Escape from the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Somebody knows something about them,” Ben insisted. “Hell, the bank teller’s husband is doing a college thesis on them. What have we gotten from him?”

  “He’s doing a thesis on all militant organizations, not just Die Kontrollgruppe,” Mike explained.

  “Where is he now?” Ben asked. “I’d like to talk to him.”

  “I figured you would,” Mike replied. “That’s why I brought him over. He’s in a police car out front. You want to see him now?”

  “Yeah, bring him in.”

  A moment later a uniformed policeman brought the young man in. He was of medium height, thin, with blond hair, and was wearing horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Mr. Wade, this is General Ben Raines,” Mike said.

  Wade started to shake hands with Ben, but quickly wiped his palm on his pants leg before extending it. “General Raines,” he said. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you, sir.”

  “I’m pleased that you think so,” Ben replied. “Mr. Wade, I understand that you have studied this organization Die Kontrollgruppe.”

  “Yes, sir, I have,” Wade replied. “At least, to the degree it can be studied.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They haven’t been in existence too long. Nobody knows that much about them.”

  “What is the significance of their name? Do they have a German connection?” Ben asked.

  “No, sir, not that I have been able to determine,” Wade answered. “They seem to have chosen that name for its psychological impact.”

  “Would that also be the reason they have a skull and crossbones tattooed on their arms? I understand that’s how your wife identified them.”

  “No crossbones.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The tattoo is a skull . . . without crossbones . . . inside a triangle. They wear it on the top of their left arm, just above the wrist. That’s how my wife happened to see it, when the guy looked at his watch.”

  “I understand one of the men said they blew up the school,” Ben said. “From what you have read of them, do you think they are capable of such a thing? Or were they just taking advantage of the confusion, and told the people in the bank they did that in order to frighten them?”

  Wade shook his head. “Oh, General, I believe they are absolutely capable of it,” he said. “And they didn’t need to tell them about the bomb to frighten them. They were frightened enough. After all, the robbers killed two of the bank employees right in front of them.”

  Ben nodded. “They did at that. So what is the purpose of this organization? What are they after?”

  “Money,” Wade said.

  “Yes, I know that, they robbed the bank. But what is their social goal?”

  Wade snorted in what might have been a laugh. “General, as far as I can tell, they have no political agenda or social goal,” he said. “When I said they were after money, that’s exactly what I meant. Apparently, Die Kontrollgruppe exists only as a means of enabling its members to enrich themselves through various outlaw schemes.”

  “All right, the next question is the key question,” Ben said. “Where do you think I might find these sons of bitches?”

  “As far as the ones who bombed this school and robbed this bank, I couldn’t say,” Wade said. “But I do know that they are very active in the Northwest U.S. and Canada. If I had to make an educated guess, I would say they are somewhere in Northwest Canada.”

  “Thanks.”

  * * *

  Although Ben considered himself in retirement, he kept an office in the headquarters building and, since the bombing and bank robbery, had been spending more time there than ever before.

  “I asked Mike to copy me all intelligence reports, not only on Die Kontrollgruppe, but on any activity that might be going on in the U.S.,” Ben said to Cooper, who was in the office with him.

  “We have absolutely no evidence that the U.S. is behind this,” Cooper said.

  “Yet,” Ben replied.

  Cooper looked confused. “Yet? Do you know something? Have you seen something in the reports that the rest of us may have missed?”

  “No,” Ben admitted. “Let’s just call it a hunch.”

  Ben continued to pore over all the reports, and was in the middle of one when Mike suddenly opened the door to his office and stuck his head in. He was grinning broadly.

  “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Ben said.

  “We found them,” Mike replied.

  Ben slapped the palm of his hand on his desk. “All right!” he said. “Damn if you might not wind up being worth something after all. Where are they?”

  Their headquarters is in Alberta,” Mike said. “Apparently they have taken over Tredway House.”

  “What is Tredway House?”

  Mike held up an old travel guide. “I thought you would never ask,” he said. Clearing his throat, he began to read: “This utterly charming inn is southeast of Edson, in a forested valley of the Athabaska River. The site of an early nineteenth-century trading post, it was completely rebuilt in the 1930s. Large and airy, this lodge is filled with natural light, intriguing colors, and quality furniture. There are many patios and balconies, all with excellent views of the gardens and forest beyond.”

  Mike closed the book. “Of course, that’s the way it was when it was a vacation inn. Now it is a military camp, filled with DK soldiers. About two hundred of them, in fact, which, according to the guidebook, is about the maximum number of people the building will accommodate. By the way, the German name isn’t enough. They seem to have borrowed something else from the Germans.”

  “What is that?”

  “Their uniforms. They are exact replicas of the black-and-silver SS uniforms from Nazi Germany. And change the red armband to an orange armband, replace the white circle and black swastika with a white triangle and black skull, and you have Die Kontrollgruppe.”

  “You’ve done well, Mike,” Ben said. “That’s a lot of information in a short time.”

  “That’s not all,” Mike said. “We also think we know the names of the ones who actually did the bombing.”

  “The hell you say!” Ben said excitedly. “Now that is something I really want to hear.”

