[Lady Justice 04] - Lady Justice And The Avenging Angels

by Robert Thornhill

  “The terrorists have used soft drink canisters, beer kegs, and trash drums to house their explosives. There will be hundreds of these throughout the park, not to mention any new devices they may concoct to deliver their bombs. I’m sorry to have to deliver the bad news, but as with the last crisis, all scheduled leave and days off are cancelled until after the Rockfest.

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  In the days leading up to the Rockfest, officers were assigned to guard and patrol the perimeter of the grounds. Workers building the stage and setting up booths were issued passes, and no one was allowed in without a pass.

  The park itself, with outcroppings of rocks and groves of trees, provided a hundred different places that explosive charges could be hidden. Uniformed officers could be seen each day roaming the hills, examining every crevice and hollow.

  Once the vending areas had been erected and stocked, officers stood guard, examining every canister and keg. Trash receptacles scattered throughout the grounds were checked on a regular basis.

  We had done all we could possibly do to thwart the terrorists’ plans, but to the last man there was the feeling we might not have done enough.

  The day we had been dreading arrived.

  A command post had been set up at the World War II memorial. Every available officer was on duty. Uniforms were everywhere, and plainclothes detectives dressed as concertgoers mingled with the growing crowd. Canine units patrolled the parking areas, sniffing each vehicle for explosives. Ox and I were assigned duty near the big stage.

  As the crowd poured in, I could understand the terrorists’ reference to “take off your gold earrings and bring them to me.” It almost appeared as if an earring or a stud was required for admittance. Earlobes, eyebrows, nostrils, lips, tongues, nipples, belly buttons, and most likely other orifices that were thankfully covered sported rings and studs of every kind. I was sure there would be plenty to melt down into not just a calf but maybe a full-sized bull.

  The first band had taken the stage and finished their sound check.

  Ox pointed to a rack of speakers about two stories tall. “I hope you remembered your earplugs.”

  “Oh crap!”

  He smiled and handed me a pair of latex plugs. “I brought an extra.”

  “It’s going to be a long day.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Did you happen to see the band lineup for the day?”

  “Nope. Missed it.”

  “Well, we’ve got the Bleach Bloods, Seethers, Drowning Pool, Conquerers, and the Five Finger Death Punch, to name a few.”

  “Swell.”

  “Looks like the Troglodytes are the first up.”

  “One of my personal favorites.”

  The Trogs kicked off the festivities at a decibel level that rattled the fillings in my teeth. It wasn’t long before fifty thousand rabid rock fans were jumping up and down on a hundred thousand legs with fifty thousand beers sloshing from their upstretched hands, paying homage to the rock gods they had created.

  I remembered the terrorists’ other words about the people in Moses’s day, “they were running wild and did eat, drink and indulge in revelry.” I guess human nature hasn’t changed much over the years.

  The second band took the stage, and Papa Roach belted out “Scars.”

  The body is just a cage; you’re dead and you’re in a grave.

  We’re losing our minds

  I was just standing there, listening to these inspiring words and wondering what effect they might have on the bawdy revelers, when an officer tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a note.

  I opened it and read, “Ox and Walt, report to the command center immediately! Captain Short.”

  I showed the note to Ox, and we headed across the park to the memorial. As we approached the command center, I was surprised to see not only the captain but the chief as well, along with some other guys I recognized as FBI.

  The captain pointed to a chair. “Walt, you’d better sit down.”

  I sat and looked into the sad eyes of my captain.

  “Walt, they have Maggie and Willie.”

  Chapter 25

  I sat in utter disbelief, trying to make some sense of what the captain had said.

  In the past two years, my sweetie had been abducted by a psychotic real estate agent, a black drug gang, and Hawaiian zealots, and now some fanatic, religious, right-wing terrorists had taken her.

  “Wh … how … ?” was all I could stammer.

  “Walt, for one reason or another, you’ve been in the middle of this Avenging Angels thing from the beginning. You were at the blast site during the parade bombing; you foiled their plans at the Red Garter; you dumped their bomb meant for the Beaumont Club into the lake; and your treasure hunt with Willie tracked their origin to St. Clair County.

  “We’ve known all along that you were on their radar. They followed you from Osceola and tried to kill you, for heaven’s sake. This abduction of Maggie and Willie is their way of making sure you don’t foil their plans again.”

  “What do they want?”

  The captain handed me a handwritten note. “Some kid dropped this by. He said a big guy gave him ten bucks to deliver it.”

  I looked at the note.

  All of your officers and your detectives cannot stand in the way of the Lord’s work.

  Fire and brimstone shall consume the idolaters and sinners before the setting of the sun.

  You will send Walter Williams, the spawn that Satan has sent to confound us.

  We hold the lives of his wife and his Negro in our hands.

  He is to come alone and unarmed to the front of Union Station, where he will be picked up.

  If anyone follows, the woman and the Negro will die.

  Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

  I sat there too stunned to speak.

