Prey Read online

  “That’s part of the plan. We think. We know that Cal is easily swayed. We also suspect that he has some dirt behind him and certain people inside the beltway have learned of it and will use that to force him to go along with them—”

  “Madalaine Bowman,” Jane interrupted.

  “Probably. She’s certainly a major player in this plot; we’re sure of that.”

  “Who else, Cliff?”

  “Gene Dawson, Sam Stevens, Paul Patrick . . . others, we’re sure.”

  “Men who are on record as openly despising you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Our children?”

  “Being protected. Very covertly. But we don’t believe any of our children are in danger. Americans wouldn’t stand for attacks against our kids.”

  “You mean it’s all right to kill a politician but leave his or her kids alone?” Jane asked with the hint of a smile.

  “That’s about it.”

  She placed the palm of her hand on his chest. “Did the president ask you to call off the Arkansas trip?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you refused?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good for you, Cliff.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Are you sure you want to come along, Jane? I believe this threat is very real. And if this plot is successful, the kids would be without parents.”

  She smiled. “Our kids are grown, Cliff. Their future is as secure as we could possibly make it. We’ve been equal-sharing partners for twenty-three years. I have no intention of changing that now.” She stepped back and took his hand. “Let’s go start laying out some things for our trip. But I need to add two more articles and have no idea where to get them.”

  “What?”

  She grinned. “Bulletproof vests!”

  Ten

  Stormy looked around the building that was headquarters of the Arkansas Freedom Brigade. She had expected to see a huge replica of the Confederate battle flag hanging prominently, but the only visible banner was the American flag. There were a number of very intriguing titles housed in the long bookcase, but they were mostly books on and about America and the Constitution and Bill of Rights, including the Federalist Papers. There were volumes of the tax code.

  Stormy pointed to the thousands of pages of gobbledygook from the IRS. “You have actually read those things?”

  “I have tried, Ms. Knight,” Jim Beal replied. “But to a layperson, it’s incomprehensible. And it’s ridiculous when one considers that when the first tax code was written in 1914, it was fourteen pages long.”

  Ki was filming the interior of the long building while Stormy talked with Jim, trying to put the commander of the Arkansas Freedom Brigade at ease. “How many pages now?” Stormy asked, pointing to the volumes.

  “Over nine thousand.”

  Stormy grimaced and shook her head in disgust. Barry should be the one interviewing Jim Beal about that. She had never met a person who so despised the IRS.

  Jim had made a pot of coffee and set out cups. The reporter and the man with the so-called controversial views drank coffee, and Stormy watched as Jim slowly relaxed and grew accustomed to the camera, now standing stationary on a tripod.

  “I’m not here to do a hatchet job on you, Mr. Beal,” Stormy said. “Your views may be quite different from the majority—and that hasn’t as yet been established—but you are entitled to your opinions under the First Amendment.”

  “More or less,” Jim said with a smile.

  Stormy returned the smile. “Yes. Well. Mr. Beal, exactly what is the Arkansas Freedom Brigade?”

  “It’s a group of men and women that came together as a unit about five years ago. And yes, it is a paramilitary group. However, we are strictly defensive in nature and pose no threat to any government, local, county, state, or federal.”

  “Why was the Arkansas Freedom Brigade formed, Mr. Beal?”

  “We believe this nation, the United States of America, is on the verge of collapse. As a nation, spiritually and morally we have already collapsed. We believe that economic collapse is sure to follow.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Because the nation is broke. Bankrupt. As a country, we have a tough time just paying the interest on the national debt. We’re unable to pay anything on the principal. Yet, all we do is keep borrowing more money and raising the debt limit. Really, our money is worthless because it isn’t backed by anything except government promises. One of these days, probably sooner than later, the American people will realize that. Then the bottom is going to fall out.”

  “Do you believe your Freedom Brigade can prevent that from occurring?”

  “Oh, no, ma‘am. That’s not why we formed. But when economic collapse does happen, we can assist in keeping order—at least in our small section of the nation. You see, ma’am, this collapse won’t be like the stock market crash in the late twenties and the depression that followed. This collapse will be immediately followed by riots, looting, and a crime wave unlike anything this nation has ever experienced.”

  “Why do you believe that, Mr. Beal?”

  “Because unlike conditions in the thirties, we now have millions of people, of all colors. People who, thanks to the liberals, expect the working taxpayers to provide housing for them, pay their utility bills, give them food stamps and pick up the tab for having children, and provide medical care for them . . . all without the recipients expected to hit a lick at anything to earn that help. I’m not singling out or blaming those folks on welfare; many of them really need our help. Rich folks receive welfare, too. It’s just in a different form with a different name. But when the collapse comes, public assistance will stop. Then the rioting and the crime wave will start.”

  “Mr. Beal, I have to admit, publicly, that you are not what I expected. I expected some wild-eyed fanatic dressed in military field clothes, with guns and knives hanging all about you. You speak as a very educated man.”

  “I read a lot, Ms. Knight. I have some college. After my hitch in the army I was planning to return and get my degree. But . . .” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I got married and we started a family.”