  “There were three of them,” Mike said. “Cletus Doyle, Miner Cain, and Carl Burkett.”

  “What do we know about them?”

  “They are all from the U.S.”

  That figures.”

  “Yes, but apparently, they are no longer connected with the U.S. Doyle and Cain were once members of the FPPS, reportedly booted out for corruption.”

  “They were booted out for corruption?” Cooper said. He chuckled. “Hell, I thought corruption was a requirement to be a member of the FPPS.”

  “It does make one suspect, doesn’t it?” Mike replied.

  “What about the third man?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, that would be Carl Burkett. Burkett was a major in the U.S. Army, specializing in domestic operations.”

  “Domestic operations?”

  “That’s doublespeak for terrorist acts against their own people,” Coop explained.

  “Coop is right,” Mike said. He continued, “Now all three hold the rank of colonel in Die Kontrollgruppe. In fact, they seem to be the ones who run the DK.”

  “You say these three run the show?” Ben asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s funny. If they run the show, you have to wonder why they didn’t send someone else down here to do their dirty work.”

  “Yes,” Mike agreed. “That is something to wonder about.”

  Ben put his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “You and your team did well,” he said.

  “Thanks, but we aren’t finished yet,” Mike replied. “I am putting together an ops plan now to—”

  That won’t be necessary,” Ben said, interrupting.

  Mike looked confused. “What do you mean it won’t be necessary? Surely you don’t plan to try and handle this through dip
lomacy?”

  Ben laughed. “Hardly,” he said. “I plan to handle this myself, and believe me, it won’t be through diplomacy.”

  “No, Ben,” Mike said. “I can’t let you do this alone.”

  Ben looked at Mike with a raised eyebrow. “Oh? Tell me, Mike. Just how do you plan to stop me?”

  Ben Raines Airport

  Mike Post, Harley Reno, Ben’s son, Buddy, and Ben’s adopted daughter, Anna, plus Cooper and Jersey, were at the airport to see Ben off.

  “I’ve got the VIP lounge closed to all other passengers,” Rick Adams said. Rick Adams was the chief of police for Base Camp One.

  “Thanks, Rick,” Ben said.

  “If there is anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”

  “Thanks, I will,” Ben said.

  When Ben grew quiet, and nobody else spoke, Chief Adams took the hint that they wanted to be alone in the VIP lounge. He touched the bill of his cap in a half salute, then went back out into the airport to inform the passengers, including those who would ordinarily have had access, that the lounge was closed. There was some grumbling at first, but when they learned that the lounge was being reserved for General Ben Raines, most accepted their temporarily reduced station graciously.

  “I know he wanted to stay here with us,” Ben said. “But the smaller we keep this operation, the better it will be.”

  “I agree,” Coop said.

  “Especially with him,” Jersey said, nodding through the window toward Rick Adams.

  Anna laughed. “You’re still pissed because he gave you a speeding ticket.”

  “Yes, I am. For one thing, I wasn’t exceeding the limit by that much. And for another, what was he doing acting as a traffic cop in the first place? He is the chief of police.”

  “He said he was on his way to work and you went by him so fast you nearly blew him off the road,” Harley teased. “What was he supposed to do? His job is to take menaces off the highway.”

  “I’ll show you who is a menace,” Jersey said, making a fist.

  “No, no,” Harley said, laughing, and covering his face with his arms. “Not in my good-looking face.”

  “Ha!” Anna said. “Go ahead and hit him, Jersey. It’s bound to be an improvement.”

  The others laughed at the antics; then Mike turned to Ben. “By the way, we’ve found one more ‘colonel’ in their organization,” he said.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Not a he . . . a she,” Mike said. “Her name is Tamara Lynch.”

  “Any info on her?”

  “Yeah, she may be the worst of the lot,” Mike said. “She was director of the Social Re-entry Program for Women.”

  “Concentration camps,” Ben said. “Another connection to the Nazis.”

  Mike nodded. “Closer than you might think. Survival rate for her camp was about ten percent Nine out of every ten who passed through the barbed-wire gates died.”

  “Or were killed,” Coop added.

  “Yes. And more often than not, she handled the job personally.”

  “This is one mission I am going to enjoy. By the way, do you have a charter flight laid on for me up there?” Ben asked.

  “Anna took care of that,” Mike replied.

  Ben looked at his daughter.

  “Your commercial flight terminates at Port Hardy,” Anna said. “The charter flight you will take from there is North Star Air Service.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Ben, I wish you would reconsider this crazy idea of going up there alone,” Harley said.

  Ben chuckled. “What should I do? Take an army with me?”

  Harley shook his head. “You don’t need an entire army,” he said. “A company-sized unit, no more than it would take to fill a C-130, would be good enough.”

  “No.”

  “A platoon then. Just a platoon,” Harley insisted. “It wouldn’t take any time at all to put a platoon together.”

  “With you as platoon commander, I suppose?”

  “Yeah, sure, why not?” Harley asked.

  Ben reached out and put his hand on Harley’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he said. “I know you mean well, but a platoon would be unwieldy for what I have in mind.”

