JUSTIN’S WAR JOURNAL
Entry 70 [---typed]

---Oct. 17th, Tuesday. Interesting developments. Tony was planning on going to Rome. He seems sure that the bus burning and everything is somehow connected to a demon and the Vatican has the best libraries for researching that kind of thing. Leigh said she wanted to go along. I think Karen wanted to go too, but I don’t think she’d “abandon” her students in the middle of classes. I’m not even sure what she’d tell her bosses for that matter. “Yeah, I need time off to go to some libraries in Rome for some research. What do libraries in Rome have to do with American Indians? Good question.”

But Frank was on the computer checking some things and found out that any of us flying to Rome might not be such a good idea. DHS has put pretty much our whole team on a FAA watch list. We’re flagged to be detained for questioning if we so much as try to board any international flight. There was a contact number listed in the DHS instructions but Frank didn’t recognize it. He said he was sure it was a D.C. number though. Frank also found out his DHS password was about to expire. He might not have known ahead of time at all except that the notice was sent by one of those automated computer things.

This adds another twisty spin on things. Are they actively watching us or are we just on some computer list? Odd thing is the entries say that we’ve been on that list since October of 2001. None of us even knew each other back then. Nobody said so much as “boo” when we flew down to Mexico. Heck, Frank was still with the FBI in 2001 and supposedly got hired into the DHS three years later while being on one of its watch lists? Yeah, right. It has to have been backdated but there are no tracks in the computer files. As far as their records are concerned, we’ve been “persons of interest” or whatever for better than five years. Either Stevens or whoever is pulling his strings has been busy.

Since Leigh is in the country on some kind of resident alien visa, it wasn’t worth the risk for her to go. Karen had said something to Tony about getting hold of Fr. Collin to see if he could get him access to the Vatican libraries since demons are his specialty. (I forgot about that. For some reason I was thinking he was an Exorcist like Fr. Damien.) That made me wonder about whether Fr. Collin could get Tony past the “no fly” list. Tony said screw that, they’ll just drive over to Canada and catch a flight from there. Darn shame Karen and/or Leigh can’t go with him. They’re both great researchers. Pretty much part of their job descriptions. I guess Tony’s no slouch. He’s smarter than he looks and he does have those degrees after all. And I’m sure Fr. Collin will be a lot of help.

Couple of final things. Leigh said she got an email from Reg. He’s got things to the point with his sister that he says can come visit for a bit. I don’t know why, but it seemed to me like maybe he felt he needed to come to Detroit rather than just wanted to. The other thing is, I think I’m going to use the digital audio recorder a little less for now. I’ll try to stick with typed entries in the War Journal for right now. But maybe I’m just being paranoid. More later.

---October 18th, Wednesday. Lunch meeting with everybody and Fr. Collin. Noticed some grey in his hair that I’m sure wasn’t there before. So either Fr. Collin was using hair dye before and stopped using it or he had a pretty hard brush with something Unknown. I’m betting on the second. He said that the fire with no fuel source might mean demons but it’s nothing he’s ever come across. But he’s more than willing to escort Tony to the Vatican Libraries. He said he can say that Tony is a graduate student who he’s helping with thesis research. It should be more than enough to cover them. They took off for Canada to “go to the casinos” right after lunch.

Everybody else said they had stuff to take care of today. Since they didn’t go into detail I guessed it was stuff I was better off not knowing for right now. What I don’t know I can’t spill and I don’t have to lie about. Frank did hand me a pair of new welding goggles and high tech ear plugs. Said I should keep those handy on Halloween eve. Shouldn’t be hard. The ear plugs are basically those tiny little in-ear hearing aids that you can’t even tell somebody’s wearing unless you’re giving them a doctor’s exam. I’ve got a pair almost as good at work for when I’m doing long grinding and body shaping work. They let you hear normal until the decibel range goes too high and then they do some kind of sound canceling thing. Not totally sure on all the electronics wizardry involved but I know from personal experience that they work. I’ll start wearing them a little now and add more time each day to get comfortable with them. As for the welding goggles, they’re a bit nicer design than mine at the garage. They fit in a pocket and from a bit of a distance they could pass for shades if somebody saw them sticking out of a shirt pocket. Again, I’ll start carrying them on me so it feels normal. More later.

---October 19th, Thursday. Things have gotten seriously bad. Frank tried calling Jared but his secretary said his schedule was too busy. Problem is, Frank didn’t call the office, he called Jared’s personal cell phone. He checked the computer files next and found a whole lot of “Jared who?” all over the place. Even on reports and programs that Jared wrote himself. He checked Jared’s credit cards and stuff but wasn’t finding any kind of trail after last Friday. Basically, after he and Jared had met, he had pretty much disappeared as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

Frank went over to Jared’s condo in case he was just keeping his head down. There was a new tenant already moved in. The place still smelled of fresh paint and new carpets. The lady who answered the door said she’d just moved in and the landlord said Jared had moved out three days ago. He said Jared had left his final payments in an envelope in his mailbox. He left a note that said he had to go back to D.C. and the landlord didn’t think much of it. He said Jared was a good tenant, always quiet and tidy. He wasn’t all that surprised to find the place cleaned out with new paint and carpets. Yeah, and I’m thinking he wasn’t going to look the gift horse in the mouth. Since he didn’t have to do any of that stuff before he rented the place out again, he was making a pretty nice little chunk of change off the whole thing.

Once he figured that Jared had gone missing, Frank started calling the rest of us in on the case. Asked everybody to meet at our favorite restaurant at 7:30. He called Terry right away and asked her to put out a BOLO (Be On the Look Out, I think) for Jared but to keep it kind of quiet. It looks like somebody is trying to make Jared disappear and if he’s not cooperating, they might be looking for him and we don’t want to tip them off that we’re looking for him too. She wasn’t with us for dinner because he’s trying to keep her from being too deep in this.

Reg showed up. He was making his travel plans from California to Michigan and happened to find that he was on the FAA watch list. Dug a little more and found that some tracking software had made its way into his computer and his phone. Pretty damn good if they can sneak something in on Reg’s stuff. Somebody had been keeping track of everywhere he went online and who he called on his phone. And whoever they were, they were good enough that Reg couldn’t backtrack the work to the source, other than MJS were the work initials “stamped” on the authorizations for putting us on the list. Yeah, Agent Stevens’ middle name does start with J. A little too much to be a coincidence. Anyway, Reg got himself an anonymous, cash and carry, pay-as-you-go phone. The rest of us are doing the same thing. Most of us had our laptops and phones with us and Reg found the same tracking software on them. We’ll keep our regular phones active and even call each other, sometimes. And some new laptops are probably coming soon too. But anything truly sensitive we’ll be doing either over the cash phones or in person. I really wish everybody else knew Sign Language. We wouldn’t have to worry as much about audio bugging at least. As it is, I asked Frank and/or Reg to get me whatever is needed to check the house for bugs.

Reg added a bit of a wrinkle for whoever is ghosting us. Soon as he found out he was on the DHS shit list, he started calling up some old buddies. I guess I can see how whoever put Reg on that list might not realize who he was. He said some of his contracts were really high security clearance. I guess somebody digging into his life really pissed him off. He said he found out about the list Monday and he’s been spending the last couple days making sure he’d left “trails” to some very powerful and influential people. He even made time to have personal meetings with as many as he could. He didn’t specifically say that some government spook was out to get him. They just talked about how some agencies seemed to be getting awfully heavy handed recently and possibly overstepping their bounds and just anybody could end up being harassed for no good reason. I guess they sort of shrugged it off as bumps in the road but I think Reg planted some real good hooks there. I’d like to see what happens if Agent Stevens starts pissing off some of the high profile big wigs that Reg knows.

Frank filled us all in on Jared going missing. Him and Karen said something about Kat’s condo. Pretty sure he still couldn’t bring himself to sell it. Think that if he needed to go to ground, he’d think that was a safe place. We’re going to check there. More later.

---Still Thursday night. Found Jared. Kat’s condo was boarded up nice and neat but we found a couple marks that looked like the door had been opened recently. Got the boards loose quiet as we could and I started working on the lock. Should have known Kat would have good locks. Took better than five minutes. While I was working on the lock, Karen went out of body. Still spooks me to see her body lying there with no life, so I didn’t look. Aiden was holding her up; I trust him. When she came conscious again, Karen said as far as she could tell, the condo was empty except for Jared; upstairs in the bedroom loft, asleep on the bed.

We went in combat quick, Frank and Angie first with me as anchor. Cleared the place pretty fast since it was basically one big room. Plenty of shadows though and some furniture big enough to hide a person so we played it by the book. Everybody crowded into the bedroom as soon as we called clear. We found Jared right where Karen said he’d be; passed out on the bed. We weren’t being quiet anymore but he didn’t wake up. Aiden even heaved a pillow at his head but all he did was wave one hand a little and moan a bit. That’s when we started getting kinda worried. Jared’s CIA trained and I’ve seen his regular reaction time. He was more than asleep.

Aiden moved in on his patient with that VW sized med kit and got to work. He said Jared’s vital signs were depressed but not too bad. Rolling Jared over on his back literally uncovered a lot of the reason. He was laying half on top of an empty bottle that used to hold twelve year old Scotch. Well, at least when he decides to get ripped, he uses the good stuff. Problem was, he’d been using the booze to wash down sleeping pills and that’s a bad combo. Aiden checked him out and said the sleeping pill overdose might not have killed him but there’s a good chance he could have died of dehydration. He might have just lain there and wasted away. He had enough drugs in him to keep him asleep long enough that he might have been too far gone by the time they finally wore off.

Aiden said to clear the way to the bathroom because he was about to clean Jared out and it wasn’t going to be pretty. He was right. Aiden got something into Jared to make him purge and then something else to settle his system while we pumped him full of water and a little bit of food. When he got coherent, he was still miserable. Seriously limping too. He should still be on pain meds but we didn’t find any on him or anywhere in the condo. Jared seems like the kind of guy who might have forced himself to stop the meds and “play through the pain” to make sure he didn’t end up addicted. Yeah, Karen calls that strong but stupid.

Poor guy kept saying he really didn’t mean to try to kill himself. He just wanted to sleep. Deadly spiral there from what I’ve heard. It’s not just that booze and sleeping pills is a powerful combo, its how they react. You take some pills and some booze but you don’t feel like they’re working and then you’re not sure you took the pills in the first place, so you take a couple more “just to be sure” because you still want to get to sleep. Little bit more booze and your brain’s all fuzz so you’re not sure about those pills you were going to take and the cycle continues. Lots of people have accidentally killed themselves that way, I’m sure.

Once we had him back on a halfway even keel, we started asking questions. Jared said he’d gone into hiding last Friday. He got in his car to go home from the office and Kat was sitting in the car waiting for him. He said he even smelled her perfume. She told him he couldn’t go home to his place; she said They were waiting there to grab him. She said he should go to her place instead but don’t try to fly out of the country because They were waiting for that too. He didn’t call us because he thought either he was going nuts or we wouldn’t believe him. He knew that Kat and us dealt with odd stuff, but this was too much to process. He dumped his car in the river and made his way here on foot. He got in by the fire escape and the window in the bedroom. He’d been hold up in here ever since. He’d hardly been sleeping and getting more sad and depressed and got out the booze and the sleeping pills the other night. Aiden figured he’d been passed out better than a day.

Since Jared seemed to have his feet under him again, Frank started telling him how deep things had got for him. As far as DHS and CIA records were concerned, he never worked for them and basically didn’t exist. Jared pretty much stated the obvious when he said that he must have got too close to something during his investigation of Kat’s death. That’s about all he’d been working on lately since DHS administration basically had him sitting in his office all day doing nothing recently for some reason. It’s looking like somebody’s been setting Jared up for a fall for months now. On the plus side, Jared still had all his notes on his laptop and he had that with him. Good thing, because just about everything else he’d owned was gone. Reg is probably working on killing any tracking software on that laptop right now.

Frank laid it out simple for Jared; he had to get out of the country and we could get that done. Frank’s skill at making fake ID papers is going to help a whole lot. Thank God for the things you learn while you’re busting the bad guys. Jared still has some contacts that neither the CIA or DHS know about. Um, there’s more details but I think I’m not going to go into them for now. Still too much chance that unfriendly eyes might be peaking over our shoulders. Everything I’ve got down here so far doesn’t much matter because it’s already done and behind us. Some of the stuff our crew did and is going to do for Jared is damn clever, I think. But I just can’t put that in here right now because it could cost Jared his life.

We still had some work to do and like Karen said, it’s probably best that a bunch of people aren’t seen going in and out of an “abandoned” condo. There was a decent toolbox in the closet so me and Angie got to work rigging the door. It still looks like the place is boarded up but if we need to we can get in and out the front door with just a little work. While we were working on the door, Frank and Karen worked on Jared. By the time they were done, he was convinced that Kat’s ghost had been his mind using the only way it could to drive through his obsession with the investigation. They told him that on some level he must have realized what was going on around him and seen what their next step would be. His brain used a “hallucination” of Kat to kick him into flight mode so he could get out from under the shit storm that was coming down on him. I’ve got no problems with them bending things a little to keep him out of The Fight. He’d be a good asset, but he’s still too vulnerable. If we gave him the Speech now it wouldn’t just open his eyes, it would shatter him. Too vulnerable, too fragile. Better to get him to safety and try to keep the Dark things away from him. We’ll get him out of the country and set up someplace else. Good chance we’ll never see or hear from him again. As long as he’s safe, that’s okay. There’s more we have to do but I’m done with this entry for now. Goodbye Jared.

Reg had only been ‘back among the living’ since last Wed. afternoon, and he still wasn’t used to how much had changed in the 9 months he’d been gone. He’d been spending almost all his time in the past five days dealing with his lawyers and Claire and the girls. At least Claire wasn’t yelling at him constantly anymore. That had stopped a couple days ago. But his sister had become extremely clingy since the fire, and much more whiny than Reg remembered. And Audra.... Well, she was like a different woman altogether. He’d never seen her doing anything even remotely maternal in all the time he’d known her. But when he saw her with his dad last week, he couldn’t believe the way she looked after him. He wasn’t sure he could have taken that. They’d had such an open relationship before; he’d have felt smothered by her the way she was acting now. Of course, he got the impression that he was no longer in any position to be smothered by her; his dad’s injuries may have finally made Audra a one-man woman. After listening to Claire whine and the lawyers nag him for details of his disappearance all weekend (why didn’t they get that he didn’t know anything?!), he was ready for a break already. He realized when he looked at the calendar that Halloween was coming up in a couple weeks. Last Halloween had been...well...something else. He figured maybe he’d plan a trip back to Detroit to visit Leigh and everyone, and just happen to be there on Halloween, in case they needed him. At least he didn’t have a house for his zombified neighbors to attack him in this year. He emailed and let Leigh know what he was planning. But when he started making his travel arrangements Monday morning, what he found online gave him the sneaking suspicion that he might be going there sooner.

That Monday evening, the team gathered again for Frank to let Justin, Karen and Leigh know what they’d found out about the car fire and what had happened with Stevens. Tony had already decided for himself that this was being caused by some kind of demon, and he warned Justin that he shouldn’t go to any more of the ‘meetings’ at the barn until they figured out how to defeat the demon. In fact, Tony had been thinking about it all afternoon, and he knew what he needed to do now. He was going to Rome, he told the others, to learn what he could from the records in the Vatican library about demons and how to kill them. They were the experts, of course. Leigh asked if Tony would mind her joining him. She had contacts at other libraries in Europe, and depending on what they were able to find out at the Vatican, they might be able to check those other resources, too. This might also give her a chance to check on the books that she and Karen had been trying to get ahold of that seemed to be missing from all the ‘local’ libraries. Karen asked if Tony had tried calling Fr. Colin yet. He had told them that his ‘specialty’ was Demonology, she reminded the others. As she said it, she tried not to let it show that she was kind of disappointed that she couldn’t go too. While she knew she carried a little bit of Fr. Andrew with her, in the crucifix he gave her, she would have liked to light a candle for him at St. Peter’s, in addition to helping with the research, which she actually enjoyed doing. But she had classes to teach, and she couldn’t justify taking off for a couple weeks in the middle of the term just so she could go bumming around European libraries.

