw it was that she wanted to help her husband, Norman or her twelve year old son, Ned figure out what they wanted to be in life. Harriet was sure she already knew better and was willing to say so, every chance she got.

  Somehow it was never quite what Wallis had in mind.

  Harriet even knew who Wallis would be from the moment she was born. Harriet started telling her before Wallis was out of a crib. Her daughter was to be someone in this world. She was to be a force that caused others to tremble, according to Harriet. It was ironic, then that she named her only child after the former royal consort, Wallis Simpson.

  The idea of the overly formal Harriet Jones choosing a woman who made a king resign made Wallis wonder just what her mother had seen in her.

  Not a family court attorney, apparently because she was always finding different ways to let Wallis know that she could still aim a little higher, become a judge.

  Norman was fond of saying that Harriet was misunderstood.

  “You never hear her saying I will end up a judge,” he would say, “she’s ahead of her time promoting women.”

  “Yes, that’s what it is,” Wallis used to say, trying to keep any kind of edge out of her voice. But that was no longer as easy. Not since the shooting a little over two years ago. Not too many people had to forget on a daily basis that their house had been a crime scene.

  Lately, she just didn’t give an answer and instead would take the dog out for another walk. It was all she knew to do to avoid saying what she wasn’t even sure was true.

  Norman noticed the silence and caught her hand once before she could maneuver her way out of the house. “I get it,” he said. “It’s a lot to absorb and we are fix-it kind of people with a situation that doesn’t remotely have one. Take all the time you need to get to some peace but don’t leave me out of it. Okay?” he asked, squeezing her hand.

  She had said, “Deal,” but wondered for just a moment if she even knew how to explain what she was feeling.

  They were stuck inside of a massive conspiracy that crossed borders and involved people more powerful than Wallis could comprehend or had ever met. Yet, somehow Ned, her young son who was more interested in Comicon and D.C. Comics over Marvel than real world domination was the most important player of all.

  She had seen for herself what they were capable of doing. Wallis had met people she feared or admired and still it was hard to believe.

  Harriet took it all in as if it was a course correction that involved a few unfortunate mishaps. Her mother seemed to easily bend with whatever horrible circumstance was laid at her feet.

  Wallis knew one truth, more than ever, about her mother. Harriet Jones believed in the power of bloodlines. That left Wallis wondering what she might be capable of doing under the right circumstances. So far, Wallis had been able to right herself by sinking back into a renewed faith but she knew in the right moment all of that could be forgotten. Then it could be possible to go too far.

  “I don’t even know what that would look like,” she said as Joe barked at a nearby squirrel, pulling on the leash.

  That wasn’t what dug so deep under Wallis’ skin and kept her up some nights, staring at the ceiling. It turned out that Norman also knew all along the real story behind everyone’s family tree. It took a misplaced thumb drive for the truth to come spilling out.

  Wallis was born into some kind of dynasty. Her father, Walter was descended from the original founder of Management but he had never said a word about it to Wallis. Harriet had sworn him to secrecy. No one had told her anything.

  It was conceivable that Harriet would do exactly as she had decided was best, Wallis got that completely. For some reason that bothered her a lot less than Norman’s silence. She thought they were a team.

  “Norman,” whispered Wallis, sucking in a breath of air to try and steady her nerves.

  “And Harriet, of course,” said Wallis, as if she was talking to the dog. “Joe, how is it possible to admire and at the same time, look down on someone who gave you half your DNA? That’s right. I think she sold out, a long time ago. All of this royalty bullshit. She’s just mad at herself for what she never did.” She rubbed her temples, trying to will away the beginning of another headache.

  Wallis looked over at the old Blazney house at the end of the short street. New people were moving in and there were painters setting up outside the house. The familiar purple door was being painted forest green like most of the other doors in the neighborhood. Mrs. Blazney had moved into a retirement home since her husband was murdered and his body found alone in a field. He was found still in his pajamas.

  Wallis caught herself trying to picture that morning, wondering if she could have done something to prevent such a sweet old man from being a casualty in a fight he never knew anything about. “I wish I still didn’t,” said Wallis, kneeling down to give Joe a kiss on his head. He rewarded her with a sudden lick of her face, knocking her back till she was sitting on the ground.

  A wave of anger came over her for just a moment, surprising Wallis and left as quickly as it came. “I can’t keep going like this, Joe. I can’t keep acting like it’s everyone else’s fault. There has to be something I can do.”

  Joe rested his head in Wallis’ lap as she watched the purple gradually disappear and she had to make herself take in deep breaths. The ground was icy cold underneath her thin jeans but it felt good to have any kind of distraction. “I should talk to my mother,” she said, smoothing out Joe’s fur. “Stop asking myself the same damn questions and see if I can stand getting a few answers. Couldn’t get more frustrated with her, could I?” she said to Joe, who gave a short bark. The painters turned around to look and Wallis gave a friendly wave.

  They waved back but stood still until she stood up and brushed herself off.

  “Okay, enough already. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve felt sorry for myself long enough. Alice Watkins would not approve.” She choked up trying to say her friend’s name. “I can’t save you, Alice or Larry or even poor, old Ray. But maybe I can do something and find some peace. Right?” she said, giving a gentle tug to Joe’s leash.

  Joe stopped and let out a low growl, gazing in the direction of the main road. Wallis felt herself tense up and had to make herself look in the same direction. Joe rarely ever growled at anything except squirrels or rabbits.

  She saw an older sedan sitting a block away with a man behind the wheel. Nothing about it seemed off but she trusted Jo
e’s instincts. He not only loved everyone he ever met, he usually wanted to get them to play with him. He was straining at the leash, jumping up on his back legs and barking.

  Wallis kept looking at the man to let him know he had been seen. He returned her gaze with no expression at all on his face. Definitely one of those damn Watchers, she thought. It’s like he’s on the job. She turned toward the house and pulled Joe along behind her. He kept trying to move toward the car, still barking.

  First Alice, now this.

  Something was definitely starting up again. “Time to get some damn answers out of my own mother.”

  The woman could annoy Wallis with a look but it was also true that she had demanded from some pretty scary people that her daughter get to choose for herself even if Wallis never knew till recently about the deal Harriet made with Management. Wallis still couldn’t get the details out of Harriet.

  Harriet meant what she said about Wallis getting to choose even after Wallis chose Norman Weiskopf. Harriet did keep her comments to their usual level. She told Wallis what would be better but she never actually did anything to stop her. It was a kind of approval.

  Maybe if Harriet had actually known that Norman was a second-generation survivor from the original Circle she would have done something to prevent the marriage but it was too late now. There was Ned to think of and Harriet had proven just how much she loved Ned.

  Two years ago, Deputy Sheriff Oscar Newman had broken into their house, hell bent on finding the thumb drive that Wallis had in her possession and had shot up the place. In a desperate attempt to escape being killed off by someone from Management he had tried to prove his worth but none of it went the way he wanted or expected.