  “How about a squad?” Cooper suggested. “I could put together a squad of crack men, easy to move and to handle.”

  “Thanks, but no, thanks.”

  “All right,” Jersey said. “You’ve shown us what a brave hero you are, and what a stubborn dumb ass you can be.”

  The others laughed at Jersey. She was carried on the Table of Organization and Equipment chart as Ben’s personal bodyguard, and she filled that TO&E slot admirably. And she was possibly the only one besides Ben’s immediate family who could get away with calling him a dumb ass.

  “Why, thank you, Jersey,” Ben said, chuckling. “I love you too.”

  Although his statement was made in jest, Ben did love Jersey, and all the others who had been with him and had served him so well for so long.

  “Then how about letting me do my job, Chief?” Jersey said. “I mean, I agree with you, a company, platoon, even a squad, would be unwieldy for going into the Canadian north woods and finding these guys. But if there was just the two of us? Besides which, I would like to meet this Tamara Lynch. Sounds to me like she’s giving women a bad name.”

  Ben shook his head. “No,” he said. He addressed all of them. “Look, I know all of you mean well. But these sons of bitches attacked a grade school bearing my name. They killed a bunch of innocent kids who thought they were safe and secure because they were going to a school that had my name. Well, by damn, I take that personal. Very damn personal. And that means I have to take care of this situation by myself.”

  “You’ll keep us posted?” Mike asked.

  Ben patted the canvas B-4 bag at his side. “I have the satellite phone,” he said. “But don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

  “General?” one of the airport security guards said, approaching him.

  “Yes?”

  “The pilot has said it is all right for you to board now.”

  Ben thanked the guard, then hugged Anna and Jersey. He shook hands with the others, then waved away the security guard’s attempt to pick up the B-4 bag and, carrying it himself, walked out across the tarmac to the waiting 737. The others walked out to the airplane with him.

  None of them saw the bug that was just under one of the leaves of a large, potted plant.

  In the main terminal of the airport, a man took a small listening device from his ear and put it in his pocket He watched Ben and the others walk toward the plane. Not until Ben started up the steps did the man go over to one of the telephones. He dialed a series of numbers that would give him paid access to a long-distance number.

  “Raines’s destination is Port Hardy,” he said. “From there, he will charter a plane from North Star Air Service.”

  He hung up without getting a reply.

  THREE

  Richmond, Virginia

  Derek Owen sat in a chair in the back of the conference room watching as Claire Osterman, United States President for Life, conducted her Cabinet meeting. As new head of the FPPS, Owen wasn’t actually a member of the Cabinet. But he was granted the right to sit in on the meetings, and sometimes, such as today, would be invited address the Cabinet on a specific subject.

  Harlan Millard, the vice president, sat at the far end of the long table from Claire, too timid to open his mouth. He was, Owen thought, the most insignificant cipher in the entire government. Traditionally, vice presidents had small roles to play anyway, but in the case of Millard, he might as well have been a painting.

  General Goddard, head of the Armed Forces, chewed on an unlit cigar as he sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, listening to the report from Wallace Cox, minister of finance. Cox took his thick glasses off and wiped them with a tissue as he tried to explain to the others why the economy of a nation, once the most powerful in the world, was barely above that of
Third World status, due to crippling taxes and excessive welfare rolls. Boykin, the defense minister, and Ainsworth, the minister of propaganda, stared at Cox with ill-concealed disdain. Each believed he would be better suited to hold Cox’s job.

  Only General Goddard was a formidable adversary to Derek Owen’s grand plan. Owen had more real power than any of the others, except for General Goddard. And Owen had just put into operation a plan that he believed would enable him to overtake even the general.

  “The bottom line, Madame President,” Cox said, concluding his report, “is that we are going to have to cut back on some of our welfare programs.”

  “No,” Claire said. “Our welfare programs are what buy the support of the people.”

  “We simply don’t have enough money in our treasury to keep paying out at the rate we now pay,” Cox insisted.

  “If we need more money in the treasury, raise taxes on the wealthy.”

  “We don’t have that many wealthy citizens remaining,” Cox complained. “We’ve run most of them out of the country. They are now doing business in the SUSA. And most of the wealthy who stayed are no longer wealthy. They have been bankrupted by our taxes.”

  “Then tax the ones who are left, and quit bellyaching to me about it,” she said. “Now, on to other business. I’ve invited Derek Owen to sit in with us today because I want a report from him on something that happened in the SUSA the other day. Owen?”

  “Five days ago a bomb went off in a school in Base Camp One, Louisiana,” Owen said. “While the police, ambulances, and fire trucks were reacting to that bomb, the same people who blew up the school held up the National Bank of the SUSA. They got away with over five million dollars.”

  “Five million? Whew,” Goddard said. “Too bad that wasn’t our operation. From the way old Cox here was complaining, we could use that money.”

  The others laughed.

  “There is one more thing,” Owen said. “The name of the school that was bombed is the Ben Raines Middle School.”

  Claire laughed. “I’ll bet ole Ben is pissed over that,” she said.

  Owen smiled. “He is indeed,” he said. “He has taken this very personally. As we speak, he is en route to Canada.”