Frank had been showing the others the photos that were taken of the burnt car, and since his computer was open anyway, he decided to check his email. But he didn’t get far once he spotted the email from the DHS computer system. It was an automated message telling him that his “account expires in 10 days.” He hadn’t really thought about it since he’d gone on ‘leave,’ but now he realized that he had gotten his new password just before Jared had let him and Angie go. That was at the beginning of last November, so the timing was right. Jared had done what he could by not cancelling Frank’s account when he’d been put on leave. But it would have drawn too much attention for Jared to try to renew the account when it came time to. He’d just have to make the best of the time he had left. This, combined with Tony’s plan to go to Rome, made Frank think to check what a quick surface scan of the files would turn up about the team. What he found surprised even him. Everyone on the team, including Reg, was flagged as a flight risk. They were on an FAA ‘watch’ list to be detained for questioning if they attempted to take an international flight, and there was a number given that Frank didn’t recognize, to call if any of them were stopped. Well...that was going to throw a wrench into Tony’s plans. Frank checked the date they’d been added to the list. October 2001. Now that was strange. He couldn’t imagine that they’d all really been on the list that long since they hadn’t even met each other back then. But it would take a little more work to find some trace of when they’d really been placed on it.

Tony was already on the phone leaving a message for Fr. Colin when Frank gave them the bad news. Tony just laughed. “So?” he said. “I’ll just drive over and take a flight out of Canada.” Frank thought about that for a second. Being in Detroit, international travel didn’t have quite the same connotations as it might other places. No one thought of Windsor as being in a foreign country, and the list they were on seemed to only apply to international airline flights. The border crossings here did seem to be rather porous.... Even if he had to drive up and cross at the Soo, Tony told him, he wasn’t worried about getting over there. And getting back in would be easy since he had a US passport, even if it meant using a different one of the less-watched crossings, like at Niagra. The weird thing was, Tony said, that he’d been in and out of the States several times for work in the past year and he hadn’t been stopped. Of course, he’d always been using a chartered jet. This was more of a problem for Leigh. Since she was not a US citizen, she might be able to slip into Canada fine on the way out. But getting back in, no matter what crossing they used, would probably be a problem. She grudgingly admitted that maybe it would be better if she didn’t go. She might not be able to get back in once she left. Or, worse yet, she might end up being ‘detained’ and then disappear into the black hole that Federal detention had become for anyone the government didn’t like. She would give Tony letters of introduction to some of her contacts, though, in case he wanted to check out what other European libraries might have while he was over there. And she’d be checking with the German consulate first thing tomorrow, to find out what her government knew about her status. Denmark didn’t have its own Embassy here in Detroit, but many of the EU countries had reciprocal agreements with each other that allowed their citizens to access services through another EU consulate.

There was one good thing about her not being able to go, Leigh told them. She would have had to cut her trip short to be back anyway, because Reg had emailed to let her know that he’d be coming back to Detroit to visit a little before Halloween. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about maybe missing him when he was here. The conversation shifted back to the barn then, when Frank told them what his quick title search had found. The farm was owned by the Holtzman Cooperative, the same group that owned the dairy whose truck Tom had been driving. They’d owned it for about 10 years. Before that, it was privately owned by the Merrimans. Apparently, if they had any children, the kids didn’t want to go into farming, because the property went on the block after their deaths. The dairy co-op has been in business for about 18 years, and has been slowly expanding its holdings that whole time, to the point that it probably ranked as a ‘factory farming’ operation by now, rather than the co-op of small farmers that it had once been. Right now, according to the records, no one lived at the property and there were no cows being kept there, but the fields were being farmed for fodder.

When Frank began discussing with Tony and Angie how he was planning on rigging the barn, Justin and Karen decided to head home. Justin figured he’d be better off not knowing what Frank was planning, so he couldn’t accidently tip off Tom and the other wackos. Karen was all for anything that would make Justin safer when he went to the meeting. Frank wanted to not only set up some kind of surveillance system inside the barn, but also rig it with something that could put the bad guys out of commission if things went wrong. He knew that just blowing the place up was probably a bad idea, since Justin would be inside. But maybe something a little less permanently injurious to the human body, like flash-bangs or smoke bombs or tear-gas canisters.... And he also wanted to add a couple of ‘entry points’ of his own, so that they could get inside without the bad guys knowing where they came from, just in case they’d trapped the current entry points themselves. (These guys seemed to be at least as paranoid as Frank himself, so he knew that they’d probably have thought of doing that.) He and Angie plotted out where to put cameras around the perimeter of the farmyard, so they could determine if there was any schedule for people coming and going. They wanted to be perfectly sure the place was empty and know just how much time they had alone there before they went in to rig it. They’d also need time to scope out the interior of the barn before they could plan the placement of whatever they put inside. He didn’t tell the others, though he was certainly going to warn Terry, but he was also planning to try to have a prescient dream to find out what was planned for the meeting on Halloween. Knowing that might help him plan ahead for what to rig into the barn.

The next morning, Tuesday, Oct. 17, Leigh was at the German Embassy bright and early. She needed to know just how precarious her position as a foreign national was. But when the consular aide she talked to checked the Embassy’s records, he could find no indication that they or the Danish government had been contacted at all about her. He checked through all her paperwork and found nothing about which she needed to be concerned. Everything appeared to be in order. Somehow, though, his assurances didn’t make Leigh feel any better. When she got outside, she checked her voice mail and found a message from Tony. Fr. Colin had turned up on his doorstep, and wanted a rundown on what he was getting into before he and Tony made plans for going to Rome. So everyone was going to meet at the diner for lunch. They were all surprised to see that Fr. Colin was a little greyer than the last time they’d seen him. Most of his hair was the same coppery-red it had been, but there were new streaks of silver at his temples. He noticed them all staring at his hair, but all he said was that he’d “been keepin’ busy” since he saw them last. They described to him everything that had happened since the bus fire, including what their thoughts were on the whole matter. Though the whole fire-motif could be linked to demons, Fr. Colin told them, it didn’t sound like anything he was familiar with. But he’d be happy to go to Rome with Tony, and give him all the help he could with his research. He had business to take care of in Rome anyway. Frank described the ‘issue’ the team was having with travel at the moment, and Tony asked the priest if he minded a road trip to Canada to make their travels go more smoothly. Leigh gave Tony the letters she’d typed up, and Fr. Colin told Tony that he was ready to go whenever Tony was. As soon as they finished their lunches, the two went to collect their bags and head over “to the casinos, for a few days’a’ gamblin’.” Frank and Angie went up to ‘the barn’ to set up the surveillance cameras, and the others went back to their regularly scheduled Tuesdays. But before they split up, Frank handed Justin a pair of welder’s goggles, with the cryptic comment that he “might need these on Halloween.”

Frank had been keeping an eye on the watch list since he found out that they were on it last night, to see if there was any activity that might clue him in to who’d put them there. But it turned out that he wasn’t the only one watching the watchers. When he checked late that night, he found that Reg’s status on the list had been down-graded from ‘watch’ to ‘person of interest.’ He wondered if someone was trying to set up Reg, making him the fall guy if things hit the fan. And he wondered if that had something to do with where Reg had been for the past 9 months. He hadn’t felt anything ‘strange’ about Reg when he saw him last week. But no one had noticed right away when the Weendigo posed as Reg, either. He would just wait and see what happened next. When Frank checked the computer again Wednesday, about mid-morning, Reg’s status had been upgraded back to ‘watch.’ This concerned Frank. He was beginning to think he should talk to Jared about it. In fact, if he needed to, he’d call in some of his other contacts to help facilitate it. He knew plenty of people who understood his need for secrecy and who would help him meet with Jared without other eyes and ears knowing about it.

The first step was going to be getting in touch with Jared. He dialed Jared’s personal cell and was surprised when Jared’s secretary answered. Mr. Birkoff wasn’t there at the moment, she told Frank; and when he explained that he was just hoping to chat with Jared, she told him that there was really no space on Mr. Birkoff’s current schedule to pencil Frank in. Did Frank want to leave a message for him? “No,” Frank told her, “I’ll call back some other time, when he isn’t so busy.” Frank never let on that he’d noticed the fact that Jared’s cell had been rerouted to the main office line. That had never happened before, and it was unsettling. But Jared hadn’t missed his Friday session with Frank. Could something have happened to him over the weekend? Frank tapped into the DHS computers to do a quick search on Jared’s name. The response he got was basically “Jared who?” Now he was really worried. He started a search to check for activity on Jared’s credit cards and anything else he could think of that he might use to track Jared. When that search seemed to be turning up nothing, he headed over to Jared’s condo. Though he covered it perfectly, Frank was startled when a young woman answered the door. He knew for a fact that Jared wasn’t ready to start dating again, and the condo probably wasn’t so expensive that he’d have needed to take a roommate. And Frank was pretty sure that Jared would have mentioned something like that if he had.

The young woman told Frank that she’d just moved into the condo over the weekend. He thanked her and apologized for bothering her, then went to find the landlord. The landlord told him that Jared had moved out three days ago. He’d just left an envelope in the landlord’s mailbox with payment for the balance of the lease and a note saying that he had been called back to DC unexpectedly. When the landlord had gone up to the condo, he found that it had been totally cleaned, repainted and re-carpeted, so he wasn’t about to quibble over Jared breaking the lease. Besides, he knew that the guy’s fiancee had died and he’d taken it pretty hard, and he’d always been a good tenant, quiet, never any trouble. “And the money in the envelope was pure profit, since he’s rented the place out again already,” Frank thought to himself, cynically. He called Terry at work. He needed her to put out a BOLO on his old boss, Jared; just local, but he needed her to play it close to her vest. She told him she’d be right on it. When he got done talking to her, he called the others and set up a meeting for 7:30pm at Roma. He’d no sooner closed the phone than he got a call from a number neither he nor his cell phone recognized. As he opened his phone, he tried not to hope it was Jared. The caller didn’t have to introduce himself though, because Frank recognized Reg’s voice right away.

“Have you been watching?” Reg asked him cryptically. Frank immediately knew what Reg was talking about. “Yes,” he answered. “Meet at the usual place?” Reg suggested. “7:30,” Frank agreed. He left a note for Terry that he’d be out on business that evening. They were still keeping her out of the loop on this one. It seemed even more important now that they all knew they were on the watch list. They came into Roma in ones and twos, and drifted back to the private dining room. Leigh was shocked to see Reg there. Frank brought the others up to speed on what had happened with the watch list. It turned out that Reg was the one who done the downgrade. He explained how he’d been thinking about coming back to Detroit for a visit around Halloween. But, as he was planning his trip Monday morning, he happened to catch the fact that he was on this list. He found that disturbing, and began to dig deeper in ways that only he could do. What he found frightened and angered him even more. Someone was watching him, and doing such a good job of covering his tracks that it was almost undetectable. A very sophisticated spy bot was tracking every keystroke he made on his computer and he had no idea where the info was going. And when he checked, he found that the same type of bot had infected his cell phone, too–the one Justin and Leigh had bought for him just a week ago when he got back from wherever he’d been for the previous 9 months. It was reporting to someone every single thing the phone was used for, whether it was calls, text messages, reading email or checking the weather or the stock market.

The only info he’d been able to glean from the watch list, he continued, had been the initials MJS, which meant nothing to him, and a phone number. Frank told him that the phone number, the same one he’d gotten Monday evening when he found the team on the list, was one he didn’t recognize either; and when he’d done a search for it, he’d found that not only was it not listed, it was also not UNLISTED, either. The only phone numbers he knew of like that were popular in certain ‘government circles.’ And the initials? Maybe they were Stevens’, Leigh suggested. A quick check told them that Mackenzie Stevens’ middle name just happened to be Jeremy. At this point, the team briefly filled Reg in on what they’d been investigating. Reg thought about that for a minute, then continued. The first thing he’d done when he found himself on the list, was call and begin to reacquaint himself with some old business associates. Some rather powerful associates. He was hoping that he could raise a furor over his being on the list, and maybe draw out whoever’d put them there. But he didn’t get the reaction he’d been hoping for. Over the last couple days, he met with as many of them as he could squeeze in on his way across the country. For the most part, they were sympathetic to the trouble this might cause him. But, although they didn’t say it, when it came right down to it, ‘it wasn’t them.’ And none of them seemed willing to put their own necks on the line to get him off the list, or even find out why he’d been put on it or by whom. He got comments like “Well, the government is only doing what’s necessary to protect the country,” and “It’s bound to happen that there’s an occasional mistake, but you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet.”

So, as step two in trying to figure out who had placed the bot, he altered his status on the list yesterday night. But whoever was watching them had very good help, Reg told them. Because when he’d altered his watch list status, he used an old ‘back door’ someone had left open. When he checked this afternoon when he got to Detroit, not only had his status been changed back, but the ‘back door’ had been closed down, too. And all traces that he’d been in there had been erased. Doing that took a lot of work. Now, Reg said, he was wondering what the best way would be to get a bunch of powerful executives into trouble with the travel authorities, so they would be forced to raise a stink and bring attention to this. He knew plenty of people who would be too big and too public to ignore. People of various nationalities, both lower-level techies and top CEOs, people from across every possible spectrum. But what if these people were ‘seminar attendees’ like his father, Frank mused. Reg seemed surprised that Harrington was still a problem. He was indeed, Frank told Reg; and Karen explained how her mom was turning more ‘Stepford’ all the time, though thankfully she hadn’t set a wedding date yet, and how Edward had gone from brainwashing people at big expensive seminars with Unknown help to brainwashing them at small consulting-type lectures without the help.

When Reg heard this, he just grinned. He’d just need to be a bit more careful. Because if Frank didn’t know of an easier way, now that he had some idea of what he was dealing with, Reg could go in there and add them to the list himself. It would just take a little longer, because he’d have to do each step slowly and carefully to keep from being noticed. Which reminded him.... Reg asked to see everyone else’s laptops and phones. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could find the bot easily. Sure enough, it was on most of their electronics too. The only things that weren’t infected were the two cell phones Leigh bought Friday morning, her ‘Kristen Erickson’ phones. Now, Frank told the others why he’d originally gotten them together. Jared seemed to be ‘disappeared.’ There was a deep silence as they all digested this horrifying piece of news. “What can I do?” Karen asked, speaking for all of them. Frank described the steps he’d taken so far to track Jared, and the results...or lack thereof. Now he was trying to figure out where Jared might have stashed something in the event of his disappearance. Everyone that had ever worked for the CIA, even in primarily an administrative capacity like Jared, had some sort of ‘back-up plan’ like that. “Maybe something related to Kat,” Karen said, her voice barely getting above a whisper. She couldn’t bear the thought that now the team’s activities might have caused the death of another of their friends. She wasn’t sure if Frank heard her or if giving voice to his thoughts had sparked his memory, but he suddenly suggested that they check Kat’s old place. Jared had told him once that he couldn’t bear to sell it after her death. So he’d had it cleaned and boarded up.

