Amy Lynn, Into the Fire

by Jack July

  “Mm hm. Joe, what do you know about your Uncle Jack?”

  “What do ya mean?”

  “Just what I said.”

  “Ah, well, he’s always been Uncle Jack. Daddy calls him our other daddy. We’ve been spending time with him ever since I can remember. Daddy worked in the mines; Uncle Jack never had a real job, other than, you know. Then Aunt Carla Jo made him stop runnin’ shine after he got busted. Me and Amy grew up at his house as much as we did ours.”

  “You ever seen him mad?”

  “Him and Aunt Carla Jo would fuss at each other now and then. He always let her have her way. He’d smile at me and say, ‘Ain’t no point in arguin’ with no woman.’”

  Mr. Chambers smiled. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “But mad? Well, I’ve seen Daddy good and pissed off. But Uncle Jack? No, I don’t reckon I ever have.”

  “Does he ever leave Jackson county?”

  “Not usually. He’s travelled with me a few times to the races. He went to Ireland to see Amy, and to Washington, when Amy came home from Afghanistan. Anything having to do with Amy, he’s all about that. She’s always been his favorite.”

  “You ever wonder why that is?”

  “Has something to do with some bad things that happened to her. I don’t talk about that.”

  “No, not that. Why he’s like he is?”

  “Reckon it has something to do with the war. I know he was a SEAL. He can shoot, fight; Daddy says he’s good with a knife. I hear war changes people. You went through it, too, didn’t cha?”

  “Yeah.” Mr. Chambers looked away, like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something. “You don’t know, do ya?”

  “Know what?”

  “I shouldn’t a brought it up.”

  Joseph looked a little flustered. “Brian, for the first time in my life, I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

  “Your Uncle Jack is, ah, good and pissed off.”

  “I imagine he is, after what happened to Aunt Carla Jo.”

  Mr. Chambers shook his head. “No, Joe, you really cain’t. You cain’t imagine.”

  Congressman Stone’s estate was actually on the far side of the Indian River. This put it in Rock County, outside of his congressional district; yet another thing he did to flaunt his superiority to the law. The estate sat on ten acres. Looking at it from the river, you would see two hundred yards of beach, made with sand imported from the Barrier Islands off the Carolinas. Extending into the river were boat docks that provided berths for a hundred-mile-an-hour bass boat, several personal watercraft and a 42-foot Sea Ray power yacht. The back of the house faced the river across an expanse of yard that was dimly lit, but lit enough to see a man in the open.

  The electric motor silently pushed the fourteen-foot johnboat up river against a gentle current. Jack was wearing his green tiger stripe fatigues, soft hat and green face paint like he was back in Nam. He had upgraded his weapons: a holstered SIG .40 with suppressor, an H&K MP5-N, also with a suppressor—the latest in SEAL team personal defense weapons and a gift from his favorite niece. Then there was the weapon he had not looked at in 40 years: the hand-made black steel hatchet that hung from a custom leather scabbard attached to the web gear on his chest. He kept it in a steel ammo box, wrapped in oil-soaked burlap, under the floorboards of his house. When he held it in his hand, it felt alive, pulsing with the energy of the 100-plus souls he had cleansed with it.

  Hugging the shore with the small boat, he beached it a hundred feet from the clearing and stepped off into heavy brush. Soft, slow, purposeful steps sent him silently parallel to the house. A six-foot wrought iron fence ran all the way to the river down the property line. The back of the house was mostly windows. What appeared to be the kitchen made a rounded arc off the back corner of the house. From fifty yards away, he could make out several people who appeared to be sitting in the kitchen. He froze when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A man in slacks, a suit coat and a polo shirt with the unmistakable bulge of a firearm, stepped outside. Jack watched as he dug inside his coat, looking for something. He found it, followed by the flash of the lighter and glow of a cigarette.

