The Emerald Scepter

by Paul Kemprecos

  Sutherland slid off the Harley and went to use the kick-stand, but Rambo grabbed the handlebars.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” she said.

  “Just putting your pretty bike away for safe keeping. General’s in his shooting range. Follow the gunshots and you’ll find him.”

  Her eyes smoldered with anger as she watched Rambo wheel the bike toward a five-port brick garage next to the mansion. Then she shouldered her pack and walked toward the pop-pop-pop sound coming from behind the mansion. She rounded one end of the house and saw a line of targets set up in a field.

  A man wearing a fatigue hat and a matching desert camouflage uniform was firing a rifle at the targets which depicted a mean-faced man holding a pistol. The letters ATF printed in big letters across the chest identified the target as an Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms agent.

  The shooter had the M-16 rifle on automatic, firing methodically in bursts of three. As soon as he shredded one target, he moved on to the next and repeated the process.

  Sutherland waited patiently. The man stopped before shooting at the last target, and turned around as if he knew she had been standing there all the time. He lowered the rifle and gestured for her to come over. He took off his safety goggles and ear protectors, handed them to Sutherland along with the rifle then pointed to the last target.

  Sutherland hadn’t fired a gun in years, but her army training asserted itself. She slipped on the ear protection and goggles, put her arm through the sling and felt the rifle stock snug naturally against her shoulder. She clicked the safety off, squinted through the telescopic sight, curled her finger around the trigger, ripped off three shots and clicked the safety on.

  The man pushed a button and the target moved toward the firing station along a track. He thrust his forefinger through one of the tightly clustered holes in the target’s forehead.

  “You didn’t go for the easier heart shot.” He had a low, gritty voice.

  “I like a challenge, sir.”

  “You learn that in Iraq, Corporal Sutherland?”

  “I learned a lot of things in Iraq, sir.” She smiled. “The first thing I learned was never to give up control of my weapon.”

  Kurtz gave Sutherland a sly smile. He took the rifle back and with the other hand he patted the holster at his belt.

  “Had my eye on you every second, corporal.” He made sure the weapon was unloaded and broke the action. “C’mon up to the house and have something cold to drink.”

  Kurtz walked with a John Wayne swagger as if he’d just gotten off a horse. He led the way toward a raised veranda that took up around a third of the back side of the mansion. He directed Sutherland to a white painted cast-iron table and chairs and went through the French doors into the house, returning a minute later with two cans of pre-sweetened iced tea. He gave a can to Sutherland, popped the other and plunked in the chair across the table from her.

  He removed his hat to reveal steely gray hair in a flat top military cut. “Hope you weren’t expecting anything stronger. I don’t allow alcohol here at the encampment.” He smiled, raised the can in the air. “Skaol.”

  Kurtz took a sip that was almost dainty for a man who seemed to emanate a boot-camp macho masculinity. Then he knocked down the contents of the can, set it on the table and stared at Sutherland with deep-set amber colored wolf eyes under a straight brow.

  Rather than challenge his piercing gaze, Sutherland glanced around as if she had been intimidated.

  “I didn’t expect to find a place like this way out here in the woods.”

  “Quite the little shack isn’t it?”

  “I grew up in a coal mining town. This is like a palace to me, sir.”

  He twitched his lips in a quick tight smile.

  “Call me General Hak. I’m named after my grandfather Hiram who built this place and lived here while he developed the mines. It’s fine for my purposes, but it could use a little work.”

  The place could use a lot more work, Sutherland thought. Bricks were missing, concrete trim was cracked and the panes in one of the tall windows had been replaced with plywood. The chairs they sat in were rusted where the paint had flaked off.

  She simply nodded in agreement.

  “I was surprised to get your email,” he said. “We get a lot of queries, but not too many drop-ins.”

  “Like I said, sir—I mean General Hak—I was riding through the mountains. Not even sure where I’d land next.”

  “We did a background search to make sure you were really in the army like you said. You checked out okay.” He sat back and laced his fingers behind his head. “What’re you running from, corporal?”

  “What makes you think I’m running from something?”

  “Hell, everyone’s running from something.”

  “Guess you’re right, General Hak. I joined the army to get away from West Virginia. When the army let me down, I ran away from everything.”

  “How’d the army let you down?”

  She told him about going to Iraq, her enthusiasm for army life, and how her career hopes were dashed when she was attacked and the army not only didn’t protect her, but punished her with a discharge. She didn’t have to fake the emotion in her voice when she related how she had retreated to the desert isolation of southern Arizona, and how she went aimlessly on the road after her house caught fire and burned down.

  The general’s features hardened. “Every one of those bums who dishonored you would have been shot under my command.” He sat forward in his chair. “Sorry to hear about your house. Probably some damned illegal Mexican torched it.”

  That set him off, and for the next half hour Sutherland sat at the table and tried to feign a tacit approval as Kurtz displayed his warped version of reality. He weighed in against the objects of his ire one after the other. He talked about restoring the honor of the Kurtz name and fortune, which must have been a veiled reference to the failures of his playboy father. She heard echoes of her own paranoia in his ramblings, when she had raged against imagined forces that were out to get her. She almost felt sorry for the pathetic old man, but she reminded herself that he was unpredictable and dangerous. He reaffirmed this when he slammed his fist down on the table so hard it made Sutherland jump.