The seven of them stood and gathered their coats almost as one. As they began pulling out car keys, they realized that five cars suddenly showing up there might draw unwanted attention. They had Justin’s and Aiden’s trucks, Frank’s car, Reg’s rental car, and Marcus, Reg’s Land Rover, which Leigh had been driving since before Reg’s disappearance. The two cars with the largest capacity were Marcus and Frank’s car. Frank, Aiden and Angie went in Frank’s car, and Leigh, Reg, Justin and Karen went in Marcus. They were careful to take different routes to Kat’s condo, and they made sure to park as far apart as they could manage without having to walk an unrealistic distance to the building. On their way in and up to Kat’s loft, they all watched for surveillance equipment and any sign that others might have been there. As they approached Kat’s door, Reg tried to empathically sense if Jared might be inside. Since he’d found out that his skill wasn’t just a ‘knack’ for sensing other people’s emotions but an Art, he’d been working on developing it. He felt a soul-tearing grief, with undercurrents of anxiety and fear. He told the others that he thought Jared might be in there. They could all see now that the boards over the door had been disturbed. It was very subtle, just small splinters around some of the nailheads that gave away the fact that the boards had been removed and refastened.

Frank motioned for the others to hang back so that Justin could check for any tracks that might indicate who, Jared or someone else, had gone inside. He found nothing, so Angie moved up and checked to see if the doorway had been wired at all. She didn’t find anything either, so she and Justin started quietly and carefully removing the boards. Frank and Karen tried to sense if there was any Unknown presence there and felt none, so Karen asked if she should go check ‘from the other side.’ Frank nodded. Justin looked back over his shoulder. He wanted to know that she’d be alright, but he needed to keep working on the door. Once they got the boards off, he’d need to pick the lock if they were going to get in without getting every other condo owner up there because of the noise. Aiden motioned that he’d keep an eye on Karen’s body. She’d already sat down on the floor, her back against the wall. Before Aiden had turned all the way back around, he saw out of the corner of his eye Karen’s body slump. He just managed to catch it before her head would have thumped onto the floor. Karen was surprised at how easily she’d slipped out of her body this time. She hadn’t been practicing or anything, so she wondered if it had something to do with how urgently she felt the need to go. She hadn’t even felt so desperate to see inside the barn on Sunday, though she had felt certain then that Justin wasn’t in any physical danger. But now, she HAD to see if Jared was inside. Somehow, she felt like his life might depend on it.

Karen moved as cautiously as if she’d been ‘clearing’ the condo in her body. It still always amused her in a strange way to see what things looked like from the astral plane. It was hard to see inanimate objects from this perspective, so she always surprised herself when she found that she’d moved through a closed door or a piece of furniture. Without thinking, she skirted around Justin, who was now kneeling in front of the door and working on the lock, and went in the same way she knew Frank and Angie would once the door was open. The furniture appeared to be right where Kat had put it; but now it was all draped with dust-covers. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the river-side of the building had heavy curtains hanging over them, the same ones Kat had hung there so she could keep it dark inside after an all-nighter at the computer. Karen accidently popped through the wall as she tried to see if the windows were boarded as well. She glanced around as if someone might have seen her hovering there a couple stories above the riverfront. There might have been gaps between a couple of the boards; but with the curtains there too, no one would have been able to see or hear inside.

She went back inside and continued her search. The last place she looked was Kat’s bedroom. There she found Jared curled up on Kat’s bed, on top of the dust-cover. She leaned in close to get a better look at him through the fog that veiled one plane from the other, careful not to touch him. Though she couldn’t see his spirit directly as long as it was in his body, she could tell that he was still alive. He seemed to be sleeping, his chest moving in and out with slow, deep breaths, and she could just make out where tears had cut streaks through the dust that clung to him. She may not have been an empath, but she felt the pain written on his face as if it were her own. And she wondered in the back of her mind if that sorrow was causing tears to well up in her body’s eyes right then like it was in her spirit’s eyes. Before she even realized she’d had the thought, she found herself slipping back into her body, felt the pressure of Aiden’s grasp keeping her from bumping her head against the wall as her spirit suddenly remembered how to move its shell. It took her a second to work her vocal chords again, and she whispered to Aiden that Jared was in Kat’s bedroom, asleep on the bed. Aiden signaled Frank, and Karen glanced over to see Justin where she’d left him, working on the lock.

It was several minutes later that Karen heard Justin sigh with relief. He’d forgotten, until he knelt down in front of the door, how careful Kat had been about the quality of her locks. He was kind of lucky he’d been able to pick these. ‘Course, she’d been a CIA employee too, he thought with a small smile. Frank signaled to Justin, Angie and Aiden using ‘combat sign’ that he and Angie would go in first, Justin behind them to look for tracks, and clear the place. They might not have felt anything Unknown; and Karen may have seen Jared, alone, sleeping in the bedroom; and they may not have found any obvious traps on the door or any surveillance equipment. But he wasn’t taking any chances. This was going to be strictly by the book. Aiden translated for the other three, and quickly checked through the med kit to make sure he had everything he could think of. Justin swung the door open in one smooth, swift motion, and Frank then Angie stepped through to the right and left, their guns drawn and ready. Justin checked the floor. There were no tracks that he could see. But that was only because there was no sign of the dust that they’d all assumed would be there. He signaled Frank and Angie, and the two continued their sweep, Justin ‘holding’ the door, waiting for the signal that it was safe to let the others in.

When Frank and Angie were sure that the only one there besides themselves was Jared, they motioned for the others to come in but to stay quiet. Their sweep didn’t seem to wake Jared. Karen was positive that he was alive, but Frank would have expected him to be ‘wired’ enough wake up if he’d come here to hide from someone. So something might be wrong with him. Aiden went straight to the bedroom. He approached the bed and started to reach out to touch Jared, then thought better of it. Instead, he went around the bed and pulled out a pillow, stepped a good 8 feet back from the bed and tossed the pillow at Jared’s head. He didn’t so much as twitch, so Aiden went over and started to check him over. All his vitals were depressed to the point that Aiden was sure he’d been drugged with something. But he couldn’t see anything in the room to indicate with what. Karen asked if he’d checked Jared’s breath. Alcohol was the most obvious ‘drug’ that Karen could imagine Jared taking if he was still grieving Kat’s death like Reg had felt and the tears seemed to prove. Aiden put his nose close to Jared’s mouth, and a moment later his face scrunched up. He was surprised he hadn’t smelled it when he walked in the room.

The others were checking out the condo. The heat was definitely on, but not high, probably just enough to keep the pipes from freezing if the outside temperature suddenly dropped. The water was still on too. One of the plywood boards on the window with the fire escape was held on by only two nails. It appeared that Jared had come in through the door originally, then rigged that window for easy access and re-boarded the door to hide his presence. They found pill bottles in the bathroom, one of prescription anti-depressants, the other a prescription sleep aid. They also found that the fridge had been turned on. There was a bag inside from a nearby Mexican restaurant. The take-out slip stapled to it was dated Oct. 16, Monday. There wasn’t much left inside it and what was there was of kind of iffy edibility. Frank let Aiden know about the pills. When they rolled Jared onto his back, they found the empty bottle of a good 10-year-old Scotch under him. That on top of the pills was generally a bad combination. Aiden decided to administer a purgative. Justin offered to carry Jared to the bathroom, but Aiden said he could handle it. Besides he was used to having people throw up on him, he told them. Reg laughed. It was other bodily fluids that Raimon had wanted to trade with Aiden, he said. The others laughed, but Aiden turned bright red. He seemed almost glad to spend time alone in the bathroom with their sick and unconscious friend.

While they waited for Aiden to make sure that Jared would be OK, Frank asked Reg if he would be able to work up a bot that was even better than the one that they’d been infected with, particularly so that he could keep track of a certain DHS agent’s keystrokes. Reg told him that he could, if Frank could give him a little time. Frank asked if having his DHS security code would help him build in a ‘back door’ or two and Reg just grinned. Frank didn’t have much time left for using the account, and Reg had to be judicious in how he used it so that he didn’t draw unwanted attention. But Frank couldn’t think of a better way to make use of the little time he had left. They’d just have to work out a schedule of who was using the account when, so that they didn’t both try to use it at the same time and so that they didn’t unwittingly over-use it. It took about an hour for Aiden to get Jared emptied out and conscious. Jared might not have died from the combination of the drugs and Scotch, Aiden told them, but he might have from the dehydration. It sounded, from what little Jared had said so far, like he’d been out for at least a day.

Karen and Leigh uncovered the furniture, and Aiden and Frank helped Jared out to the couch. “I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Jared said to Frank weakly, as Frank lowered him and Aiden lifted his feet up. Karen was right behind Jared, stuffing a couple pillows between his back and the armrest to help him sit up. Frank smiled sadly. “Did you know that you no longer exist, and you never worked for DHS?” he replied. The look on Jared’s face told them all that he wasn’t entirely surprised about that. “I was headed home from the office on Friday,” Jared started slowly, “after another day of doing nothing.” He sounded so bitter to Karen. Of course, he had good reason, in her opinion. He’d taken the position almost reluctantly, and it may have led to the death of the most important thing in his life, Kat. After her death, the job, with its chance at finding her killer and seeing him or her punished, became the most important thing in his life. Now, he’d been stripped of even that. And if not for his friends, he might have ended up dead as well. “All of a sudden,” he continued, “Kat was sitting next to me in the car.” The story began to spill out of him. “She said ‘Don’t go home. Go to my place, or someplace else. But not the border. You’ll be stopped.’ I...I could smell her perfume, but...when I tried to touch her...my hand went right through her.” Tears were spilling down his cheeks. “I ran the car into the river and came here,” he continued after a moment. Karen felt her heart choke her. She wondered if any of the others besides her and Justin understood how much that car had meant to Jared. It was a gift from Kat. “I kept hoping that she’d come again.... And then...I just wanted to sleep....” Jared’s voice drifted off and he sat quiet for a minute, his eyes closed. “So...how bad is it?” he finally asked.

The look on Frank’s face said more than an hour of explanations would have. “You need to get out of the country,” Frank told him flatly. “I can arrange that.” “I was still trying to track down Kat’s killer,” Jared said. “I must have turned something up that spooked someone.” “Do you still have your notes?” Frank asked. “On my laptop,” Jared replied, glancing at a bag dropped beside one of the kitchen chairs. “God, I’m so tired,” he said, rubbing his temples. Frank nodded at Reg, who got the bag and carried it over to the coffee table. “Do you mind?” Reg asked Jared, opening the bag. Jared just shook his head wearily. “Do you have someplace to go outside the country?” Frank asked him, starting to mentally prepare him for everything that was going to change, practically overnight. He thought for a second and answered “I have a few contacts, not completely legitimate ones, from my early days with the CIA.” “I still own my parents’ homestead in Denmark, if you would like to use it,” Leigh offered. Jared just nodded, rubbing his temples again. Frank thought for a minute, looking Jared up and down. “I’ll turn you into a redhead, I think,” he finally said, “and run you through Ireland. I can get you the fake passport.” “Oh, that’s good,” Justin said. “No one will even look a second time at an Irish redhead.” “Think Fr. Colin would like a new cousin?” Frank replied, grinning.

“So...all my stuff...?” Jared asked in a voice that said he knew what the answer would be. “Gone,” Frank answered. “They even moved someone else into your condo, after ‘you cleaned and repainted it.” “I’m such a nice guy,” Jared said sarcastically. “What about Kat’s stuff?” Justin asked him. “I had it stored,” Jared said. “I had a unit at my place...” They could see the realization creep into his eyes as he said it. “...with my locks on it,” he finished quietly. “Then it’s probably gone too,” Frank told him softly. That seemed to bother Jared more than losing his own stuff. Not only had he lost Kat, but now the few things he had left to maintain a connection to her were being taken away, too. His head drooped, “I’m so...so tired,” he sighed. Aiden had been hovering around in ‘ER doctor’ mode, and he closed in to check Jared’s vitals again. “Ya know, there are easier and less painful ways to kill yourself,” Aiden told him. “I wasn’t trying to....” Jared said. But it almost sounded like he wasn’t completely sure about that. Frank caught Aiden’s eye and motioned him over. Jared hung his head and rubbed his temples again, as Frank whispered to Aiden, “Give him a break. You may end up having to give him ‘The Speech.’” Aiden got the point. The poor guy had just gotten a taste of the very sort of thing that Kat had dealt with and that he’d never wanted to know about...and it came in Kat’s form.

“Man, killin’ yourself...that’s never the way to deal with somethin’ like this,” Justin chided Jared. Leigh came up behind Justin and poked him. Justin spun around. Leigh glared at him. She was never very keen on the whole ‘tough love’ concept. It was bad enough that Aiden had mentioned it; the guy had been through enough that she didn’t think he needed his friends ragging him about what was most likely an accident. Justin started to bristle under Leigh’s gaze. But both of them sensed that now wasn’t a really good time for an argument. “Listen,” Leigh said, softening, “there’s some food–dry toast, jerky, in vacuum-sealed bags–in the back of Marcus. It might be good if you could get that for Jared.” She glanced over at Aiden, “and maybe you ought to go get some coffee for him?” “Plain water would probably be best for right now,” Aiden responded. Justin shrugged, still bristling at the implied chastisement, but made no move to go out for the food. “Maybe it would be better if a bunch of people weren’t seen going in and out of here,” Karen suggested, hoping to calm Justin down, “just in case someone IS watching.”

She glanced at Frank, then back to Justin, “Maybe we should work on getting the door boarded up again? So it doesn’t look suspicious?” She wanted to give Justin something to do that would be really useful and keep him and Leigh separated until he’d cooled off. Frank nodded, “That’d probably be good.” Jared looked up from his lap and explained how he’d come in the door Friday night, rigged the boards on the one window for access to the fire escape, then re-boarded the door, just like they’d thought he’d done. Angie had already gone to the door to check that the hallway was empty before she and Justin went out. Justin was leaning over the toolbox in the entryway closet. He knew that he couldn’t hammer without drawing attention; but he wanted something solid to put between his hand and the nails when he pressed each nail back into its existing hole in the wall. Karen went over to Leigh and quietly asked for the keys to Marcus. Then she went over by Justin. She leaned over and put her hand on his arm, and whispered in his ear, “And when you and Angie come around to the fire escape to come back in, maybe you can swing past Marcus and get the food. Jared should eat something....” Justin looked at her and she could see the ‘fight’ drain out of his eyes, replaced by his love for her. He knew what she was doing, and that only made him love her more. He held out his hand, and Karen placed the keys, which she’d been holding behind her back, into his open palm. He wrapped his hand around hers before she released the keys and pulled her close for a kiss, then joined Angie at the door.

When Karen turned back, she could see Jared holding his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking as he cried again for his lost love. “She was right there next to me...” he sobbed. “I thought...I thought the hurt would go away after this long.... But it doesn’t....” “But you’ve been so focused on her,” Frank consoled him, “working to find her killer. I’m not surprised you thought you saw her.” “Do you really think...?” Jared started, dropping his hands. “Do you think that’s all it was?” “Yes,” Frank reassured him, “your mind wanted so badly to see her, needed the comfort.” “But why now?” Jared asked, almost pleading. “Maybe some little part of you recognized the danger, and knew that the only way to make you listen was to speak in Kat’s voice....” Karen suggested. She knew that he didn’t want to know the truth, that Kat had probably always been there, watching over him. And it was probably better for him if he didn’t know. It would have broken him, and he was hurting enough as it was. Karen wondered if Kat had used up every bit of energy she had to pierce the veil to save Jared, or if she’d grown strong enough in her new form to continue watching over him. God, she hoped that Kat never...that her love for Jared never got twisted by her own fate, and that she never had to face something like Stephan had.... “I had the same sort of thing happen to me once,” Reg told Jared. “I had this...friend, Stephan....” Reg’s voice trailed off. He didn’t even need the look that Frank gave him to understand that he couldn’t go into details. He just wanted Jared to know that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t the only one who had felt the presence of a dead loved one protecting him. “I was in trouble once,” he continued reassuringly, “and even though Stephan had been dead for 3 years, I thought...I felt him there, protecting me.”