  Jack examined the man carefully. From his build and stance, he was most likely ex-military. When he finished his smoke, he stubbed it out on a stone flowerpot and took the butt with him as he went back inside. Jack watched as the man stood off to the side next to the group of people in the kitchen. Moving along the outside of the fence, he found a shadowed area, a place to climb. He thought about motion detectors, but if they were there, they must have been deactivated or the man in the suit would have set them off.

  Scaling the fence was a little more difficult than he remembered but he made it over, landing with a half roll, silently, in the grass. A slow, smooth trot placed him between some bushes, next to the house. He stood still, listening, watching. He crept to the nearest window, peeked around the edge of the sill and looked inside. At a table sat Congressman Stone, cigar in one hand and drink in the other. To his right and left were two men Jack could not identify. That was not the case with the one sitting across from him. Taking a drink of a caramel-colored liquid from a tumbler was Sheriff Gene Carter. Hm, a friendly. Op aborted. Let’s see what Gene has to say.

  Dr. Earle made her stop before she dumped the flour in the bowl. He grabbed a measuring cup and wrote down the amounts while she made her last pan of biscuits. “I’m going to learn to do this,” he commented with a little grin.

  Amy shot him an honest, open smile. The first he had seen in a few days. “Yeah, well, next time I see ya, you’re gonna be fatter than a butcher’s dog.”

  “I think I can control myself.”

  “Another secret is how you mix the dough. Gotta be gentle and fold, don’t be beating it up.”

  He watched her work, almost mindless in the effort. Then he thought of something. “Do you know how to make sausage gravy?”

  “I didn’t know you liked it.”

  “Had some in a little diner outside Tupelo, Mississippi. That was good.”

  “You got sausage?”

  “Yep.”

  “Alright, I’ll fix you some.”

  Doc finished eating breakfast and pushed the plate away. “Your husband is the luckiest man on earth.”

  “That’s what he tells me.”

  “So, are you ready to finish this up?”

  Amy’s demeanor darkened a bit. “Yeah, let’s get it done.”

  They took their seats in the living room. “Last we left off you were, ah, ‘hammer down’ in a stolen propane truck?’”

  She chuckled at his attempt at trucker slang.

  Cody had his laptop open and was giving directions. The back roads added forty kilometers to their trip but the route was rural and the fewer eyes the better. Cody turned the laptop where she could see it. “Thirty kilometers on this road and we should be right at the front gate.”

  Amy held the steering wheel tightly. “Tell me about the compound.”

  “I’ll do better than that.” He punched a few keys and pulled up a satellite photo. Amy glanced at it while she drove. The photo showed a massive iron gate with a guard shack and a straight driveway about 200 yards long to a round-a-bout that butted up to the front of the house. Roads went left and right at the back of the roundabout. The house was huge, with a footprint of at least ten thousand square feet and three stories high. The backside of the circle opened to a wide set of long, shallow steps, a wide porch and tall double doors.

  “Hey Cody, gimme another one of them paper squares.”

  “This stuff isn’t really good for you.”

  “I’m in so much pain right now, I don’t think it matters. Come on, Luke, pass it over.”

  Cody handed it to her and she drove with her knee while she unfolded it, put it to her nose and inhaled mightily. “AHHH! That burns a little.”

  A side effect of cocaine is that it will make the user a little chatty. No, a lot chatty. Cody looked puzzled. �
�Luke? Who the hell is Luke?”

  “Luke Duke, from the Dukes of Hazzard. I’m like Bo and you’re like Luke. See, Micky has got me watchin’ reruns with him. I think he likes that Daisy, but what’s not to like, right? Anyway, most women like Bo or Luke, but not me. I like Uncle Jesse. I think when I get home, I’m gonna have Bogus put on some old bibs and pretend he’s Uncle Jesse, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.” She turned to give him with a wink and a smile.

  Cody glared at her with his mouth hanging open. “Well, ah, Bo, this compound is heavily guarded and Boss Hogg has a shit ton of firepower. Given any thought as to how we pull this off?”

  “Yep, we gonna drop you off down the road a piece.” She gagged again as the coke fell down the back of her throat. “Gimme somethin to drink,” He handed her a water. “Got anything with some fizz?”