  “Walt, we have a plan. I think you know these gentlemen, agents Blackburn, Finch, Greely, and Barnes,” Captain Short said, pointing to the Fibbies.

  I knew them all right. Last year the owner of some very rare and valuable tapes had been kidnapped, and these same guys had been brought on board to spearhead the investigation. They botched the job, but the day was saved by my old friend Willie and a hooker named Maxine.

  “Officer Williams,” Blackburn said, “I’m so sorry your wife and friend are mixed up in this, but we have a plan to get them back.”

  “I hope you have a better plan than last time,” I muttered.

  “Walt, I understand how you feel,” the captain said. “Just give them a chance.”

  I nodded.

  “We’re going to plant this little tracking device “Before he could finish, I started to protest, but he raised his hand. “I know I know what you’re going to say. We blew it last time with the tracking device. We underestimated the Chinese. They were way more sophisticated technologically than we imagined.

  “But we’re not dealing with the Chinese this time. These guys are farmers. I’ll bet half of them don’t even own a computer. Here’s the deal; we have no idea what the terrorists are going to do with you, but we’re betting they are going to take you where they’re holding the hostages. It’s anybody’s guess after that.

  “We’ll follow the tracking device, well out of sight. We’re going to plant a tiny receiver in your ear so we can keep you informed of our situation. After we have determined your location, we’ll move in. Any questions?”

  I had plenty, but I knew it would be a waste of breath to argue with the Feds.

  They made a tiny cut in the button lining of my uniform and inserted a tracking device no bigger than a grain of rice. An audio receiver was poked deep in my ear and tested. I was given an unmarked car and told to follow the directions given in the note.

  I drove awa
y from the memorial feeling less than confident about their plan to save my wife and friend. I parked the car and was walking toward the entrance to Union Station when a big, brown pickup with dual wheels on the back pulled up beside me. It was the same truck that had tried to run us off the road.

  I looked at the driver and saw a familiar face. It was my old tenant from the Three Trails, the one who had driven the bomb-laden trolley to the Beaumont.

  “Get in!” he ordered.

  I climbed into the cab and took a long look at the lad. He was a big, strong, strapping youth, clean-cut and well groomed. I couldn’t fault Mary. I would have rented to him too.

  “Seems like we keep running into each other,” I ventured.

  No response.

  “My name is Walt Williams, but I guess you already know that. I’m guessing your name isn’t Rowdy Yates.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “My name is David.”

  “Good name,” I said. “Just like in the Bible. I’ll bet right now you’re feeling like you’re up against Goliath.”

  He shrugged.

  “Look, David. You don’t have to go through with this. You look like a good kid. It’s not too late to make this right.”

  “Brother John says we have a job to do for the Lord. Just look at those sinners up on that hill drinkin’ and druggin’ and blaspheming.”

  “So who exactly is Brother John?”

  “John Blackwell. The Lord sent him to us in these last days. God talks to him and tells him what we should do. He said that God needed us to take his revenge on the sinners.”

  “I’ll bet you knew Will Tucker Jr., didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. We grew up together.”

  “Terrible thing that happened to him.”

  “It was awful. Will was my friend. Brother John said that Satan tempted Will with the flesh of a woman and led him to lust. Will sinned against the Lord, and the Bible says that the wages of sin is death.”

  I could see that he was struggling to maintain his composure. He had a death grip on the steering wheel.

  “I’ll bet you’ve been reading the Bible since you were a kid, haven’t you, David?”

  “Yes, sir. My momma read to me till I was old enough to read for myself.”

  “David, if you’re old enough to read for yourself, you’re old enough to think for yourself.”

  He pulled his eyes from the road and gave me a glance. “So what are you sayin’?”

  “What about that part where Jesus says, ‘love one another even as I have loved you’? What about the part where we are told that Jesus died for our sins and his blood would wash us clean?”

  “Stop!” he shouted. “Brother John said you would say those things. He said you were a false prophet sent by the devil to stop us from doing the Lord’s work. Now sit quiet and let me do my job.”

  It looked like Brother John had covered his bases. The poor boy had been brainwashed into submission.

  The area between Crown Center on the south and the Sprint Center on the north was a hodge-podge of old buildings and warehouses, many of which were boarded up, waiting for the wrecking ball. David turned off of Main Street into an alley and pulled up behind an old red brick warehouse.

  He led me inside, and the scene that met my eyes made my blood run cold. Maggie and Willie were gagged and tied to wooden chairs. Between them was a fifty-five-gallon drum. A cylindrical device was mounted to the top, out of which hung a long, green fuse. A heavy ball-peen hammer leaned against the barrel.

  The tall man whose back I had seen in the barn stepped forward. It was readily apparent why men would be intimidated in his presence. His muscular frame was impressive, but it was his eyes that drew my attention. There was something deep and foreboding, something so powerful that strong men were forced to look away.

  “Well, Mr. Williams. At last we meet. I believe you know these two. They have not been harmed at least for now. What happens from this moment forward is in your hands.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Right to the point. I like that.” He motioned to the far side of the warehouse.