  “The only thing that’s going to stop this great country from going down the drain is the militias. Are you ready to join us and make sure that doesn’t happen?”

  Sutherland could only nod.

  Kurtz’s manner changed completely. His thin lips widened in a broad smile.

  He brought his hand to his chest. “I’ve got a bum ticker. Doctor says I could go any second. One foot in the grave the other on a banana peel. We need soldiers like you to carry on the cause when I’m gone. The militia movement’s had some hard times, and it’s up to folks like us to rejuvenate it. The government’s been cracking down, trumping up fake charges to get us in trouble with the law. We’ve been trying to bring the militias together, but all this takes money. You got any money, corporal?”

  “A little, General Hak.”

  He gave her an avuncular wink. “Just jerking your chain, corporal. What you’ve got is even more valuable. You’ve got military training and enthusiasm for the cause. You got the stomach for an intervention to help victims of the government?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Good enough. In the meantime we’re keeping a low visibility.” He furrowed his brow. “One other thing I’ve got to ask. You’re not a reporter, are you?”

  “No, sir! I’ll take a polygraph test if necessary.”

  “We caught you on camera yesterday. Why were you snooping around our gate?”

  “I’m a trained soldier, General Hak. I was doing recon.”

  He burst into laughter, stood up and extended his hand.

  “That’s the kind of fighting spirit we need. You can stay here as long as you
want. We’ll try you out. You’ll take our pledge. Most of the people are in the militia part-time, but we’ve got a small full-time cadre here at the base. You met a couple coming in. They’ll give you a tour of the camp, get you outfitted, go through some physical tests to see where you fit in. Mess is at sunset and it’s early to bed.”

  She shook his hand.

  “Thank you, sir. I was wondering about my motorcycle.”

  “You’re free to leave any time, but we can’t have people constantly going in and out of the compound. Besides, it’s dangerous with the high voltage fence and the sentry dogs.”

  He snapped off a salute. She did the same, but by then he had already turned and was striding back to the French doors.

  As she stared at his back, she again remembered her father’s advice.

  In for a dime, in for a dollar.

  She tried to ignore the fact that Pop had lost his shirt at cards.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Rambo led the way to the quartermaster where she picked up a couple of uniforms then to the barracks to drop off her bag and change. The man’s camouflage uniform was too big, but she cinched the belt tight round her waist and rolled up the sleeves and pants. They rejoined Kurtz who proudly showed off the refurbished barracks, mess hall and the auditorium where he gave his pep-talks. Sutherland nodded like a bobble head doll, but she was more interested in the surrounding territory.

  The camp was on several acres of rolling land at the base of a mountain. It was surrounded by forest that covered the lower slope of the mountain, rising to the bottom of a sheer rock face that soared up to the summit. Kurtz saw her looking at the road into the woods and said it led to the old copper mines scattered around the slopes of the mountain.

  He ended the tour and dropped her off at the obstacle course which is where she met her trainer. The athletic woman was in uniform and her short blond hair was tucked under a drill sergeant cap.

  “I’m Sergeant Paine, corporal, and my name is what I am,” she said in introduction. She gave Sutherland a once-over, shook her head, and said: “Let’s see what you are made of.”

  She started off with push-ups, prisoner squats, jumping jacks and planks, then Sutherland ran through the obstacle course. After she crossed the finish line, doubled over from exhaustion, Paine escorted her back to the women’s barracks, told her to shower and report to the mess hall. After dinner there was a training film in the auditorium. Then it was bed time. Sutherland drifted off the moment her head hit the pillow.

  A sharp-edged blast of a bugle playing reveille roused Sutherland from a sound sleep. She sat up in her cot and stared bleary-eyed out the barracks window, wondering what fool would be tooting a horn in the middle of the night. Then a woman’s voice barked over the loudspeaker:

  “Rise and shine, grunts!” Sergeant Paine said. “Time to stretch!”

  The strains of the Washington Post March blared over the PA system. Sutherland put her head under the pillow which failed to muffle the rousing beat of the John Philip Sousa composition.

  She sat up again and glared at the wall speaker as if she could melt it with her eyes.

  There was a pounding on the door and Paine shouted, “Five minutes, Corporal Sutherland.”

  She pushed away the blanket and got to her feet. She was only wearing her underwear and the crisp air in the unheated barracks raised goose-bumps on her pale white skin. She got into uniform and pulled on her boots, jacket and floppy hat. Her basic training in the real army kicked into gear and she made up the cot to military standards without even thinking. Someone knocked once and the door swung open. Two people strode in. The man she called Rambo and Sergeant Paine who shouted, “Atten-shun!”

  Sutherland stiffened her back, tucked her plump chin in and stared straight ahead, arms tight to her side.

  The sergeant circled Sutherland, hands behind her back.

  “Not bad for a newbie,” she said. “At ease.”

  Sutherland relaxed, but kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.

