The Sword of God - John Milton #5 (John Milton Thrillers)

by Mark Dawson

  “Come on, Lester. That ain’t right, bringing them in like that. Man’s innocent until he’s proved guilty, ain’t that right?”

  Lester looked over at the speaker, a big man in a check shirt, and nodded his agreement. “That’s right, Morris, and these boys haven’t been convicted of anything yet. That’s a matter for the FBI now.”

  “Sheriff?” Ellie pressed.

  The sheriff rested his rifle against his shoulder and pointed down the road. “Let’s get going.”

  Chapter 18

  LESTER UNLOCKED the door at the back of the Sheriff’s Office and went inside. Milton waited in the yard, the shotgun aimed ahead, his finger settled loosely around the trigger. Callow, Chandler, Sellar, and Sturgess followed the sheriff inside. The crowd had disbanded a little, but there were still a handful of hotheads who had followed them, and Milton was pleased to go into the building himself. He shut and locked the door behind him.

  Lester looked at him with an expression that said he wanted to know everything that had happened, but knew that his questions would have to wait. He opened the door to the corridor and went inside, leading the way down into the basement and the single cell. The four men followed him down, Ellie bringing up the rear.

  Mallory waited. She still held her brother’s hand.

  “Are you all right?” Milton asked her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m happy to help.”

  “You were the only person who listened to me.”

  “You caught me in a good mood.” He nodded down in the direction of the basement. “I’d had a good night’s sleep in there. I’m not normally so friendly.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. Happiness seemed to be a rare emotion for her, and he was pleased to see it.

  “I’m going to get a taxi and take Arty home,” she said. “It’s been a long day. It’s been longer for him, being stuck up there, and he’s tired. I’m tired. Is that all right, do you think?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I expect so. Ellie will want to speak to you, though. And Arty, too.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Where can she find you?”

  There was a stack of flyers on the shelf next to Mallory. She licked her finger and separated one from the pile, took a pen from the desk, and wrote her address down. “We’ve got an RV,” she explained. “There’s a trailer park west of town, you drive through there and we’re right out back, next to the woods.”

  “I’m sure she’ll find it.”

  She paused there awkwardly for a long moment.

  Milton put his hand on her arm, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mallory. Get a good night’s sleep.”

  She smiled at him again, the bobbing of her larynx betraying the fact that her throat was choked with emotion. Milton went across to open the door so that they could get outside. The crowd had gone, the show over for the day. Milton watched as they stepped through the yard and walked to the town’s only taxi office. He shut and locked the door and went downstairs.

  Lester had unlocked the door to the cell and stood aside as the four men filed through.

  “It’s going to be a little squashed,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

  Callow was the last one in. He paused at the door and turned back. He ignored Lester and looked straight across the room to Milton. “You just made the biggest mistake in your life,” he goaded. “You’re going to pay for it in full, you’ll see. All of you, you’re all going to pay.”

  “That’s enough, son,” Lester said, putting his hand on the young man’s shoulder and gently pushing him inside.

  “You know your scripture, Milton?”

  Milton turned his back.

  “Let’s leave these boys to stew,” Lester said, ushering Milton out.

  “‘If you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain.’” Lester shut the door, but Callow raised his voice, shouting the words so that they were still audible. “‘For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.’”

  “You’ve got more patience than me,” Lester said. “If he kept talking like that long enough, I would’ve knocked some sense into him before we were halfway home.”

  Milton frowned. For all Callow’s bluster, there was something about him now that he hadn’t noticed before. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but he knew it was important.

  Lester locked the door, pocketed the key, and indicated the stairs back up to the ground floor. “Let’s go,” he said. “You’ve got a story to tell, and I’m practically dying to hear it.”

  LESTER BOILED the kettle and made coffee for Milton, Ellie, and himself. They took their mugs into his office and sat down. He reached up to his shelf and took down a bottle of whisky that Milton hadn’t noticed there. He brought it around the desk to where they were sitting.

  “Want a little something extra?” he asked.

  Milton held his hand over the mug. “Not for me.”

  “You sure? Something to warm you up?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  He shrugged. “What about you?” he said to Ellie. “You going to join me for a pick-me-up?”

  She held her mug up for him. “If you insist.”

  Lester poured a generous measure and then poured another into his own mug. Milton looked away and tried to ignore the sharp, acrid smell of the alcohol.

  “You want to tell me what happened up there?”

  “We brought them in,” Milton said. “Not much more to say.”

  “Two of you, four of them. How’d that play out?”

  “They were a little lazy. They weren’t expecting us.”

  “They were just camping out?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Come on, Milton. Throw me a bone. How’d it go down?”

  Milton told the story quickly and efficiently. He had no interest in the limelight. Ellie filled in the gaps.

  Lester leaned back in his chair and rested his boots on the desk. He looked at Ellie and nodded in Milton’s direction. “He ever tell you what he used to do back before whatever it is he’s doing these days, all the wandering and shit?”