  He handed her a can of Coke. “Coke? Ha ha, that’s ironic, or is it coincidence? I never could figure that out. Anyway, you see those bushes to the left of the guard shack? You gonna set up with that fine rifle of yours and once I get through the gate, you’re gonna kill everything you see coming out the front and round the sides.”

  “Okay, what are you gonna do?’

  “I’m gonna do what the Duke boys do best. I’m gonna blow that baby killer to hell.” Then she put her lips together, made a trumpet sound and played Dixie.

  She glanced at the GPS on the computer. “We must be close.”

  “Yep, just over that rise. About a half a kilometer.” She slowed the truck and came to a stop.

  “Okay, gimme the bag.” She opened the door, climbed down and walked to the rear of the truck where the hoses and valves were located. The valves were not labeled in English. “Cody, can you read this?”

  “I think one says fog and the other, ah, spray?”

  She dug through the bag and found the blocks of C4. “Which one do you think is more explode-y?”

  Cody shook his head. “I don’t think it matters.”

  “Well then, let’s do ’em both. Should be a roll of black tape in that bag.”

  She placed the small blocks of C4 on the weld joints where the pipes went into the tank and wrapped them securely with black tape. She grabbed a half dozen magazines for the MP5 out of the bag and slid them into her pockets. “Okay, I’m gonna give you a couple minutes head start. See ya at the chopper.”

  Cody nodded, turned and jogged away. Amy called out, “Hey!” Cody turned to look at her. “I love you.”

  Cody shook his head. “Yeah, you too, kiddo, you too.”

  She climbed back in the truck and arranged her weapons where she could retrieve them. After a few deep breaths, she put both hands on the steering wheel and began to pray.

  Amy had to go to the bathroom so she stopped. “Hey. Can we take a break, maybe a little walk?”

  Dr. Earle checked his watch. “Yes, a short one. The helo will be here by one o’clock.”

  They walked down the front steps of the cabin. Amy turned toward Pete’s path. Dr. Earle had a strange look on his face. Amy asked, “What’s wrong, you look confused.”

  Dr. Earle tilted his head. “Uncle Jesse? Really?”

  Chapter 33

  Six-thirty a.m., Jack sat at a table off in the corner of the donut shop. He held the newspaper up, partially covering his face as he sipped coffee. Gene walked in to a warm welcome from the cashier. He scanned the restaurant as he usually did, looking for friends. Off in the corner, he saw one.

  He slid between the tables, scooting one over so he would fit, and took a seat. He whispered, “Jack?”

  “Gene? What do ya know?”

  “Stone called me to his house last night.”

  “No shit?” Jack replied with a hint of sarcasm.

  “He’s scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Seems Sitzberger never made it home and Lamont Hughes has gone missing. He did some checking. Seems it just occurred to him who you are. He also asked me about Amy.”

  “What about her?”

  “He knows she works for the feds. He’s on the intelligence committee, so he can find out pretty much anything about anyone. But all he can find is her name, which means one of two things. She works directly for the President, or she is part of some sort of clandestine service.”

  Jack took another sip of coffee. “Who were those three men with him?”

  “One was...” Gene stopped and his eyes got big. “How did you know that?”

  Jack nearly growled, “Who do you think you’re talkin’ to?”

  Gene felt a chill. “Jesus, you were there?”

  “The one that went outside to smoke, who is he?”

  “Former Secret Service, head of a three-man team hired to protect Stone. Name’s Chapman. Stone’s headed back to Washington in three days. He’d be gone now but he has a dedication for his daddy’s park day after tomorrow.”

  Jack nodded and took another sip of coffee.

  “Jack, the FBI came by the office, asking questions about Sitzberger. I told em we were investigating.”

  “They find anything yet?”

  “Nope, nothing. Like he and Hughes disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  Earlier that morning, Jack had taken the remains and dropped them down the airshaft of a condemned mine. He smiled to himself, because they sort of did “disappear from the face of the earth.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, but ah, I’m a little worried.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when men like him get scared, they do stupid things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but you might want to tell the family to be careful.”