  “Are their any African Americans in your group, Mr. Beal?”

  “No. There are very few Negroes living in this area.”

  “Would you allow an African American in your organization if one applied?”

  “That would be up to the members. We vote on each applicant. I vote only in case of a tie. We have rejected many white people who have tried to join us.”

  “Can you tell me why they were rejected?”

  “Many reasons, Ms. Knight. Some had criminal backgrounds. Others wanted to overthrow the government. Still others held views that were repugnant to us. There are all sorts of reasons why applicants can be rejected.”

  “Do you believe that if an African American applied for membership he or she would be allowed in?”

  “No. They would be rejected.”

  “Because of their race?”

  “That would play a very large part in the decision, yes.”

  “Why is that, Mr. Beal?”

  “Because the Negro race is quite different from us, Ms. Knight. I believe, rightly or wrongly, that a large percentage of the Negro population is, educationally speaking, about a hundred years behind the white race. And that may be our fault. Probably is our fault. Until quite recently, we kept the Negro race under the hard boot of oppression. But in our eagerness to correct two hundred years of being wrong, we went too far in attempting to do what is right. Our educational system started deteriorating back in the sixties, when full integration began. Our schools were flooded with Negro children who just did not have the educational background to keep up. And I don’t know whose fault that is. I do know that if a person wants an education badly enough, they’ll get it, one way or the other. If they want to improve themselves, they can do it, but it’s a tough row to hoe. I realize that. I do not come from a wealthy background, Ms. Kni
ght. Quite the opposite. But I had a very deep driving, burning desire to improve myself. To learn all I possibly could about everything. I still do. But in our schools, the lowering of educational standards to accommodate one group is very unfair to the majority. Social promotion is wrong. It actually hurts the very people we are trying to help.”

  “You’re speaking of black children, right?”

  “Children of any color, Ms. Knight. Carrying it further, our schools are failing our kids. They’re graduating kids who can’t read, can’t do simple math, don’t know history, don’t know geography. Our educational system is a mess.”

  “And the fault lies . . . where?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, just about any problem facing this nation originated from the federal government. The government has managed to worm its way into all aspects of our lives. Sheriffs and chiefs of police don’t run their departments and jails, federal judges do. If a wet spot appears out in some farmer’s pasture, the government can declare it wetlands and forbid the farmer to use it or sell it. The EEOC, that’s the equal employment opportunity commission, can fine a businessman thousands of dollars if he or she doesn’t have a certain number of minorities on the payroll. The federal government tells the farmers what they can grow and how much. If a parent takes a picture of their baby having a bath, they can be arrested and jailed for pornography. Government snoops in all aspects of the citizens’ lives. They can listen in on private phone conversations; they monitor electronic bulletin boards. The list of how the government is encroaching into citizens’ lives is depressingly long and seemingly without end.”

  Stormy didn’t agree with Jim Beal on many issues, but she did agree with him about government encroachment into the lives of American citizens. She signaled for Ki to cut the camera and asked Jim if he would like to take a break and have some coffee before they picked up the interview.

  “Fine,” Jim said. “I need a break.” Coffee poured, Jim sat down at the table and said, “Ms. Knight, I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how. This has got to be off the record. I can’t take any more heat from the feds. But what I’ve learned has to be acted on ... quickly.”

  “Does it deal with assassination, Mr. Beal?” Stormy asked, immediately recalling Barry’s words about John Ravenna.

  Jim Beal’s hands were shaking so badly he had to set his coffee cup on the table before he spilled the contents. “You ... you know about it?”

  “I have a friend who suspected that was why a certain man suddenly appeared in this area.” She smiled sadly. “Now I must ask you not to repeat that I know anything about it.”

  “Oh, I won’t, Ms. Knight. You have my word on that. But what are we going to do about it?”

  Stormy sighed. She and Barry had talked about what course of action to take. Barry was going to see Ravenna, to try to talk him out of the attempted hit. If that failed, then the plot must be exposed.

  “I’m glad I’m out of it,” Jim said, relief evident on his face.

  “One more question, Mr. Beal,” Stormy said. “And I give you my word, the camera is not recording and your reply is strictly off the record.”

  “Go ahead. I trust you.”

  “If the person coming under an assassin’s gun was an ultraliberal senator or representative, would you have told me about it or gone to the authorities?”

  Jim looked down at his coffee cup, sighed heavily, almost painfully, then lifted his eyes to meet Stormy’s gaze. “No,” he said softly.

  * * *

  Don was waiting for Barry when he pulled into the driveway. He got out of his unit and waited until Barry had unlocked the gates and opened them wide.

  “I suppose Ms. Knight has a key in case she gets back before you do?”

  “Naturally,” Barry replied.

  “We have to talk, Barry. You’ve got to clear up some things for me. So call this visit official.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Not really. More mysterious, I suppose.”

  “I’m intrigued. Come on.”

  The vehicles parked inside the fenced area, the men entered the coolness of the home, and Barry waved the sheriff to a chair and poured them glasses of iced tea, then sat down on the couch.