  “Vaguely. He’s very coy about it.”

  “SAS,” he said with an appreciative nod. “Special Air Service. I served with those boys before, when I was in the service myself. Hard as nails.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Milton said, waving it off. “Another lifetime.”

  “You don’t forget it, though, do you? Those lessons are for a lifetime.”

  “Evidently,” Ellie said.

  Milton took off his wet jacket and hooked it over the back of the chair.

  Lester shook his head. “Four young men like that, barely more than boys. What a waste.”

  Milton slotted his rifle into the rack on the wall and sat down. He would go back to the hotel and take another night. He was getting too old to sleep out in the open without feeling the consequences the following day. It was ridiculous. He’d slept under the stars for weeks on end when he was in the army, and the younger him would never have credited the aches and pains he was feeling now. It was embarrassing. He was getting old and slow and soft.

  Milton was brought back from his reverie by a knock on the door. Lester took the shotgun from his desk and went outside to the main room. Milton and Ellie followed.

  “Yes?”

  A muffled voice answered, “It’s Morten and Lars.”

  The sheriff turned back to Ellie and nodded. “It’s all right,” he said. “Two of my men.”

  Ellie nodded her approval and Lester unlocked the door. The two men came inside, rain dripping off the brims of their hats. They took them off, the water running down onto the floor. Milton recognised Morten Lundquist from before. The other man, thick set and with a soft, blubbery face, was introduced as Deputy Lars Olsen.

  “What is it?” Lester asked.
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br />   “The Stantons,” Lundquist said.

  Milton stepped forwards anxiously. “What’s happened?”

  “There’s been an accident.”

  “What?”

  Olsen took over. “They were in Joe’s taxi, got blindsided by a pickup, smashed up pretty good. I was first on the scene.”

  “Are they all right?”

  “They were lucky. She’s got cuts and bruises. Looks like he broke his arm. Could’ve been worse.”

  “Where are they?”

  “On the way to the hospital.”

  “But they just left here,” Milton said.

  “It was just outside Joe’s office. Road’s wet, slippery, the pickup skidded, couldn’t stop… like I say, they were lucky.”

  “Where’s the hospital?”

  “Wakewood.”

  “Twenty miles.”

  “Give or take,” Lester said. “You want to see them?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll get a cab.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Lester said. “Joe’s taxi is the only one in town and he’s not going anywhere. You’ll have to call Wakewood and have them send one to get you. Hell, I’d take you myself, but I’ve got to stay here until those boys are taken care of. You want me to get you a number?”

  Olsen pointed back to the door. “You want, I could take you?”

  Milton looked over questioningly at Ellie. “I’m all right,” she said. “You should go.”

  “Yes,” Lester said. “Go. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “It’s no problem,” Olsen said. “Got my car outside.”

  Milton took his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

  “No problem at all.”

  “Lester—can I leave my pack and my rifle here?”

  “Course. Hope they’re all right.”

  Olsen opened the door, tilted his hat against the rain, and stepped outside. Milton followed him.

  ELLIE TOOK off her wet jacket and went through into the restroom to get some towels so that she could mop the water from her face. Her hair was sodden, plastered against her forehead and down the back of her neck. All she wanted was a shower, to let the hot water run across her skin and get rid of the chill.

  No, she thought, strike that. I want a long, indulgent bath.

  She scraped her hair back with her fingers and stared into the mirror. She looked a terrible mess. She thought of Milton. What did he mean, dinner? In Truth? Or was he going to come back to Detroit with them? He hadn’t mentioned it today, but, she reminded herself, today hadn’t been the occasion for small talk. He had been focused on the four prisoners, following behind them, alert and vigilant from the first minute until the last. She had been nervous before they had started, but that feeling had not lasted very long. There was something reassuring about being with him. He was, she decided, relentlessly able.

  And then she thought of Orville. He would have complained about the weather, about the chiggers and the insects that had buzzed around them, the mud on his clothes and the sheer inconvenience of being out of town, so far from his car and cellphone coverage and—

  Shit.

  Orville.

  She should have called him. She had broken a bunch of rules already, and she had allowed the fact that she was off the reservation to blind her to proper procedure. First up, she needed to clear out the civilians. At least the Stantons had gone home, but there was Milton to think about, too. He would need to go back to the hotel.

  And then they would need to speak with the marshals. It was their responsibility for moving the prisoners, getting them back down to the city. They would send a truck to pick them up. Orville could sort all that out.

  She could be in trouble for what had happened. A stickler for the rules, someone like Orville, they could go to town on her for what she’d done. A single agent going after four armed fugitives was stupid to the point of being reckless. She should have insisted that they come back down from the lake to call for backup. She should have gotten the civilians out of harm’s way. But, she knew, she would only have gotten into hot water if something bad had happened. There was a big difference in breaking the rules and coming up empty and breaking the rules and bringing the bad guys back. She figured that she would be okay.