Frank checked again for any Unknown presence, but found only the faintest residue on Jared, about what he would have expected to feel on someone who’d had close contact with a ghost less than a week before. Reg had been hunched over Jared’s laptop that whole time, and now he came over to Frank and asked to speak with him while Aiden checked Jared’s vitals again and poured as much water into him as Jared could drink. Frank asked if Reg had found anything. He told Frank that there was a lot of data, but he wasn’t sure what it all meant yet. There were files on every Arabic group Jared had been able to find, and on every Arabic woman who’d come in or gone out of the US, all trying to find the unknown woman from Kat’s funeral. While Frank was up, he called Terry to have her cancel the BOLO. Terry was a little curt with him when she answered, then apologized. She’d been having a hectic day. “Will we be going to another funeral?” she asked. “No,” Frank replied. Before he could say more, Terry said, “Good. We can ‘not talk’ about it later.” She had noticed that Frank was studiously avoiding saying anything about their latest case, and Frank had warned her that she shouldn’t consider any holiday trips to the Caribbean this year. She had no choice but to assume that they were doing it to protect her, so she couldn’t very well be angry about it, although it pricked her detective’s curiosity. “Something big happen?” Frank asked, wondering what had her so worked up this late on a Wednesday evening, well past her usual quitting time. “Oh, the usual–shootings, stabbings, home invasions....” But cancelling the BOLO wouldn’t be any trouble. She’d gotten the impression that she shouldn’t make a big deal about it, so she’d just kind of ‘mentioned’ it to a few people. Frank thanked her and wished her luck, and she returned the thought.

As Frank was returning to his chair, he heard Reg asking how many languages Jared spoke. “17...no, 19 if you count regional dialects separately,” Jared answered. “Good,” Reg said. He had a friend in Dusseldorf who owned a translation company. She could always use help, if Jared was interested. Reg jotted her name and phone number down and handed Jared the slip of paper. Jared glanced around helplessly, looking for someplace to put the note. Finally he just shoved it into his pocket, and thanked Reg for the thought. He really wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.... His voice trailed off as the magnitude of his situation started to dawn on him. He got up to go to the bathroom after a couple hours of having water poured into him, and Aiden hovered behind, in case Jared didn’t have enough strength to make it there and back. He was stooped over slightly, most likely from the after-effects of the purgative, and he was noticeably limping, and he looked so sad, so defeated.

Justin and Angie had finished up on the door and come back in with the food from Marcus. While Jared was in the bathroom, Frank had checked the time and called Fr. Colin in Italy. Fr. Colin was actually awake, and he answered the phone on the second ring. Frank wanted to make sure that the priest was aware that his cousin Jared would be passing through Ireland in the near future. “Ah, there’s th’ beauty of bein’ from an Irish Catholic family,” Fr. Colin laughed. “Yer always meetin’ cousins ye didn’t know ye had!” He promised that he would do what he could to ease his cousin’s troubles. Jared was just coming back when Justin started joking about how one would advertise for a race-change operation, and how someone who wanted one would have to live for a year as a person of the new race. Angie turned the teasing back around on him and asked what race he was planning on becoming. Obvious he had the whole thing worked out for a reason.... Jared couldn’t help but smile at least a little. He appreciated how everyone was staying upbeat about all this, he told them, and they could tell that he actually meant it; there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Maybe...maybe I’ll even be able to come back someday,” he said wistfully. He understood that for both him and all of them to be safe, he was going to have to sever all contact with everyone from his past. “Finding Kat’s killer isn’t what it’s all about any more,” he said, growing serious. “It’s about stopping whatever was behind her death.”

Frank asked Jared what he knew about an Agent Mackenzie Stevens. Concern flared in Jared’s eyes. “Don’t fuck with him,” Jared warned Frank. “I don’t know what his power-base is, but he’s invincible. I kept coming across his name in my research....” Jared stopped cold. “My God...I wonder if that’s what....” He stopped again, having suddenly realized how close to the truth he must have come without even knowing it. And that was what got him into this trouble. “Look,” Jared said, “just...just be careful.” He knew that Frank and the others weren’t going to stop their search, whether for their own reasons or for his sake. He wouldn’t have either, if he hadn’t been put in this position. At least he’d done everything he could for Frank.... Reg asked if Jared had money put away somewhere, for when they got him out. Jared hesitated a minute while he shifted gears.... That was right; if he’d been ‘disappeared,’ they’d have shut down all his accounts.... “Maybe something ‘off-shore’ that Kat set up?” Karen suggested. When the team had gotten the rewards for capturing all the ‘terrorists,’ Jared had been sure to pass on Kat’s offer of help with making sure their ‘retirement accounts’ were fully funded. And Karen had made sure that she and Justin had taken her up on the offer. “Maybe,” Jared said. “I thought I’d taken care of all the accounts she had, but....” Jared paused. “You may be able to find something around here,” he continued, glancing around the condo. “You’re welcome to look...after I’m gone.” They could see him slowly distancing himself from his ‘old’ life, building the wall that he’d need to protect him from now on. Karen’s heart twisted. She knew how painful those walls could become and how hard it was to bring them down, and it hurt her to watch Jared having to go through that process.

The team spent a little time working out a surveillance schedule before most of them went back to the cars in ones and twos, leaving one person behind to stay with Jared. Jared insisted it wasn’t necessary, that he was safe enough there alone. And Frank insisted that he was going to make sure Jared was safe until he could get him out of the country. He expected that he’d be able to get everything set by Friday. He already had worked out in his head Jared’s new identity and all the paperwork he’d need to establish it. He was going to be doing the same for the whole team, too, just in case. Once he got Jared onto a plane at the Toronto Airport--they’d be just a couple of buddies on their way to the casino in Windsor to get across the border–then Jared could insist on being on his own. Over the next two days, the team members took turns staying with Jared, bringing in food when they switched shifts, and watching the place from outside as well. They all offered to get Jared anything he needed for his ‘trip’--cash, clothes, contacts in far-flung places--and assured him that they would make sure he got safely on his way. On Friday morning, they all came to Kat’s place one last time to say goodbye. When Leigh gave him a hug goodbye, she pressed an envelope into his hand. Inside were the keys to her parents' homestead and a letter giving him permission to be there. Karen kept telling herself that she wasn’t going to cry. But when she hugged Jared, she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. They held each other tight, both understanding that they were losing one of the last remaining threads that tied them to Kat, and that it might be the last time they saw each other in this world. When Karen finally loosened her arms from around Jared’s neck, she stood close and placed her hand over his heart. “Remember,” she whispered, “she’s always right here when you need her.” She stepped back, and as she drew her hand away she placed it over her own heart. “Just...be careful,” Jared said to all of them. Then Frank and Jared headed for the border, and the others drifted away, prayers for Jared’s safety on their lips.

In Rome, Tony had just started wading hip-deep into dusty old tomes written in languages as varied as Latin, Greek, Aramaic (lots of Aramaic), German, even Hungarian. He and Fr. Colin had chatted about some of the more esoteric points of Catholicism on the trip to Toronto. He was very different from Fr. Andrew, much more flexible about the way he presented the catechism. Fr. Colin told Tony his plan for getting Tony the greatest access to the treasures of the Vatican library. He would tell the officials that he was sponsoring Tony as ‘a grad student researching Demonology.’ Obviously there would still be things that Tony would not be allowed to access, he told him, and some things that the Vatican translators might refuse to translate for him because of the inherent danger of the knowledge. But Tony was amazed at how readily they welcomed him on only Fr. Colin’s word. The priest appeared to be genuinely well-liked at the Vatican. The words Tony kept hearing regarding Fr. Colin were “unfailingly patient” and “kind.”

Fr. Colin managed to get Tony whatever translators he needed, whenever he couldn’t be there himself to help him. And Tony overheard one of them saying to another that Fr. Colin ‘had the final say over what Tony would be publishing in his thesis,’ which was apparently part of the reason he’d been given such free access. Although during the course of Tony’s research there were days when he couldn’t be there to help Tony because he had his own business to attend to, Fr. Colin did check in on him at least once a day to check his progress and see if there was anything else he needed. Tony was beginning to wonder how many of these authors were Jesuits, because so much of what he read was heavy-duty stuff that talked in circles. He was sort-of-but-not-quite surprised to find references to the Gregori in several places, though nothing about Fr. Andrew himself. And though he could find plenty of references about demons who immolated others, none of it seemed to really fit with what had happened back home. But when Tony wasn’t studying hard in the library, he was, like any male student worth the name, trying to make time with as many of the nubile young local women as he could manage. And he also managed to finagle himself an Italian passport, for a ‘small processing fee,’ once he convinced the official that he really was ‘familia.’ He got the feeling that it might come in handy.

JUSTIN’S WAR JOURNAL
Entry 69 [>>>transcribed from digital recording and ---typed]

>>>Still Monday, October 16th. Just wanted to get a couple things down on the way to work. Leigh stopped by bright and early. Considering she had a bunch of fresh pastries with her, she must have got up pretty early. Or she never really got to sleep last night. Makes me wish I could do something to make her nightmares go away. And it was kind of about the nightmares that she came.

She wanted to apologize to me for being all gung ho about being willing to go off with Fellowes because she thought it would get her on the inside of the meeting. For some reason, she thought that her rape nightmare tied in with Fellowes calling because it was so obviously a trap. It was like she felt she was getting something like the dreams that Frank gets that give him hints about the future. I think he calls them press-see-ent dreams. Means seeing into or knowing the future I guess. Anyway, Leigh thought there was some kind of connection between her nightmare and Fellowes’ intentions and she was ready to walk herself into a trap because she thought that’s what needed to be done.

The reason she felt like she needed to apologize to me was because I was already in a potentially risky situation in the barn. If she’d have gone off with Fellowes, then there would’ve only been three people to back me up if they needed to pull my fat out of the fire. Not to mention, there was no telling what Fellowes really was planning on doing and if she had ended up inside the barn, what condition she’d have been in. So basically, since I was the one at risk, she felt I was the one she needed to apologize to.

I asked her if she was getting the press-see-ent dreams like Frank gets or if maybe it had been a regular old scary ass nightmare because of all the dark shit we’d been reading up on. I mean, it took me being in that meeting and talking with the crew after to really get my head around how much these angry white boys hate women as much as they do racial groups that aren’t them. I thought maybe Leigh, since she’s a woman and pretty damn smart, maybe picked up on that misogyny thing way before I did. Maybe she even picked up on it before she knew she did? She said she’d been talking with Frank about her dreams. It might have been just a nightmare. When it comes down to it, she didn’t run off with that guy and I didn’t need to be rescued from the angry white men’s meeting. So, no harm, no foul and we shook on it.

I got Karen up a little earlier than usual because Leigh was there and the pastries were gonna get cold. Since we’d been talking about nightmares and some of the other freaky Unknown stuff, I asked about if maybe we should do the Mind Shield and stuff like that once in a while, just to make sure. Seemed like Karen and Leigh thought it might not be a bad idea. I showed them the newspaper articles and asked them if they agreed that they’re probably connected to our case. But me, Karen and Leigh had to keep our faces out of any investigations up that way for right now. We definitely saw at least one sheriff’s deputy in the A.W.M. meeting so we didn’t want anybody up there connecting us with a police investigation right now. But that sure left the field wide open for Frank and the rest of the crew.

This was like a freaking cue line for my phone to go off. Tony was texting back about the message I sent as we were leaving the barn yesterday. Just the basics. Thirty targets, six or seven vehicles. Tony’d just set down at the airport and wanted to know what was going on. I texted him back to ignore the first message and just come to our place. We went back and forth with text messages, just screwing around after about the second one. The joke kept going even after he was on the porch. He kept looking at his phone like I was supposed to message him instead of talk to him right there on the porch. Crazy goober has been sniffing too much dynamite I think.

While Tony was eating breakfast and me and Karen were getting ready for work, we talked about whether or not Frank would be looking into the cases up Port Huron way. Karen gave Frank a call and he said he was already picking up Aiden and Angie and he’d swing by to pick up Tony. Between the four of them, I figure they’re pretty close to a real forensics team and if there’s anything to find, they’ll find it. Karen and Leigh could probably be of good use there too, but they’ve got to keep their heads down. Me, I guess my role in all this right now is as bait. I can live with that. More later.

---Man, I almost feel normal again, sitting at my desk and eating lukewarm pizza that we ordered for lunch a couple hours ago. I bet it was even better hot, but I was elbow deep in a ’57 Chevy when the guys ordered and I didn’t feel like stopping. Course, normally when I’m in here eating a late lunch I’m on the computer or the phone tracking down parts and stuff instead of typing an entry into my War Journal. But I just heard from Frank and them and wanted to get it all down.

As far as they can tell, Sheriff Lane was right; the fire caused the accident, not the other way around. He called Frank in as soon as he got a good look at the car. Said he wanted to make sure real evidence was collected before Agent Stevens swooped in and took over the whole case. He’d even had the car hauled to a garage that wasn’t connected with the crime lab. Sheriff said that stuffed shirt, Stevens, took back control of the lab about six this morning. If Stevens makes noise, the Sheriff can truthfully say that it first presented as a normal car accident, even the paper said so, and his normal crime investigation lab was currently not accessible. Stevens really can’t kick up too much of a fuss when it’s his fault there’s a slow down in local crime investigation.

The crew collected and recorded evidence every which way they could. They even set up enough cameras and lights to make Harvey proud. Checked that car all over, but they ended up mostly concentrating on the driver seat because that’s where all the heat was. Tony used some portable testing lab of his but didn’t find any trace of accelerant. Only thing they found was some ashes and some nasty black oily residue that they figured was probably from burnt human fat. They said the steering wheel was melted but the steering column was still intact. There were two spots melted into the dash board. It looked like the driver had braced his hands on the dash board as he burned.

They checked the VIN and license plate and the car came back as a rental and Sheriff Lane sent for a copy of the rental agreement. While they were waiting, the Sheriff took them out to the accident site. The car was going at a real good clip, I’d guess seventy plus from the damage in the few pictures I saw, and it didn’t look like the driver had even touched the brakes or swerved or anything. Either the guy was already gone by then or he felt that eating a tree was better than whatever was happening to him at the time. I don’t know; I guess I might try vehicular suicide too if I was literally being burned up from the inside. I can’t imagine that pain.

The rental contract came back under the name Jerome Covington; signed out two weeks ago. The picture of Covington’s license showed it was from D.C. but Leigh recognized the picture as the guy she knew as Fellowes. So who the fuck is this guy? I just remembered that Leigh said something about the news article this morning. She wondered if maybe the burned body might turn out to be Fellowes; that maybe getting torched was punishment for not being able to provide the “entertainment” for the meeting. Well, Fellowes was the guy on the rental agreement at least. But was that him in the car? And if it was a punishment, who’s in control? Man this just keeps getting darker and deeper.

The crew went back to Sheriff Lane’s office to start looking into who Covington really was. They figured there was a good chance that some flags would go up eventually and Stevens might come a running. But the worst he could do was take over the case and they figured that was going to happen anyway. They got as far as finding an apartment and a sport’s car registered in Covington’s in Georgetown and that his credit rating was pretty good. But when they tried to find out who Covington was actually working for the balloons went up and the alarms must have started ringing somewhere.