  “Go ahead, Don.”

  “This is the computer age, Barry,” Don said. “Instant access to just about anything a cop would like to know about a person.”

  Barry nodded his head in agreement. “I noticed that all your units are equipped with small computers.”

  “Yes. That saves the dispatcher a lot of work and the office a lot of time. All the deputy has to do is punch in his request and usually it comes back in a matter of seconds.”

  Barry waited.

  The sheriff stared at him.

  Thunder rumbled in the heat of the afternoon, the sound very faintly reaching the men sitting inside the house. A summer storm was building.

  “Barry, you don’t know many people in this area, do you?”

  “Very few people.” Either Mr. Will had called the sheriff’s department, or Don had been following him, and doing a very good job of tailing.

  “Barry, I had a very interesting chat with the U.S. State Department about half an hour ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You know a man name of John Ravenna?”

  Barry knew the sheriff had him on that one, and there was no need to lie about it. “Yes, I do. We’ve known each other for . . .” Barry. smiled. “A few years.”

  “He’s an Irishman, right?”

  “I don’t think so. But he does live in Ireland.”

  “What’s he doing here, Barry?”

  “Touring America. Stopped off here for a little rest, I suppose.”

  “Things are not adding up.”

  “What do you mean, Don?”

  “All of a sudden, this area is filling up with feds. They’re coming in here posing as all sorts of people, but they’re feds.”

  “The Speaker of the House is coming in for a vacation. Maybe it’s security for him.”

  “The Speaker doesn’t get that much security. I checked. Now, I’m on good terms with the feds whose offices serve this area. First name basis with most of them. But they’ve clammed up tight. They’re not unfriendly; they’re just not giving me truthful answers to my questions. I’m a good cop, Barry. I can usually tell when someone is either outright lying or evading the truth.”

  “And you think I know what’s going on, if anything, right?”

  “I sure do, Barry.”

  “And you’re going to dig into my background until you come up with something, right?”

  “That’s right. Unless you want to level with me now. Barry, I don’t think you’re a criminal. I don’t believe you’re running from the law. But I do believe you’re hiding from something. Probably your past. Level with me, Barry, and whatever you tell me stays right here. That’s a promise.”

  “You think you could handle it, Don?”

  “I’ve been a cop for most of my adult life. I’ve seen it all.”

  “Have you now?” Barry said with a smile. “All right, Don. I’ll just show you a little something you haven’t seen.”

  An instant later, Barry became his Other.

  Don dropped his glass of iced tea to the floor, the glass shattering and the liquid splattering.

  Barry was gone. In his place, a huge gray timber wolf sat on the floor, snarling at Don.

  The sheriff fainted.

  Eleven

  The thunderstorm rolled into the area just as Stormy and Ki were leaving the headquarters of the Arkansas Freedom Brigade. It began with a wicked, jagged slash of lightning followed by an earthshaking roar of thunder. Then the rains came, so hard and heavy Stormy could not see to drive. She pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, turned on the emergency flashers, and sat it out.

  “What do you think about Jim Beal?” Ki asked, raising her voice to be heard over the fat, drumming raindrops on the roof of the car.

&
nbsp; “Well, he’s no raving nut,” Stormy cautiously replied. Ki was superconservative on most issues, the exception being her belief in a woman’s right to choose and animal rights. Even after working together as long as they had, Stormy really did not know Ki’s feelings on the race issue. She did know that Ki was opposed to welfare except for the very old and the very young, felt that the Department of Housing and Urban Development, among others, should be done away with, and did not believe in affirmative action.

  “Nice safe reply, Stormy,” Ki said with a grin. “I’m anxious to go back for the second part of the interview.”

  “You don’t agree with Jim Beal, do you?”

  Ki shook her head. “Not entirely. But he makes just enough sense about some issues to be viable.”

  The rain slacked off just as suddenly as the deluge had begun and Stormy pulled back out onto the road.

  “Where are we heading now?” Ki asked.

  “Nellie’s cafe for a sandwich. Both Don and Barry said the food was good.”

  “What was Barry going to do today? Did he say?”

  “He was going out to see John Ravenna. After that, I don’t know.”

  “How are we going to handle what Beal said about the assassination?”

  “Just like porcupines make love—carefully!”

  * * *

  Barry stretched the sheriff out on the couch and dampened a cloth, then placed it on his forehead, though he knew there was no medical evidence that that action did any good. Then he cleaned up the broken glass, and a couple of swipes with a mop cleared away the spilled iced tea. Barry filled another glass with ice and water, set it on the coffee table for Don to drink when he woke up, then sat down in his chair and waited until Don opened his eyes.

  The sheriff was out for only a few moments. He groaned, opened his eyes, and sat up. He stared at Barry through totally confused eyes. “That was the damndest trick I’ve ever seen, Barry,” Don croaked. He picked up the glass of ice water and drank half of it.

  “No trick, Don.”

  The sheriff stared at Barry for a moment, then drained his glass. He set the glass down carefully on a coaster. “What the hell do you mean, no trick? Of course it was a trick. An illusion.”