  She patted her pockets for her phone. It was in her jacket. She took another handful of tissue paper and wiped it against the back of her neck, mopping up the last of the moisture, dumped it in the trash, and went back into the office.

  Lundquist and the sheriff were talking.

  “You feeling more human?” the sheriff asked.

  “Better.”

  “Pretty fierce out there,” Lundquist offered.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “We get all sorts of weather up here, right, Lester? And it changes, blink of an eye. The number of times we’ve had to go up there and help folk out who got surprised when it dropped twenty degrees in six hours, you wouldn’t believe it.”

  She went across to her jacket. ”I need to make a call.”

  “The bureau?” Lester said.

  She nodded.

  Lundquist uncrossed his legs. “You haven’t called this in yet?”

  “No. No signal up there, and then I forgot.” She took out the phone and switched it on. “It’s okay. I can do it now. They won’t get up here until tomorrow now, anyway.”

  She turned her back on him and scrolled through the address book for Orville’s number.

  “Don’t.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Put it down.”

  It was Lundquist. His voice was quiet and firm.

  “Morten?” came Lester Grogan’s surprised voice.

  Ellie turned back to them.

  Lundquist had drawn his pistol, and he was aiming it square at her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’re not calling anyone. Put it on the chair.”

  She stared at the gun. “What are you doing, Deputy?”

  “Morten! Have you gone mad?”

  “Put the phone down right now.”

  Ellie looked into his eyes and saw grim certainty there. He wasn’t playing. This wasn’t a prank. She looked down at the round opening at the end of the barrel, the narrow black hole ringed with chrome, and raised her hands slowly and carefully in front of her chest.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m putting it down. Relax.”

  “Take off your gun.”

  She unhooked her holster and draped it over the back of the chair.

  Lundquist waved at the wall, away from the gun rack. “Get over there.”

  She did as she was told.

  Lundquist’s sleeve had ridden up a little, and Ellie saw a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. The sleeve fell back down again and obscured it before she could look at it properly.

  “What are you doing, Morten?”

  “Get up, Lester.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Up. Now.”

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  Lundquist jabbed the gun at them and his sleeve rode up again. Ellie saw the tattoo.

  1:3.

  She remembered.

  The four robbers in the cell downstairs all had the same tattoo.

  What?

  The sheriff did as he was told.

  Lundquist moved around, stepping between them and the gun rack and the door. “That fucking guy. Why didn’t you make sure he stayed out of town? None of this would’ve happened if he wasn’t here.”

  Lester’s face switched through confusion to a slow, and shocked, realisation. “Please don’t say you’re involved with those boys?”

  He chuckled bitterly, without humour. “Yeah, you could say that. You’ve got my son downstairs, Lester.”

  “What?”

  “Michael. He’s my blood.”

  “You never—”

  “It was a long time ago. You and me, that time we went to Green Bay, remember?”

&nbs
p; “The girl behind the bar?”

  “I’m not proud of it, but he’s my boy. My son. That means something to me, having a boy, you know it does.”

  “So don’t do something stupid that’ll get both of you arrested.”

  “It’s not just that. Those boys you’ve got downstairs are soldiers. They’re patriots, Lester. They’re fighting against the tyranny,” he spat the word, “that people like that bitch over there represent.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m their commanding officer, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to sit here and let the federal government get hold of them, swallow them up, and make them disappear for fifty years.”

  “They killed a man, Morten.”

  “This is a war, Lester. You make an omelette, got to break a few eggs.”

  Lester’s face darkened with anger.

  “Take it easy,” Ellie warned him, but his anger just kept deepening, and he didn’t hear her. She looked at Lundquist. “Put the gun down, Officer. Nothing has happened yet that can’t be straightened out.”

  “Listen to the agent,” Lester said.

  That was a mistake, and his eyes flashed with fury. “The day I listen to an agent of the federal government is the day I die.”

  Lester moved fast, before Ellie could stop him. He rushed across the room, closing the gap between him and Lundquist so quickly that the older man didn’t have time to react. They slammed into one another, Lester’s momentum carrying them both across to the far wall, crashing together, his hands going for Lundquist’s right wrist and the pistol. They wrestled, evenly matched, until Lester’s youth started to show, and he pushed Lundquist’s arm down towards the floor. The older man grunted with exertion, but his arm was straightened out and then pinioned against the wall. Lester reached his fingers down to the pistol, trying to prise it loose. Lundquist bucked off the wall, sending the two of them stumbling in Ellie’s direction.

  She stepped into them both, wrapped an arm around Lundquist’s chest, and tried to restrict his range of movement. He shifted his stance, and Ellie lost her balance, stumbling into Lester and breaking the hold that he still had on Lundquist’s wrist. She fell to the floor.