They said they hadn’t been at it more than maybe 5 or 10 minutes when the Sheriff’s phone rang. Some woman calling herself Ms. Sharpton said that Sheriff Lane needed to stop looking into the background of one of their employees. When he asked what agency that might be, she said he didn’t have high enough security clearance to know that. Lane tried to keep her going while Frank kept digging on the computer but then the online connection got cut. Yeah, Ms. Sharpton’s bosses had the right connections, that’s for sure. After Sheriff Lane asked just exactly why he should believe anything she said Ms. Sharpton sent her credentials by fax. Frank said the Presidential Seal on that paperwork sure looked real. Lane spent the next couple minutes calling to verify Ms. Sharpton’s credentials and then did just what the nice government people told him to. Not like he had much choice.

Sheriff Lane hadn’t hung the phone up for more than a couple seconds when it rang and Agent Stevens was on the other end. They talked for a couple minutes and then Lane told Frank and the guys that Stevens was on the way to his office. They’d gone back and forth about why DHS felt they had jurisdiction over a “simple” car crash and Sheriff Lane had acted nothing but helpful and cooperative. Lane shook hands with the crew as he shooed them out of his office.

Angie led the way over to the diner across the street from the Sheriff’s office. (I know it seems cliché, but I’ve got to think that having the donut and coffee concession next door to the local cop shop has got to be good for business.) They wanted to see how Stevens would act and maybe get a look at the guys he kept close to him. They said two black SUV’s rolled up not long after they got settled in the diner and a bunch of suits jumped out practically before the wheels stopped rolling. They were so intent on jumping on Sheriff Lane with both feet that they didn’t leave anybody to watch their vehicles. Frank figured he couldn’t miss an opportunity like that and he was able to plant a tracer on the grill of Stevens’ vehicle. Stevens and his men came back out after maybe five minutes and left. They said Stevens didn’t look happy.

Next thing the crew saw was Sheriff Lane heading out from his office and strolling over to the diner to get some coffee after Stevens and his guys left. He “accidentally” dropped his coat right as he was walking behind Frank’s chair. Turns out Frank had left one of the video cameras running in the Sheriff’s office and Sheriff Lane was nice enough to return it without anybody noticing. He slid it right up against the back of Frank’s foot when he bent down to pick up his coat. The Sheriff didn’t treat Frank and them any different than anybody else in the place. I’m betting he gave Angie a little extra look but so would any other healthy male.

They didn’t check out the camera until after they were back in the car and Frank had checked on the location of the tracer on Stevens’ vehicle. They were making a beeline for the barn where Lane had the car stored. Then they found a place to park and ran the video. I want to see this video, along with all the evidence video they collected. I doubt there’s much if anything I can add to what they found in the car but I really want to get a look at this guy Stevens and his goons.

The video started out showing Sheriff Lane shifting the camera a bit so it framed a decent shot of the office. Frank said he hadn’t actually placed the camera, just left it like he forgot it and it just happened to still be switched on. He said he would have been happy to just get audio. I’m thinking plausible deniability for Sheriff Lane. But that “good ol’ boy” is right on top of his game and he spotted the camera and set it so it would get a better picture. They didn’t have to wait long and Stevens came storming in. He tried reading Lane the riot act about not bringing the car crash to DHS’s attention since it was the same as the case Stevens had taken over. Lane said it just looked like a regular old car crash with an unfortunate fire after; just like the paper said. It’s not like he could have his crime lab experts examine the vehicle, seeing as how they didn’t have a lab at their disposal right then. Stevens tried to make some accusations but Sheriff Lane played it pretty much perfect. After all, this is Michigan in late fall. That accident scene could have been covered in rain or snow any time, so of course he had it hauled to a barn for safe keeping.

The guys said it sounded like Stevens was just barely keeping his cool. Like maybe he knew the Sheriff was shining him on, but he couldn’t prove it. Everything he was saying and doing was perfectly reasonable and above board. Stevens was whipping around some sheaf of papers and it sounded like he more or less formally notifying Sheriff Lane that he was officially taking over jurisdiction of the case. Sounds like Stevens at least learned from his mistakes. He’d made sure a judge couldn’t yank his case out from under him again because he didn’t follow proper procedure. Lane played up the hick sheriff thing a bit more as he ushered Stevens and his knot heads out of his office. They said that shortly after Stevens had left, the picture shifted around to show Sheriff Lane looking into the camera. He said “I expect some answers when this is all over” and turned the camera off.

I guess that’s about it with the car burning case so far. It doesn’t really matter that Stevens has taken the case away. We’ve already got all the evidence we could from it. I think the guys might be headed out to look into the death of that guy Terrence from last night. Frank said the guy hadn’t necessarily come across as “imminently suicidal” but he also wasn’t too surprised to hear that he’d killed himself. There is always the possibility that Terrence didn’t actually kill himself. Somebody from that meeting might have offed him for being weak or something like that. The Speaker had most of those guys eating out of his hand like good little maniacs.

But on the other hand, it could have been suicide, just like it looks. The paper said his full name was Terrence Kaczinski. Jeez, we could be cousins somewhere along the line. Maybe if I’d at least said something the poor guy wouldn’t have been pushed to the point where eating his gun felt like the only good answer. I’ve been there. I’ve had those feelings. I’ve looked down the wrong end of my service pistol and tasted gun oil and metal. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t say to myself that pulling the trigger was the only option. I had my family to support me, to fall back on. Even when I was on the other side of the world, I still could feel my family. Maybe this poor guy Terrence never had that? His scars looked old; one set of scars cutting through others. They looked like they happened over a fairly long period of time when he was a kid. Those fucking scars may have been the only thing Terrence’s family ever gave him. It hurts to think about it. I’m stopping for now. More later.

---Still Monday, October 16th, a little after 3pm. Tom just called. He sounded excited. First thing he asked was what I was doing Halloween night. I could truthfully say that I didn’t have any plans because Olivia is going to her first Halloween party this year and I’m not supposed to be her “date” for trick-or-treating. That seemed to make Tom sound even happier about things. He gave me a time and said he’d pick me up at Star Coffee again. He said not to worry about bringing the beer; it was covered and I could cover next time. It sounded like there’s something big getting set to happen Halloween night. Two weeks of anticipation and preparation. I think I’m going to be sick. Later.

It was still quite early Monday morning when Leigh decided to go home. She hadn't slept more than a few winks, since her brain, fearing another nightmare, woke her with a start every time she dozed off. Aiden and Angie were still asleep, so she left a note letting them know when and where she'd gone, tip-toed out and made sure the door was locked when she left. When she got home, she wasn't quite sure what to do next. It was too early to call anyone. But she wanted to talk to Justin. She felt like she ought to apologize for her intention to leave the 'stake-out' and possibly put Justin at risk for lack of team members to help if things went wrong in the barn. She ended up in the kitchen, and soon she was putting together pastries using an old recipe of her grandmother's. Somehow, cooking and baking, especially using traditional methods and family recipes, grounded her and made her feel both safe and useful. She knew that Justin was usually up fairly early, to work out before heading to the shop. So when the last of the pastries were out of the oven, she wrapped them up, hopped in Charlie and headed over to Justin and Karen's house, hoping to catch Justin before he left for work.

Frank was already awake when his phone rang at 7:30am. Terry had just left for work, and he was reading the paper as he sipped his coffee. He'd already spotted the two most interesting articles in the paper, and was pondering how to go about checking them out as he skimmed through the sports section. Sheriff Lane was on the phone when Frank answered, “Muelder.” “You sound wide awake already,” Dan said in a tired voice. That was the full extent of the chit-chat. “I got another smoker,” Dan continued. Frank told him he'd seen an article in the paper. Dan told him that, right now, the press was being told it was a single car accident and fire. But from what he'd seen, and he was just guessing now but, it looked like the fire caused the accident, not the other way around. “You wanna come take a look before Stevens gets wind of it and takes over?” he asked Frank. He couldn't see the smile creep across Frank's face. He did, he told Dan. Dan told him to head up his way and call about 15 minutes before he got there. He'd meet him at the exit and lead him the rest of the way. As soon as Dan hung up, Frank called Angie. The phone rang...and rang...and rang. When it went to voice mail, Frank left the message “Angie. Have another lead. Call me. Priority.” Then he tried Aiden's phone. He knew that Aiden just got off a 4-day shift last night, and he suspected that Angie was ignoring her phone. But being a doctor, Aiden was much better about answering at any time, no matter what else he was doing.

On the fourth ring, Aiden finally picked up. But the first thing Frank heard was Aiden saying “Hey, let go of that!” “Can I speak to Angie?” Frank asked patiently. The phone went mute, but Frank could see from his display that he was still connected. He waited. For 5 minutes. He was just thinking that it was a good thing he had a very flexible cell plan, when Angie finally unmuted the phone. “There's another smoker,” he told Angie without preamble. “Where?” Angie asked, now all ears. “Same area,” Frank said. “We goin'?” Angie asked next. “Yeah. And you can bring Aiden,” Frank told her. “He's got medical knowledge, so I guess he's useful.” From the background, Frank heard Aiden say, “Hey, I'm more than useful!” Angie must have had the phone on speaker. “Where are you?” Angie asked, implying that she and Aiden would meet Frank wherever he was. “I'll get you,” Frank replied, “so be semi-decent before I get there. It'll be faster.” Angie sputtered and Aiden said only “Hey!” before Frank hung up, leaving the two about 20 minutes to get dressed. And they both were dressed and waiting when Frank got there about 8:30am, Aiden holding the 'kit of doom.'

Justin was still in his sweats, sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper at about 8am, when he heard a tentative knock at the back door. It had to be close family or a good friend, because everyone else went to the front door. But after yesterday, and what he'd just seen in the paper, he wasn't taking any chances. He slipped his gun out of the holster that was lying on the table and peeked out the window. It was Leigh, carrying a tray covered with a kitchen towel. He opened the door and could smell the warm pastries right away. “Good morning, Justin,” Leigh said. “I was hoping to catch you before you left for work. I need to talk to you.” It took a second before Justin's surprise wore off enough to invite her in. As she sat the tray on the counter, Justin asked if she saw the paper yet. She had. And she was wondering if the car crash might be Fellowes, the guy who asked her out on the 'hayride' yesterday afternoon. Maybe he'd been 'punished' for his failure to get her there? Either that, or it was Bob, Terry's buddy, feeling remorse for Terry killing himself, Justin suggested. At least, Justin was assuming that the other short article, about a Terrance Kaczinski, was referring to the guy who'd been stripped at the meeting, he told Leigh. Otherwise it was a pretty big coincidence that some guy named Terry living up that way just happened to kill himself last night.

The other thing Justin was wondering was if the guy who called her, John Fellowes, happened to be connected to Agent Stevens. The fact that the call was from a phone from the DC area had been bugging him since she and Frank had mentioned it last night. They'd already determined that there was one guy at the meeting who happened to be a St. Clair County deputy. Might Stevens have someone 'on the inside' of the cult? And why? Leigh wasn't sure, but that wasn't really what she'd come to talk about, she told him. It was a few minutes after 8 now, and Justin wondered if Karen knew they had company. Normally she slept until about 8:30, since she didn't have to be to campus until a little before 10 and it was a short trip. But he thought maybe she should come down to see Leigh too, and he wouldn't be getting her up too much earlier than she'd normally be. He held up his hand and asked Leigh to hold that thought for a minute. Then he went to the bottom of the back stairs and hollered up, “Hon? Leigh's here.” He listened for a second and heard some movement, then a muffled THUMP and some muttering that kind of sounded like those little symbols that cartoonists used to indicate swearing. He grinned and went back to start the tea kettle.

“I wanted to apologize,” Leigh started as soon as he got back. She wanted to get this out before the subject changed again. “I was ready to hare off to meet this guy thinking I'd be a hero...before I knew if you would need help, or if my going would even put me in that position,” she continued. It was mostly because of the dream, she explained. She'd talked to Frank a lot about dreams, since he seemed to have bad ones too, she told Justin. But she'd never had any like Frank's clairvoyant/prescient dreams, until the other night. That one had seemed so real, and it seemed too much of a coincidence considering everything else that was happening. That had made her overly anxious to do something useful, something that seemed like it might get them some much-needed information. So much so that she hadn't thought it through completely before agreeing to meet the guy. Justin told her that he thought that it sounded like Frank got his bad dreams as a result of forcing himself to have the prescient ones. Leigh said she thought it was a little of both, because it sounded to her like he'd had the nightmares long before he started having the prescient dreams. Justin asked if maybe Leigh's dream had been sparked by her picking up on the latent misogyny in all the stuff they'd been reading. He hadn't really noticed that until yesterday afternoon...but he was just a guy. As a woman, she might have subconsciously 'gotten it' much sooner.

There was more thumping upstairs, and a minute later Karen came trudging down the back stairs. Her hair was pulled back, she was wrapped in a robe and slippers, and she didn't have her contacts in yet. She was still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she slumped into a chair and grunted “Morning” at Leigh. Justin came over with a cup of tea and one of Leigh's pastries on a plate, and kissed Karen when he set them in front of her. The kiss woke her up a little more, and she sipped her tea while Justin pointed out the articles he wanted her to read in the morning paper. He knew that she wouldn't see them if he didn't point them out to her. She was never much of a newspaper reader. She heard enough of what was going on in the world from her students and colleagues; and if she was going to read anything, she preferred to read her journals or a good book. The newspapers were depressing. But Justin usually picked the paper up when he was out on his run, because it gave his brain something to do while he drank his coffee when he got home. He liked knowing what was going on out there. As Karen was reading, Justin asked when the last time was that Leigh had “one of those things done like she did to block stuff from affecting people's brains.” “You mean a Mental Shield?” both Leigh and Karen asked at the same time. “Yeah,” Justin said. He suggested that maybe the two should do Shields on everyone every once in a while, to clean out any lingering effects of the stuff they all had to deal with.

Karen agreed that it might not be a bad idea. And maybe a Sphere, too. That used to bother both Aiden and Fr. Andrew. And though she didn't really like the idea of causing anyone pain, even if it didn't dispel an effect it might at least clue in the rest of the team to someone being under some Unknown influence. Karen asked if the other two had noticed that both of the incidents that Justin pointed out to her had occurred in St. Clair County. Leigh hadn't been sure about that, but Justin had noticed. Just then, Justin's cell phone began vibrating across the table. It was a text message from Tony, “WTF?” It was his response to the message Justin had sent out on Sunday afternoon about the number of cars and men in the barn. Justin messaged back, “You wouldn't understand. Come to our place.” Tony sent back, “on d wA have bfast rdy” Justin told the others that Tony was back in town and on his way over. Then he sent back, “I h8 l33t. Coneys?” Tony sent back “what'd she ever do to you? I think she's kinda cute.” Justin rolled his eyes and sighed, then sent back, “Not Leigh you silly mook. What time zone are you on? Breakfast or steak?” Tony sent back, “Over-easy and rare.”