  My attention had been on Maggie and Willie, and I had not noticed the old Crown Vic parked by the overhead door. It had been painted to resemble one of our old police cruisers. I could spot the difference immediately, but to the casual observer it would go undetected among the dozens of other cruisers patrolling the area.

  “As you might expect, the trunk is packed with a surprise for our sinful friends on the hill, and you and I are going to deliver it to them.”

  “The hell I will. If you think”

  “As I said, Mr. Williams, what happens to your friends is up to you. Young David will stay here, and we will be in communication by cell phone. If you deviate from my instructions or if any of your friends from law enforcement try to stop us, David will light the fuse, and five minutes later, after he is out of danger, your friends will know the meaning of hellfire.

  “You may have also noticed the hammer. The bomb will explode on impact, and if your friends should happen to stumble into this warehouse, David is prepared to give his life in service to the Lord. Aren’t you, David?”

  David nodded.

  “Do you understand, Mr. Williams?”

  I looked at Maggie and Willie. I could see the fear in their eyes. My first impulse was anger, but then I realized Blackwell was holding all the cards, so I meekly muttered, “I understand.”

  “Good, then let’s get started. We have a date with destiny.”

  I climbed into the driver’s seat, Blackwell rode shotgun, and David pulled open the big overhead door.

  Between the seats lay a long fuse that disappeared through a hole drilled through the backseat and into the trunk. I recognized this as the same setup that Tim McVeigh had used in the truck bombing in Oklahoma City. I started the car and was about to pull out when Blackwell pulled a revolver from under his black coat.

  “More fire and brimstone, I see.”

  “You’re a clever man, Mr. Williams. I just want you to know that nothing will stop me from finishing my work today. Should you decide that your friends’ lives are not worth the killing of the thousands on the hill, maybe the thought of a bullet in your own belly will change your mind.”

  We pulled out of the garage, and I saw the overhead door slide down from the rearview mirror. Blackwell opened his cell phone and dialed. I heard David answer on the speakerphone.

  I looked around the area but saw nothing. I hoped the tracking device had worked. Now I wished we had planted a microphone so the Fibbies could have heard what was going on. Blackwell hadn’t even frisked me. I guess he knew he was holding all the cards.

  “Where to?”

  “I think you know where, officer. Those heathens will soon know the fury of the Lord.”

  I heard a crackling in my ear. “Walt, we saw you drive away. We’re converging on the building.”

  Blackwell’s cell phone came to life. “Brother John! Men are coming! What shall I do?”

  “David! Pick up the hammer and strike the cylinder. It is your time to strike a blow for your Lord!”

  I heard other voices coming from the phone. “Put down the hammer, son. Put it down! Do it now!”

  “Brother John! Help me!”

  “Strike, David! It is the will of the Lord! Do you love the Lord? Then strike!”

  “Yes, John, I love the Lord.”

  The next sound was that of a hail of gunfire and the clatter of a cell phone hitting the concrete floor. Then silence.

  “You killed that boy,” I muttered.

  “He has given his life for a greater purpose, and now we are going to finish what we started.” He shoved the gun in my ribs. “Now drive up that hill!”

  I was on Penn Valley Dri
ve when the earphone crackled again. “Walt, we’ve got Willie and Maggie. Everything’s clear here. We’re coming to get you.”

  I looked down and to my horror saw Blackwell light the fuse.

  “You have five minutes if you want to live, my friend. You will drive up this hill and park next to the crowd. Once we are parked, you are free to go.”

  “What? You’re not going to kill me?”

  “No, Mr. Williams. If you die with the bomb, it will be the Lord’s will. Should you be spared, you will live the rest of your days with the blood of these thousands on your hands. You will be blown to hell, or your life will be a living hell. Either way is fine with me.”

  There was no way I was driving up into that crowd. I remembered that there was a lake at the bottom of Penn Valley Drive. I had successfully ditched one bomb in Loose Park Lake. Maybe it would work again.

  My heart sank when the lake came into view. The huge crowd had spilled down over the hill, and the banks were lined with the revelers. The lake was still a better bet than driving into the crowd, but even so, it would be a bloodbath.

  Then I saw it.

  To the north of Penn Valley Drive, the land dropped sharply away to an industrial area and then on to the railroad tracks leading into Union Station. The Southwest Trafficway viaduct rose a hundred feet above the warehouse area, supported by concrete pillars four feet thick. I was hoping that the warehouses would be deserted on a Saturday, especially with the Rockfest so close by.

  Blackwell was expecting me to turn uphill into the crowd, but I cut the wheel the opposite direction and accelerated toward the warehouse district.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted. “Turn around, or I’ll shoot you dead!”

  “Sorry, Blackwell. You said I’d be doomed to hell any way I went, so I think I’ll just do it my way.”

  Blackwell turned to grab the burning fuse, hoping to delay the explosion until he had regained control, but just as he reached, the fuse disappeared into the padding of the backseat. I figured we had maybe two minutes until all hell broke loose.