  Micky sat on Renaldo, Mary Ann on Mathias, as the horses stood on a small hill overlooking a just-completed public park. It was way outside Micky’s designated area of travel, just over twenty miles from home on the northern edge of Lewistown. A little trespassing, two fire roads and a county road got them there. The park held a newly completed band shell, playgrounds, picnic areas and biking trails as far as the eye could see. “My grandfather will be dedicating this to his daddy the day after tomorrow. The Judge Ezekiel Stone Memorial Park.”

  Micky nodded. “It’s lovely.”

  Mary Ann seemed a bit disgusted. “Daddy says I have to go. Fuck him. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “That’s your family name. It’s a big deal, where I’m from.”

  “Yeah, big deal here, too. I’m tired of being used. Come on, let’s go.”

  They turned back and rode to a clearing not far from Indian River Road but back in the woods far enough to offer privacy. She stopped Mathias. “Do you want to sit for awhile?”

  “Aye, I would like that.”

  They wrapped the reins around some branches. Micky spread a blanket on the ground. She sat and he sat next to her. After an exchange of smiles they began to kiss. Micky slid his hand under her sweatshirt. She stopped him, sat up, took her sweatshirt off, unsnapped her bra, slid it off and leaned back. He rubbed his face between her breasts while reaching down and undoing the button on her jeans. He unzipped them and slid his hand beneath her panties. She undid his pants and returned the favor. Then the startled horses whinnied and reared back.

  Micky sat up in time for a boot to kick him in the ribs. Mary Ann screamed and tried to cover herself. Micky tried to stand but a large fist caught him in the side of the head. Mathias broke loose and charged into the fray. After another punch, Micky began to lose consciousness, but not before he heard the gunshot, a snort from Mathias, and the hoof beats of Renaldo running away.

  Luther drove Bogus home from Rock Creek Regional. He’d returned from Houston after he and his sister watched workers hang the Nalco Chemical sign in the place of the British Petroleum sign. This was his sister’s newest acquisition. The plant would need updating to meet state safety regulations. President North had disbanded the EPA and sent those duties back to the states. The states were, as a whole, harder on them
selves than the EPA. However, they understood what industries employed their citizens. A balance was achieved; three thousand skilled, industrial jobs were saved and Nalco had expanded into America.

  The first thing Bogus saw when he returned home was the red Mustang GT parked by the stalls. He smiled and shook his head, thinking, No power greater, is there, young man? Princeton walked down the steps of the porch. “Welcome home sir.”

  “Thank you, Princeton. Any word from the Lady?”

  “No, sir.”

  He nodded. “So, in what mischief has our resident Knight decided to ensconce himself?”

  “Oh, let’s see… seeking wisdom, riding horses, suckling the dragon, that sort of thing.”

  Bogus chortled. “Suckling the dragon? Yes, well, I suppose it fits.” After a pause he asked, “Who is watching him?”

  “He carries a GPS tracker in his wallet and the Lady has given him strict parameters in which he may travel.”

  “Very well. How is Carla Jo?”

  “Vital signs are good, brain swelling decreased, but still has not regained consciousness.”

  Bogus nodded slowly. “I am contemplating calling in a specialist.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

  “Yes, well, Princeton... I have learned over the years not to get involved until asked, especially with extended family. God forbid she should die under the care of someone I recommended.”

  “The Lady would have had an army of specialists around her bedside.”

  “Yes, well, she isn’t here.”

  “Would you like me to contact Dr. Lange, sir?”

  Bogus took a deep breath. “Yes, have him review but not treat. Ask him to contact me with options.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, I’m going to take off this suit and put on some camouflage trousers and a T-shirt adorned with some sort of racing car. Then I will pour myself a drink and make some phone calls.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Bogus changed clothes, packed a pipe and poured a glass of scotch. He picked up the phone and dialed. After a click, he heard an old friend’s voice on the other end. “Tatiana? Bogus. How are you?”