With the lag time involved with sending these messages back and forth, the 'conversation' took about 15 minutes. After the last message, Justin got a steak and a few eggs out of the fridge and started heating a cast iron fry pan. Karen was still sipping her tea and trying to wake up the rest of the way, and Leigh was sitting across from her sipping tea as well. At first, the women thought that Justin made the 'thunk' they heard. But he hadn't. Justin grabbed his gun from the table. The sound came from the front door. It wasn't a knock, but more like someone bumping into the flower box along the edge of the porch. At the same time, Justin's phone buzzed again. But he was more concerned about whoever...or whatever...was on the porch. He didn't want to seem paranoid, but.... Leigh got up and took over the cooking, and Justin went to the door. He looked out the spy-hole and saw Tony pacing back and forth on the small porch, staring down at the cell phone in his hands. Justin shoved the gun into the waistband of his sweatpants at the small of his back, opened the door and asked Tony why he hadn't just knocked. Tony looked up as if he was surprised to hear Justin talking to him. “Well?” Tony asked. “What?” Justin said. Tony looked at the phone in Justin's off-hand. Justin rolled his eyes then looked at the message he'd just gotten. “Got any Tabasco for those eggs?” the message said. “Of course,” Justin said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. Tony looked at him, then at his phone, then back at Justin. Justin sighed, looked around to make sure no one was watching him and Tony out there, then grabbed Tony's arm and pulled him into the house, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Tony hadn't been in Justin and Karen's house before, so he was not so subtly rubber-necking as he followed Justin back to the kitchen. A minute later, Justin's phone vibrated again. It was a message from Tony: “Nice place.” Justin rolled his eyes. Tony asked if the food was ready as they walked into the kitchen, where Leigh was just sliding the eggs onto a plate. “Hi, Leigh!” Tony said. He elbowed Justin and whispered, “You didn't tell me she was here too.” Karen grunted “Morning” at Tony and pushed a chair out with her toe. As Tony sat down, Leigh set the plate of food and silverware in front of him. Justin slipped his gun back into the holster, then set the paper beside Tony's plate, folded open to the articles he wanted Tony to read. Someone needed to investigate these incidents, Karen mused. But Leigh and Justin were right out. They'd been seen by people that might be involved in the incidents, so it would be too dangerous for either of them to be investigating. And if this group really was watching Justin, which they had to assume, Karen continued, then they'd know her too. But Tony, and Aiden, since he was off-shift again, were basically unknowns in all this. And since Frank and Angie were cops, it wouldn't be odd for them to show up at the scenes. Justin suggested that Tony call Frank and find out if he was going to check these things out. Tony wasn't about to call a cop on his own dime. He told Justin to do it. Justin couldn't go anyway, so why should he call, he asked Tony. The two were bickering like children, and finally Karen grabbed the phone.

Frank was just pulling away from Angie and Aiden's apartment, with those two making out in the back seat. “Good morning, Karen,” Frank answered. “Well, it was until I was forced out of bed about 20 minutes ago,” she replied grumpily. “You should probably talk to your husband about that,” Frank told her. “Yeah, well...” Karen started, caught off-guard for a second. “Anyway...” she went on. She explained to Frank that Leigh and Tony were there too, and wondered if he'd seen the two small articles in the morning paper. He had. She described the conversation they'd been having, about how Leigh and Justin were best not involved, and maybe not her, either. But that Tony would be interested in helping out the investigation. Frank agreed. Karen passed the phone to Tony, so the two could work out where to meet up. “Hey, Frank, what's shakin'?” Tony asked. Frank asked Tony if he wanted to be picked up from Justin and Karen's. That was fine with Tony. Then Justin thought to ask if Frank was going to be checking out Terry K.'s death as well as the car accident. Rather than relay the question, Tony just handed the phone to Justin. Justin asked Frank, and Frank told him that he would if he could get close enough. Justin wondered what Frank thought about Terry K., if he was really that bad off to have taken his own life. He didn't have enough of Terry's confidence to know that for sure, Frank told Justin, but it didn't surprise him to read about it, either. Justin felt a little bad now about not doing more for the guy, and about not being able to help more with the investigation. “You are Joe's unrelenting rage,” Frank said, quoting from “Fight Club.” Justin complained that he really didn't want to hear anything more about that movie, and Frank just said “Slide” (another quote) and chuckled. Justin changed the subject and asked if Frank was picking Tony up there. “Yup,” Frank answered. Justin would have him out on the porch with a note pinned to his shirt, ready to go, he told Frank, laughing. Justin asked if Tony wanted to talk to Frank again, and he answered “No, never again.” Frank heard the question and response, and said “OK,” and hung up.

Karen had already gone up to shower and get ready for work by the time Frank pulled up. Justin would be getting the shower next. They and Leigh would be going about their usual Monday business. On the way over, Frank had been teasing Aiden and Angie that he was going to put Tony in the back with them. Aiden said Tony wasn't his type, and Angie complained that Frank wasn't being fair since she hadn't had any time with Aiden in 4 days. “Four days IS a really long time,” Aiden agreed. “It's fucking FOREVER,” Angie whined. Tony must have been waiting inside the door, because he came out as soon as Frank turned into the driveway. He spotted Aiden and Angie in the backseat and motioned for Frank to roll down his window. Then he asked if Frank had put the plastic covers on the seat. “No,” Frank answered. “I'll ride shotgun,” Tony replied quickly. He grinned, then asked Frank to pop his trunk. Tony went around to his car's trunk and opened it. Inside was a veritable treasure trove of weaponry, all carefully hung in racks that left everything easily accessible. Tony picked a few things out, including a shotgun and several small boxes that looked like tool kits, and put them in Frank's trunk and closed it. One last item, a small box, Tony carried around and set carefully on his lap when he got in the car. Aiden started to ask what was in the box, then thought better of it. Maybe not knowing would be more comfortable. There was more joking between Frank and Tony on the way north, about bringing a cattle prod to separate Aiden and Angie and about the car being an old cop car with the back seat wired for tasing unruly suspects.

Frank called the sheriff when he was about 15 minutes out, as requested, and Sheriff Lane met the car at the top of the exit ramp. Frank followed him out to a barn at the edge of Port Huron. The barn belonged to a friend, Dan told Frank, and he'd had the car towed there for safe-keeping. It was a little easier to hide it from the Feds there, “Present company excluded,” Dan added, grinning. He let the 4 into the barn and they were all struck immediately by the smell of roasted...meat. Dan gave them a quick description of what he'd seen at the crash scene, then excused himself. He found the odor a bit overwhelming and was going to step outside for a smoke. And he'd quit smoking a while ago, he told them. Frank backed his car up to the door and the team began unloading and setting up equipment—lights, video and still cameras, the medical kit. Then they started going over the car, working slowly and meticulously. It had burned from the inside out. The steering column was intact, but the steering wheel had melted completely. On the dash they could see the imprint of the victims hands, melted through the plastic. There was a black, oily sludge on the inside of the roof. But neither Tony nor Angie could smell any hint of accellerant. After that initial inspection, Frank let the other three take over gathering evidence. While Aiden documented and removed what little remained of the victim, Tony and Angie cracked open Tony's field chemical analysis kit and began taking and analyzing samples from every inch of the vehicle. There were a few bone fragments, but not many. Like in the bus, most of what was left was ashes. There had been a great deal of heat, enough to warp the windows from the inside. Tony and Angie worked that out from the fragments that had fallen inside the car during the crash and what the sheriff's deputies had been able to collect at the crash site.

As far as the two could determine, there had been only a single source for the fire, and it's point of origin was in the driver's seat—the driver himself. The only thing Tony could think of that might cause this pattern was Spontaneous Human Combustion. He asked Frank if there were any of the victim's clothes he could look at, and Frank held out the jar of ashes that Aiden had collected. Angie told him that this was just like the bus fire. Tony had been studying the car for several hours now, but he wasn't ready to accept that it was your everyday SHC. He debated for a minute which of the team's occult experts to call, and finally decided to give Karen a little entertainment for the day. Luckily she was between classes, and when she answered, Tony asked her what she knew about cases of burning bodies in the occult. Karen thought for a minute. It was pretty rare as far as she knew, and generally demonic. Or SHC. But if this was like the bus, then the intensity of the fire was off the chart compared to most recorded cases of SHC. The only other thing she could think of was that it might be a sacrifice to a fire-oriented deity, and there were plenty of those. But a moving car didn't really sound like a proper setting for a sacrifice. Tony thanked her for the information and told her to keep researching the subject for him, then relayed her info to the others. They were all wondering exactly who the victim had been, so Frank asked if the sheriff had checked the VIN yet. He had sent in the record request, he told Frank, but he hadn't gotten the results back yet. “So, when'd Stevens take the lab back?” Frank asked him. “'Bout 6 this morning,” Dan grunted.

While they waited for something on the VIN, Tony went back to studying the evidence. Aiden had a microscope in the med kit, and Tony borrowed it to study the bone fragments. Unfortunately, given the amount of damage, all he could tell was that they'd been burned at extremely high temperatures. High enough to practically vaporize the flesh and nearly completely burn away the bone as well. He went back to the car. There was no trace of the spread pattern that would have been created if something had been thrown into the car to light up the driver. He checked the window mechanisms. It looked like the windows had all been up when the car crashed. He went out to ask the sheriff a few more questions. Had he been able to tell the car's speed and direction leading up to the crash? There was no trace of skid marks, Dan told him, so the guy didn't slow down at all before hitting the tree. And given the damage, he estimated that the car was going at a speed higher than the limit, but not unusually so given the remote location where the crash occurred. The crash had happened around midnight, and so far his people hadn't been able to find anything that would tell them where the car had been prior to the accident. Had they checked for recordings from security cameras at ATMs or traffic cameras? The sheriff told him that they didn't have traffic cams except on the bridge (he assumed that Tony understood he was talking about the Blue Water Bridge to Canada), and that they had checked ATM cameras and hadn't found any sign of the car yet.

Tony asked if he could see the crash site, and Dan took the team out there in his SUV. But they couldn't find anything that Dan hadn't already told them about. He might act the 'good ol' boy sheriff' for people like Stevens, but he knew his job very well. There was no sign that anyone, or anything, had been chasing the car before the crash, and it was impossible to tell what the car's path had been prior to veering off the road and crashing into the tree. The five stood around speculating about what might have caused a fire that intense in a moving car. Since the government was so interested in the bus case, the only thing thay could figure (besides the obvious Unknown effects that they couldn't mention to Dan) was maybe some secret military weapon. But there was no evidence that anything had been shot or thrown into the car, and no evidence that the car had been rigged for the fire beforehand. Sheriff Lane finally got a call that the VIN report had come in, and the car had been a rental. The sheriff took them back to Frank's car, then they all went back to the sheriff's office. Dan did a little more digging and found that a Jerome Covington, from DC, had rented the car 2 weeks ago. Dan had the rental agency send him the photo from Covington's license, and Leigh confirmed that it was the man she knew as John Fellowes.

Frank asked if Dan was up for a little more excitement. He wanted the sheriff to use his own channels to get as much information on Covington/Fellowes as he could get. Frank expected, and warned Dan, that this would most likely draw the attention of someone in DC who didn't want anyone knowing exactly what was going on. But since it was in part of a routine investigation, he couldn't get in any trouble for it, other than probably losing the car to Stevens. But, Frank assured him, there was nothing more that he and his team could get from the wreck anyway. And he kind of wanted to see how far he could get before the alarms started going off, and how quickly that would happen. Dan was game, and the two started running a trace on Covington, starting with his DC driver's license. He had an apartment in Georgetown, and a sports car. His credit history was pretty good. His flight to Detroit had originated at Washington National-Reagen Airport. Frank asked if Dan could find out what Covington did, who he worked for. They'd only been working on the trace for about 7 minutes so far, but this search was the one that triggered the alarms. Dan's phone rang, and a woman's voice introduced itself to him as Valerie Sharpton. “It has come to our attention that you're looking into the background of one of our employees,” she said to Dan. “And what agency are you with, Ms. Sharpton?” Dan asked her. “You don't have the clearance to know that,” she responded, pleasantly enough but with a tone that would brook no argument. Not that that was going to stop Dan. Tweaking the government was getting to be kind of fun. “I should believe this why?” Dan asked. Hell, she could have been anyone. It wouldn't have been the first time that someone had rerouted a phone number so that an associate answered posing as an authority figure.

“I'll fax you my credentials,” Ms. Sharpton told him. “But you have to stop your investigation now. Right NOW.” “Right,” was all that Dan said in reply. He was being as non-committal as possible. But he wasn't about to stop until he was forced to. This shit was starting to piss him off, and he wanted some answers. Since Frank seemed to be the only one who was being cooperative, he was sticking with Frank's agenda. “Thank you,” Ms. Sharpton said. “Your country thanks you.” “Sure it does,” Dan said when he'd hung up the phone. The fax machine started almost immediately, and Dan told Frank about the call while the fax printed. It was Valerie Sharpton's credentials, giving her authority by order of the President, complete with the Presidential seal. Frank suggested that Dan call to verify the credentials, while he kept searching for background on Covington. Dan started his way up the chain of authority, getting transferred from one automated system to another, hoping for a live person. A minute later, the office's internet connection was dropped. “Sylvia, did you pay the internet cable bill?” Dan hollered out to his office manager when Frank showed him the 'connection lost' message. “Of course I did,” Sylvia hollered back. Finally Dan got a live person on the line and he explained that he was just verifying the credentials of a Ms. Valerie Sharpton. He was told that they'd look into it and get back to him.

Dan had no sooner hung up than the phone rang again. He answered, and from the look on his face, Frank would've guessed that he'd just sucked on a lemon. “And what makes you think DHS would have jurisdiction over a traffic accident?” Frank heard Dan say. “Hmmm, must be Stevens,” Frank thought to himself. “No, I'll be in my office,” Dan said, then hung up. “So, we struck a nerve,” Dan said to Frank. “Should I be making myself a tin foil hat?” “No, you're safe,” Frank told him. Besides, Frank explained, since they'd gotten all they could from the car, he could be “happy to comply with DHS taking over.” The other three had been quietly waiting until now. Frank stood, indicating that they were going to leave. Angie commented with a wicked grin that she would love to be there when Stevens got there. Frank pointed to the door and when she hesitated, he put his hand out like he would take her by the ear if he had to. “OK, OK, I'm going to have some coffee!” she said, brushing his hand away and heading for the door. Leigh and Tony were already in the outer office, waiting. Frank had set his coat and a couple cameras beside a chair in the corner of the office when he came in. Now, as he picked up the coat and still camera, he pushed the “Record” button on the video camera and left it sitting there when he walked out. He didn't reposition it or anything; he just gave the sheriff a slight nod toward that corner. Mostly he was hoping to just get the audio, to hear what Stevens had to say.

The sheriff shook everyone's hands, and Frank told him that if he needed anything else, the team would be stopping in the donut shop across the street for some coffee before heading back to Detroit. The four settled into a table that gave them a good view of the street and sheriff's office without making them easily visible from outside. They hadn't been sitting there long when 2 black SUVs rolled up. Justin would've cringed at the way they must have thrown them into park and wrenched the keys out, because Stevens and his 4 lackeys were flying into the office almost as soon as the SUVs hit the curb. Frank grinned. They had no reason to suspect anything at all, and they'd left the cars unattended. He pulled a bug from a little pouch in his pocket, and jogged across the street. As he passed the front of the car Stevens had been in, he slapped the bug on the grill and kept walking up the street. When he was out of sight, he doubled back and returned to his seat at the coffee shop. The five men weren't inside the sheriff's office long, maybe 5 minutes. They came out and got in the SUVs, but Stevens didn't look happy even though Frank knew he'd gotten what he came for. The sheriff had followed the Feds to the door, and he stood leaning against the frame with a look on his face that would've melted butter as he watched Stevens stalk off. The SUVs pulled away at a pretty good clip. Dan watched them, checked his watch, then looked at the departing cars again, as if he was contemplating giving them tickets. He shook his head, then disappeared back inside.