  “You’ve already met Captain Krause.” She put her face close to Sutherland’s. “We will be your teachers and your tormentors. When you leave here, you will have been transformed from your current sorry state into a hard-assed sonvofabitch who eats nails for breakfast.”

  “Yes, sir!” Sutherland said. “Ma’am.”

  “Good.” The woman’s voice lost its edge. “The men in this camp think women are soft. Do you think women are soft?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Paine glanced at her comrade and grinned. “We will prove them wrong. Now get your ass outside for calisthenics. Hup.”

  Sutherland marched out the door of the women’s barracks, swinging her arms like a wind-up soldier, and stepped out into the cold mountain air to join the half-dozen other recruits. Krause stood in the background watching the sergeant put them through their exercises with no change in his pit bull expression. Sutherland started gasping for air after a few sets of jumping jacks. Paine cut the session short, told the recruits they were pathetic, and said they had fifteen minutes to wash up and head toward the mess hall.

  Sutherland went back into the barracks and splashed cold water onto her face. She booted up her computer. Kurtz had emailed her so there must be a wireless signal. She found the link, easily figured out the entry code, which was HAK, then she logged off and put the pack holding her computer under the cot. She would feel naked without her computer, but couldn’t risk damaging it. She slipped her phone under the mattress and smoothed down the blanket.

  Halfway through breakfast—Froot Loops and skimmed milk–the sergeant burst into the mess hall and ordered everyone outside. The sky was graying with a pre-dawn light. She told them to line up according to height. As the only female, Sutherland was the shortest. Paine marched the motley column past the other barracks to a road leading into the woods.

  “Normally we start the day with a five-mile run, but this crew is clearly incapable of anything more strenuous than feeding your face, so we will make it a brisk three-mile walk.”

  Boot camp had begun.

  On the road, Sutherland saw other groups, more tightly disciplined, as they trotted past with full pack and weapons. She broke the people in the camp into two groups. Some were citizens trying to look tough. Others had the easy swagger that comes with real experience as a soldier.

  After the hike, they were given fake wooden rifles and put through bayonet practice. There was a short break for a lunch of protein bars and water. Next were martial arts and finally, the shooting range.

  Many of the other recruits were hunters, and reasonably good shots, but they were tired from their exertion and barely able to lift their rifles. The sergeant’s scorn faded when she saw the tightly grouped holes Sutherland put in the target.

  “Well, we got a real Annie Oakley here.” She clapped her hands. “Back to your barracks to clean up. Then supper and political orientation conducted by General Hak.”

  She patted Sutherland on the back and told her she had made the men look like girl scouts.

  On the way to the barracks, Sutherland glanced up at the mountain, recalling from her research that it was honey-combed with mines. She wondered whether it would be possible to sneak off on an exploration. She could pretend she got lost. But as she trudged back to the barracks, she saw that she had more pressing matters to worry about.

  General Hak barred the door to the barracks. Standing slightly behind him, rifle resting in the crook of his arm, was Krause. The general was holding her phone.

  He growled, “What the hell are you doing with this thing?”

  “You never said anything about phones.”

  “That’s because most of them don’t work out here. This one does.”

  “A lot of places don’t have phone service, General Hak. I was a woman, traveling alone. It would have been dumb not to have communication.”


  He gazed thoughtfully at the phone. “Yeah, I guess, so. But we’re confiscating this. For as long as you’re here, there is to be no communication with the outside world.”

  She snapped off a salute that provoked a slight smile.

  The other man who had met Sutherland in the Jeep came out of the barracks. “General. Could you come inside, sir? There’s something you should see.”

  As she was marched through the door, Sutherland saw her laptop on the cot. The man picked the computer up and handed it to the general, who gazed at the screen then turned it to face her.

  Before leaving the B and B, she had backed up all her files on a remote data storage center then eliminated them. She expected to see a blank screen except for a few icons, but someone had written her an email.

  The general read the message, handed the laptop off to Krause and bore into Sutherland with narrowed eyes.

  “Girl,” he said in a menacing tone. “You are in deep, deep trouble.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Chantilly, Virginia

  When the Global Logistics plane landed at Dulles, waiting for it was an executive jet Abby had arranged with full crew and handlers who quickly transferred gear from the big plane to the Gulfstream G150. Abby had also arranged for a taxi to take Cait to her condominium, as it had been decided that she would stay and see what she could find out about the coin while the others continued on to Colorado. Within minutes, the sleek Gulfstream leapt into the air like a fighter plane on alert and headed west.

  Cait watched the plane disappear from sight, then got into the taxi and gave the driver directions to her condo. She stepped into the living room and dropped her duffle bag on the floor. As she stood there breathing in the stale air, surrounded by familiar furniture and out of date magazines and newspapers, her adventures in Afghanistan seemed like a dream.

  The dashing Hawkins was like a hero from one of the bodice-ripper romances she had read as a girl, ready to swoop in and save the fair maiden from the clutches of the nasty villain. Calvin looked as if he could walk through a brick wall unscathed. She had grown to like Abby, and sensed that she still had a lot of affection for her ex-husband, although there seemed to be a barrier between them. If Abby didn’t want Hawkins when they returned from their trip out west, Cait would be willing to step in.