A minute later, Dan came back out carrying his coat, and crossed over to the donut shop. He went to the counter and ordered a coffee, and began chatting up the waitress. When she moved off to wait on another customer, Dan headed toward the restroom. As he passed the table the Envoys were sitting at, he 'dropped' his coat next to Frank. He bent to pick it up, and just happened to leave a little something behind. Frank picked the video camera up and slid it into his own pocket. Dan nodded at them as he left, the same as he did to the other people he passed on his way out. When he'd gotten back to his office, the four finished their coffees and left. In the car, Frank checked on Stevens. From the map overlay on the tracker, it looked like Stevens had gone directly to the barn where the wrecked car was. Then he hit the “Play” button on the camera. The four hunched around the small view screen. The angle changed slightly after they heard themselves leave the office. Dan must have repositioned it. They saw Stevens' lower legs and feet come in. He sounded steamed when he told the sheriff, “I'm surprised you didn't mention this, since it's connected to the other case.” Frank assumed that he handed or showed something to Dan, since he seemed to be standing directly in front of the desk. “Well, it just looked like a vehicular incident,” Dan replied blandly. “Then why'd you have it hauled to a barn?” Stevens asked accusingly, hoping to trip up this 'hick sheriff.' “Well...it could'a rained, or snowed even, and the crime lab is all tied up. I couldn't just leave it out there in the elements,” Dan told him.

They could almost hear Stevens' head exploding. He knew that the sheriff was playing him; but there was nothing he could do about it because the sheriff's answers were completely reasonable. Stevens reined in his emotions and stiffly notified the sheriff that the DHS believed that the accident was related to the bus incident and was therefore taking over the case. There was a rustle of papers as Dan glanced through whatever Stevens had handed him. Frank assumed that this time all the Is were dotted and Ts crossed. They couldn't see it, but they could hear the faked smile in Dan's voice as he said, “Well, let me know what you find out.” They could also hear the unspoken thought “And don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.” They heard Stevens leave the office. A moment later, they saw Dan's face as he picked up the camera and left his own message for Frank: “I expect an answer when this is all over.” That was where the recording ended. Frank closed up the camera and headed for Detroit.

About 3pm that same afternoon, Justin got a call on his cell. He happened to be sitting in the office taking care of some paperwork, so when he heard Tom's voice he pushed the door shut with his toe. “Busy Halloween night?” Tom asked. He sounded excited, and that kind of worried Justin. “Nope. I think the wife's got some kinda party to go to,” Justin answered. “I don't wanna stay home passing out candy to a bunch'a ankle biters.” “Great!” Tom said. “I'll pick you up at the same place at ----.” Justin asked if he should bring the keg of beer he'd offered yesterday, but Tom told him it was already covered. Justin could bring it next time. “Am I gonna hafta ride in the back again?” Justin asked. “See you at Star!” Tom said, completely ignoring Justin's question.

JUSTIN’S WAR JOURNAL
Entry 68 [---typed and >>>transcribed from digital audio]

---Continuing with the after action report. Good ol’ Mr. Speaker kept his line going. He kept emphasizing that it is up to the men there to make things right for themselves; they just had to have the guts to do it. He started to go kinda round robin, picking out some guys to prove his point I guess. He picked one guy, named Benny I think, and asked him what his troubles were. I think he already knew. Benny said his wife left him for a black guy and he was all kinds of pissed about that. Speaker asked him what he was going to do about it. Benny said he’d like to teach her a lesson but there wasn’t anything he could do because he’d just end up in jail and it wasn’t worth it. Then the Speaker asked what if he could do whatever he wanted and wouldn’t get in any trouble. Yeah, I saw a nasty light going on behind Benny’s eyes. Thing is, it didn’t seem to me like Mr. Speaker was speaking figuratively. From the way he was talking and the way he looked, it sure seemed to me like he was making a solid offer that he believed he could deliver on. I don’t know if he might have been the source of the Unknown feeling I got in that barn, but there is something definitely not right about that guy.

The Speaker either has some pretty good dirt on the guys at his meeting or he’s real good at reading people. I think he also had some idea what kind of mentality of guys he was dealing with. He sure knew what buttons to push when it came to Terry and Bob.

When he first singled out Terry, I thought it was just going to be another sob story about the poor put upon white male who was being oppressed by al the minorities and the women. He was grousing about never having enough money because he had to pay alimony and child support to his ex-wife. Yeah, poor baby couldn’t afford the BIG screen plasma TV and had to settle for the 48” instead. I was thinking that if he had his priorities straight, his wife might not have left his dumb ass in the first place. But then things started to get ugly. I mean, it was already a pretty nasty scene. That barn was full of guys who had problems with pretty much anybody who didn’t look and act like them. But the real nasty feel came from whenever they talked about women. You want to talk about issues? These guys have subscriptions and archives. Frank could probably write articles for some psych doctor journal for years if he could analyze these mooks.

Anyway, what the Speaker did after Terry told his sob story was kinda weird. He fanned out ten $100 bills in his hand and held them above his head, showing them off to the rest of the meeting. He said he had $1000 that he’d give Terry right there and then, IF he would strip naked. That guy Terry kinda froze for a sec and then laughed it off. Speaker didn’t even pause and raised it to $2000 and then $5000 when Terry still shied away. By that time Terry started to look panicked.

Again, after Terry turned down the five large, the speaker barely paused. He turned and called on the guy sitting to one side of Terry. Bob popped up like some school kid eager to please the teacher. It almost made me sick to my stomach to see that puppy dog look on his face, and he wasn’t the only one with his hand on his belt. I admit, if somebody’s dumb enough to offer me a couple fists full of cash for dropping my laundry, I’d do it too. But I’d like to think I’d hold out for more money and I sure as hell would hope I wouldn’t have that look on my face. It looked like Bob was about ready to say “thank you” for the privilege of humiliating himself in public. It doesn’t matter if you’ve got a great body. It’s still handing control of your body over to somebody else so they can show how powerful they are by making you do what they say. It’s a humiliation tactic. It’s what rapists do to their victims to break them down. It made me sick, but I had to keep that stupid “gee, what’s going to happen next?” look on my face. They had to believe I was just like them. It sickened me, but I kept it together. What kept me going was the image of Karen in the back of my mind. As long as I know that she knows that I am a good man, as long as she knows I’m not like the guys in that barn, I can do this. I can smile in their faces and make them believe I am their buddy.

Like I said, Bob popped right up as soon as the Speaker called his name. But the script changed a bit. The Speaker told Bob he would give him $10,000 if he would take Terry’s clothes off of him. The last of the words weren’t even out of the Speaker’s mouth before Bob jumped on Terry. I’d say it was like a dog on a bone or some other predator/prey metaphor, but it wasn’t that clean. It was one man humiliating another man because a third man called for it. Bob was a bit bigger than Terry and definitely stronger. Terry fought but it wasn’t much of a contest. I could hear his clothes tearing while he yelped and screamed and Bob kept saying, “Take it easy buddy. I swear, I’ll split the money with you.” Bob couldn’t see that this whole thing was about power, not about money. And I’m supposed to be the dumb Polack? It was all over in a couple minutes. Terry was laying on the floor, huddled in on himself, naked as the day he was born. It was pretty obvious why Terry didn’t want to strip. He’s got scars all over. Scars no doctor ever got a look at probably. It looked like they were pretty old. I think Terry was really badly physically abused as a kid.

Bob tried to comfort Terry for a couple minutes but he just sort of gave up after a couple minutes. All the guys just sort of turned away from Terry. The typical guy thing about not looking at another guy when he’s crying I guess. I hate to admit that I basically went along with the pack. And that’s kind of how things felt in there. Like a pack mentality. I think if the Speaker had kept things going, he could have probably whipped those guys into enough of a frenzy that they would have done just about anything he told them to.

I guess it was entertainment time then, because they brought out a screen and a DVD player hooked up to a projector setup like they have in some of the sports bars. They brought out some beer and popcorn and peanuts too. And then we sat there and watched Fight Club. If I’d have thought about it too much, I think I would have laughed myself sick for about three hours. But then I started looking at it from the point of view these neanderthals were looking at it from. Regular person watching that movie sees a guy who has basically gone crazy and ends up getting a bunch of other guys to join him in his craziness. These guys could see it as some kind of manifesto or instructional video on how to start a revolution. That’s the scary part about Fight Club; none of it is impossible in any way. People can be that crazy and they can convince others to be that crazy too. And, of course, this is another movie I’ll probably never watch again. Not like I liked the movie all that much in the first place, but it did have some good one liners.

After the movie, the meeting started winding down and broke up pretty soon after that. Tom got me and the other three back in the van and drove us back to the coffee shop. Large coffee on the way, beer there and a bumpy ride back meant that I had to hit the head as soon as we got back to the coffee shop. Let them think I’ve got motion sickness; not like I care. Came out through the coffee shop and spotted Tom sitting at a table while I was ordering a cup to go. He kind of casually nodded like he wouldn’t mind if I sat with him for a bit and we talked. He asked what I thought about the meeting. I said I wanted to go again. No lie, because I want to bust these guys and it takes me being at those meetings to do it. I told the truth a bit more and told him I wasn’t totally sure about everything yet though. He read into it what he wanted to; said that he was kind of disappointed that the entertainment had been cut short. He said it would probably be better next time and he said he’d give me a call because the meetings aren’t on a regular schedule. I played it like I would with any other group of “friends” and told him they needed better food and much better beer next time and I offered to bring enough Sam Adam’s for everybody. I’d make the same offer to people I actually liked so I figured I needed to play this as natural as I could. Tom said that would be cool. Yeah, I didn’t figure he’d be the type to turn down free beer. No way to know how many would be at the next meeting though.

So that brings me to now. I drove back here to the house without doing any counter surveillance moves even. If they’re watching me, hopefully they’ll get the feeling I’m just one more half stupid recruit to fill their ranks. I typed this all up as soon as I got in. I wanted to get everything down before I tried to get the toxic sludge of dealing with these guys out of me. I’m getting in the shower as soon as I’m done. Dealing with these guys is making me feel like I’m swimming in a pool full of some kind of toxic substance. Long as I’ve got Karen and the crew to back me up, I’m okay. They’re my detox unit; my Betty Ford clinic. Karen is my armor, my anti-radiation suit, my life preserver. As long as she believes in me, I can do this. I just have to wash the toxic sludge off me after swimming around in that pool of fuck heads. I just sent a text to Karen so I hope she’ll be home soon. I figure they might still be tailing somebody from the meeting or something, so I’ve got time to get a hot shower. It’s going to take a while to get this level of yuck off of me and out of me. More later.

>>>I don’t know how long I was in the shower before Karen let me know she was there. On-demand water heater means it stays hot as long as we want. I think I kinda pulled in on myself for a while there. I don’t really remember much about getting from my laptop to the shower. Next thing I knew, Karen was sticking her head in the shower door and getting herself all wet to let me know she was there. Just the touch of her hand made me feel a whole lot better. Brought me back in from the dark. If huddling on the floor of the shower, rocking back and forth and crying like a baby is a one, on a scale from one to ten, then Karen’s touch and her voice brought me at least back up to five. Still didn’t feel like I could look her in the face at that point. It was a bit of an uphill slog until I really started to feel like a man again.

Other than Aiden, the whole crew came to the house after I texted Karen. He was on one of those schedules from hell at the hospital again. In the text message I asked her to at least bring Frank, but I think my wife knows me better than maybe I know me. Karen’s from a pretty big extended family, like me, and I think she knew that sometimes I need to be with people to really feel right. And I needed to talk about what happened so I could get that darkness out of me. Our crew is the only “family” that we can talk about everything with.

I was kinda stumbling around when I finally got out of the shower. Like my brain still hadn’t caught up with me or something. I don’t know. Still wasn’t on all cylinders yet. Everybody was giving me some space but still letting me know they were there to back me up. Seeing them all acting so comfortable in our house brought me up another level I think. Talking things out and feeling Karen behind me most of the time brought me up another level after that. The beer just helped me get the taste of the crap I’d had to deal with all day out of my mouth. I filled them all in on what happened inside the barn and they told me what happened outside.

Frank had a bunch of pictures from their surveillance on his laptop. They stayed at the barn and got pictures of everybody as they left. Real good quality telephoto work on digital. I put names to the few I’d heard at the meeting, including my three cousins. I really hated that. Just goes to show, even somebody who grew up the way I did can fall into that kind of mess. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about them talking to anybody else in the family even if they did recognize me. Racist anti-woman type meetings aren’t exactly the kind of thing you talk about around the dinner table. They also had pictures of all the vehicles that left that barn. Big upside to being a mechanic and a general all around motor head; I remember license plates and cars better than most people remember names to faces. So we had some pretty good leads. They also got pictures of the speaker and two cronies heading from the barn into the house. He was able to tag them with the laser mike but didn’t get anything useful from them.

They showed me where the barn was. Kind of in the middle of nowhere, near Shelby. Big old farmhouse and freaking huge old barn with some really big trees all around them. Frank said that both buildings are signal hardened. From the feedback he was getting on the equipment, he thinks they’ve basically clad the house with some kind of metal plates with a low level current passed through. The metal doesn’t have to be very thick and it could be easily hidden under the siding and roofing. To any laser mikes it sounds like you’re bouncing it off a power transformer or an electric fence or something like that. Same trick keeps radio signals from getting in or out too. It’s actually fairly low tech but it really works pretty damn well as long as somebody takes care of it right.

I was finally able to let it out about how bad I felt that I didn’t do anything to stop what happened to Terry. They said I’d have blown my cover, and I knew they were right but it still felt bad. If Terry had been a woman, I’d have shot those guys. Why was it different just because Terry was a guy? At one point I remember thinking that he should have stood up for himself. It made me feel hollow and dirty inside. Talking things out with Karen and Frank and the rest of the crew made me feel a lot better. Pizzas showed up at some point and eating some real food brought me up another level too. Having Karen sitting next to me helped even more.

There was another development during the meeting. A guy named Fellowes that Leigh talked to at the gun show invited her out for a hay ride not long after we got to the barn and the meeting was underway. The number he called from wasn’t the same one he’d given Leigh at the gun show. Frank ran a trace on the number and he said it took just about every trick he knew to track it down. That’s plenty odd in itself but what’s worse is where he traced the phone to. It was on a cell phone account out of D.C. and that’s about as much info as Frank could find. Weren’t sure exactly what that might mean but it sure didn’t smell kosher.

When he traced the call itself, he found it had been bounced off several different servers but it originated somewhere in the area around that same farm. Altogether, it pretty much screamed out loud that it was a trap. Leigh was about ready to follow the lead but Karen dug in both feet and said no fucking way. After they’d traced the call and the phone, the rest of the crew agreed with Karen.

Leigh explained why she thought the call from Fellowes might be connected. She had a nightmare about being gang raped. Tied up, blind folded, surrounded by men speaking rough German. She didn’t have to go into any details. That nightmare, along with the comment I told them Tom had made about there not being as much entertainment as he would have liked at the meeting tripped some switches. There had definitely been a vibe of woman hating in that meeting. Whata they call that, misogynistic? Whatever. I don’t think it would have taken much of any effort for the Speaker to whip that bunch of idiots into enough of a lather to do something as stupid as gang rape. That’s the point where I would have had to start shooting I think; or at least breaking people. Shoulders and some of the other joints aren’t that hard to dislocate if you know what you’re doing and that much pain tends to take all the fight out of a person.

We thought about what Leigh said and it seemed like maybe if we could prepare ahead of time, it might be okay if Leigh went along with this Fellowes’ guy’s invitation. Because if they can’t get Leigh then odds are they’ll just go looking for an easier target and that would just put another civilian on the field. If we know ahead of time maybe we can make it halfway safe. We figure Leigh’s feelings of helplessness in the dream could have come from some kind of rape drug. Between Aiden and Frank, I’m hoping they can figure out some kind of antidote they could give her ahead of time. Leigh tried to call Fellowes but only got his voice mail. She left him a message about getting together with him for coffee or something some time.

The phone call from that D.C. phone to Leigh made me wonder. Could Fellowes be connected to Agent McKenzie? I remember Fellowes from the gun show and I’ve seen a picture of Agent McKenzie and I know I didn’t see either of them in that meeting. But I never got into the house. Could Fellowes be McKenzie’s man on the inside? Could it be that the evidence he was manufacturing and planting in the bus was going to point the finger at this particular group? Is he trying to put together a case for some kind of domestic terrorism that he’s trying to tie this racist group into? But what the hell kind of government agent would set up a target for a gang rape? This shit is just getting deeper and scarier.

Something else we thought about. We’ve decided to keep Teresa out of the loop on this for right now. That way she’s got plausible deniability, just in case.

When I mentioned getting enough beer for thirty plus guys and said that I’d probably have to get kegs, Frank said that had some interesting possibilities. I caught where he was going with that idea. There’s some free space in the bottom of just about any beer keg and I asked Frank if we could put together something that would fit in that space that could punch through the signal hardening at the barn. He said he was sure he’d be able to come up with something. And I know that I can put together a false bottom or something like that for the keg. Heck, I could build a small refrigeration unit that could handle a couple of kegs and conceal Frank’s surveillance equipment, no problem. But that might seem like too much too soon. Might make those guys suspicious.

I almost forgot to tell the crew that I’d felt something Unknown in the barn during the meeting. I couldn’t nail down where it was coming from but I told them about how powerful it felt to me. It didn’t sound anything like the big scary they’d felt in the field where the bus burned. The only way I could really describe it was “insidious” which I think is the right word. It was like this level of BAD was creeping in and making all those idiots think that what they were thinking was okay. Leigh said something, sounded like a quote but I can’t remember what exactly she said. Something like nasty notions quietly sneaking in on little pig feet. REALLY good quote. If felt like she said exactly what it felt like I was feeling. I just wish I could remember the actual words.

We thought about whether the feeling I got was from something or someone already in the meeting or if it might have been something that was attracted or called. Karen and Leigh both said there are things that could be attracted to those kinds of negative feelings and there’s even more that could be called or summoned. But we didn’t have enough clues yet to narrow it down any further than that.

Everybody went home, more or less, after we’d hashed things out pretty good. Leigh was still feeling kinda out of sorts about her nightmares I guess, and went to crash with Angie and Aiden. After hearing about her nightmares, Karen and me said she could stay in one of our spare rooms if she needed. I was feeling a lot better by the time everybody was ready to roll out. Frank made sure I knew that I didn’t have to go back into the lion’s den if it was too hard for me. I told him I definitely didn’t WANT to go to another meeting with those guys but I felt I HAD to. There’s something dangerous going on with those fuckers, even if it’s just that they’re a bunch of racist, woman hating, red neck dip shits. More later.

>>>Monday morning, October 16th. Just saw a couple things in the paper. One is almost for sure connected to the meeting and the other looks like it’s got to be connected to the burnings. There was a little article about a guy named Terry up near Shelby who killed himself. The guys told me they saw Terry leave the barn while the movie was going on. I never even noticed that he’d left. Terry was trying to thumb a ride along the road so Frank dropped off his passenger and went to pick him up. Figured it was a good way to get a little insight maybe. Sounds like it was about like pulling teeth to get Terry to talk and all he really said was that he’d been in a fight with a buddy. Frank said he could read Terry pretty good and it seemed like the guy felt he’d been beat up by his best friend and felt really betrayed and deeply hurt about it. Well, from the article in the paper it looks like Terry took it real bad and killed himself during the night.

The other article mentioned a single car crash that had some extra circumstances. The driver had lost control and crashed into a tree. There was a fire and the body was burned so badly that they were having a hard time identifying it. Looks like maybe we might have a couple more clues to look into. More later.

As the speech went on, the speaker, who had never actually been introduced as far as Justin could remember, began encouraging audience participation. “So, Benny,” he asked, pointing at one of the guys seated around him and motioning for him to stand up, “what's the biggest problem in your life?” Benny stood, sticking his hands in his pockets and shuffling his feet a little, while he thought about what to say. It seemed to Justin that many of the guys seemed to know one another, even if only by first name as 'guys they met at the meetings.' But the speaker seemed to know more about them. It was as if he singled out people he knew had 'issues' that he could use to highlight the point of his speech. Justin wasn't quite sure if there was something 'spooky' going on or if the guy just had checked out everyone before they were brought in. “My wife left me for some black guy,” Benny said, spitting out the word “black.” Heads nodded and there was some murmuring and grunting. Justin could hear a variety of whispered comments around him: “I'd go kill that f—king n---er,” “I'd kill the b—ch,” “Damn straight.” The murmuring quieted down and the speaker continued. “So what would make it right for you?” the speaker asked. Benny shrugged, not quite ready to say what was going through his mind, “I dunno.” “Well...do you want her back or do you want revenge?” the speaker prodded. “Both, I guess...” Benny replied. “But what difference does it make what I want? I can't do nuthin' cause it ain't worth goin' ta jail over,” he continued. “But what if jail didn't matter?” the speaker asked him.

There was a rustle of clothing on old metal chairs and straw bales as the men shifted uneasily in their seats. Justin could hear some guys whispering to their neighbors, like a few moments ago, about what they'd do if it was their wives. Benny grinned wickedly. “If jail didn't matter? Hell, I'd go drag her back by her hair....” Benny let the words fade out as he left the rest of the thought unspoken. More grunting, as the other men nodded agreement and elbowed their neighbors. Sure...it was what they'd all been thinking.... All but Justin. This went on for a while, with the speaker picking out one or another of the men, urging them to speak out about their problems and how they'd solve them if only there would be no retribution for their choices. Justin slowly began to realize that, oddly enough, the person most often being targeted by the 'offended' man wasn't the racial or religious minority that he professed to hate, but the female involved. Even the questions the speaker asked the men, and sometimes the way he asked them, seemed to be gently leading the men to an abuser mentality. Justin thought about all the crap he'd been reading. He hadn't put it all together before, but in all of it there was an undertone of misogyny. No matter who these people claimed to hate most, they seemed to rank women even lower. Oh, they all professed undying admiration for their “ideal woman;” but in practice, it appeared that no woman could meet their ideal. And it sounded to Justin like they wanted to punish the women for their own unrealistic expectations.

This had been going on for over an hour by Justin's reckoning, and the men were all getting pretty worked up about taking the world by storm and righting all the “wrongs,” at least as they saw them. “Terry,” the speaker called out, motioning at a smaller guy sitting a little way up and over from Justin. Justin saw the guy's buddy elbow him and urge him to stand up. Terry stood. “So, Terry, weren't you saying earlier that you never have enough money?” Terry toed the dirt floor, hands in his pockets like most of the other guys who'd been singled out to 'testify.' “Yeah, 'cause I'm always having to give that b--ch money for 'alimony' and 'child support' for those damned snot-nosed kids.” Terry spit the words out like venom. “Shit, I had to settle for the little 48-inch plasma screen, 'stead of the 64-inch I wanted, so the little 'bas---ds' could have fancy-ass tennis shoes,” Terry complained. “My truck needs new tires, and the 4-wheeler busted an axle last time I had it out. I ain't asking for much, just a little enjoyment out of the few hours a week I get to myself. But she's always whinin' about how she 'ain't got this and the kids need that.' What about ME?” There were shouts of agreement all around Justin. These guys all thought they were entitled to something for nothing, just for existing and being male.

The shouting quieted down to let Terry continue, but the speaker held out his hands. “I've got a thousand bucks here,” he told them. He fanned out 10 $100 bills in his outstretched hands to show them he wasn't messing around. “Could you use that money, Terry?” he asked. “Hell, yeah,” Terry replied. “I'll give it to you if you'll get naked here in front of all these guys,” he stated. More nudging and murmuring. Most of the guys there seemed eager for the chance. “No big deal,” the speaker continued. “We're all men here. All you have to do is strip.” “Nah,” Terry said, shrinking back a little. Justin wondered if Terry had some problem with being naked in front of guys. Hell, he'd done it thousands of times...and he was nothing much to look at either, he thought to himself. “What if I make it $2000?” the speaker asked. “Would you do it then?” Terry hesitated. “Unh, nah,” he finally replied. Justin saw his buddy poke him. “What about $5000?” the speaker said. Terry was looking really uncomfortable now, and Justin wondered if the guy was thinking of holding out for more money or if there was really something wrong with his body, like bad scars or something, that he didn't want anyone else to see. Whatever it was, it wasn't just the usual homophobia that made most guys refuse to undress in front of other men.

“OK,” the speaker said. He paused, and Justin could see all the other guys there ready to jump and start stripping at the same offer. Shit, he was ready to himself and he certainly didn't need the money. “Bob,” the speaker said, pointing at Terry's buddy who was sitting next to him. Bob stood up, hands already on his belt. “What about you? I'll give you $10,000 if you'll take Terry's clothes off him....” The words had no sooner left the speaker's lips and Bob was pouncing on his friend like a wolf on a deer. Terry started screaming, trying to fight off the bigger man. Justin could hear the sound of buttons popping and cloth being ripped. He could also hear Bob, telling Terry to quit fighting, that he would split the money with him. The more clothes that came off, the harder Terry fought, crying and pleading with his buddy to stop. The other men closed around the scene like hyenas waiting for the lions to clear off the fresh kill. They shouted, some urging Bob on, others heckling Terry for passing up his chance and for not being a man about it. Justin was horrified to find himself wondering why the hell the guy didn't stand up for himself. That made him stop and try to sense if the Unknown was somehow forcing this mob mentality on Bob, the other guys and even him. When he did this, he felt all the remaining hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This was not at all like what he felt at his old house or around the Weendigo. It wasn't as strong as that, and he couldn't think of anything to compare it to. It was not that obvious; it was more...insidious, creeping into his head quietly so as not to be noticed.

When it was all over, Terry was naked, curled up in a fetal position, sobbing. And Justin could see why he hadn't wanted to undress himself. There were horrible scars all over his body. Justin was no expert, but they looked like they'd been made when the guy was in his teens, like he'd been abused or something. He wondered if the speaker knew about this and had singled out Terry on purpose, to humiliate him. Bob stood and held out his hand for the money, and the speaker handed it over to him, grinning. The other men had gotten quieter when they saw the scars, but there were plenty of hushed conversations going on around Justin: “Geez, what the hell happened to him?” “Why the hell didn't he just do it himself?” “Shit, I wouldn't share with him.” Bob sat back down, Terry still curled on the ground next to him, and he leaned over and whispered to Terry, “See, I got the money! And I'll split it with you 50-50! See? It's OK.” Nothing Bob said seemed to make a difference to Terry. He just laid there, sobbing, and eventually Bob gave up trying.

And that was about it. Justin looked up and saw one guy setting up a movie screen where the speaker had been standing and another setting up a DVD projector at the back of the crowd. Beer was being passed around and Justin could smell popcorn. Bowls of that and peanuts were handed out, and everyone moved their seats around for a better view of the screen. “Fight Club” was the main feature, and though Justin had seen it before, he'd never really gotten the same 'take' on it that he did now. Like people everywhere, the guys all felt the need to talk back to the movie. But from the sound of it, most of these guys saw it not as a parody of stupid 'frat' behavior but as a positive manifesto for male behavior. Justin listened to the commentary, and he got the feeling that it was being purposefully directed toward that perception. Listening to it, he found his own view of the movie being artfully guided to see the revolutionary viewpoint, the 'militia' mindset of it in a way he never had before. Too bad they were ruining a good movie for him. Now he'd never be able to watch it again.

Outside, Frank had been pondering ways to get through the shielding. It was still small game season. No one would think twice about hearing a .22 shot around here. And if he couldn't hear inside the building, then they couldn't hear out, either. So they might not associate whatever sound the bullet made as it pierced the wood with a gunshot. Once he'd made a physical hole in the barn, he should be able to direct the laser-mike's beam through it and hear what was going on inside. He checked the satellite photo of the area on the computer, and saw that the nearest house with a useful screen of trees was about a quarter mile away. A little further than he was hoping for. He scanned the area around both the barn and the house for mikes, motion sensors and cameras. They hadn't seen anyone guarding the place, so they must have some other security system if they were going to all the trouble of hardening the place. He didn't see any cameras, but when he happened to aim the laser-mike at what looked like a knot-hole on the barn, he got the feedback squeal that told him it was a motion detector. Using the mike, he was able to pick out every sensor they'd put up; and the area around both house and barn was pretty well covered. He made note of where they were, in case he needed to deal with them later. Leigh asked if he could tell what was powering them, since she hadn't seen any electrical wires running to the barn like there were to the house. Frank spotted a thick wire running down the side of the house into the ground. Either the sensors triggered something in the house, or something in the house was being run out to the barn.

Suddenly, he realized that they did have one way to see and hear inside that didn't rely on any of the high-tech equipment he'd brought. “Karen,” he called over the comm unit. “You're able to go 'out of body,' aren't you?” Karen had just been about to try and sense if it was something Unknown that was shielding the barn. “Ye...” She pulled up short. Why the hell hadn't she thought of that? “Yeah!” she answered excitedly. Of course! She could go in and see what was happening.... But that made it even more important to know if there was Something out there that she would run into in the astral plane. She told the others what she was doing, just in case, but she got nothing when she felt around for that cold touch. Frank, on the other hand, did spots the smoke-like tendrils of something Unknown wafting around the property. But there was no way to tell if the tendrils were controlled or controlling, if they were here before the men and drew them in or if they were raised by whatever was going on inside. He told the others what he saw, and Karen asked if he needed her to go inside. To Frank, she sounded interestingly calm now. When she'd been arguing against Leigh meeting Fellowes, he could hear the tension and fear in her voice, as well as the growing anger. He figured that she'd be getting worried by now. They'd been sitting out there for over an hour already and had no idea what was going on inside—or even if the men were still in there. For all they knew, the barn could have been another ruse and there was some hidden exit by which everyone in there had left.

Karen answered Frank's unspoken question when she told him that she would go in whenever he decided they really needed to know what was going on. She had kind of expected it might last a while, she told them. “'Meetings' always last longer than you'd think they would...or should,” she said with a laugh. The fear was still there in her voice, but she was all business now. The comm unit was quiet for a second, then Frank told her to wait for now. He knew it took a lot of energy to go 'out of body', and there was no one there who could boost her energy if she used too much doing that. So they'd wait until there was reason for concern. Suddenly, their attention was drawn to a smaller side door on the barn. It was about 4:30pm, and they wondered if the 'party' was about to break up. But only one man came out. He was a smallish guy, moving slowly and limping slightly. He shut the door behind himself, took a few steps, then stopped and looked back at the door. Then he turned and limped down the driveway toward the road. As he went past the nearest point to where the two cars were hidden, they could see through their binoculars that his face was all blotchy and his eyes puffy like he'd been crying. There was a bruise on his jaw and scratches on his neck, and he wasn't wearing socks inside his shoes. His clothes were tucked in, but they could see that he was holding them together because there were no buttons on them, and they looked torn in places, like he'd been in a fight. All in all, he was the very picture of abject misery.

When the guy got to the main road, he turned towards Shelby and started walking. He kept looking over his shoulder, watching for cars, and each time one drove by, he'd put out his thumb. But none stopped. Leigh asked if they should go pick him up. Maybe Frank could get some information from him; he was good at that. Angie cleared her throat into the mike. Not that Angie wasn't good at it, too, Leigh quickly added. But, well, she used different techniques than Frank, and it might be better if they let Frank try first. Frank was thinking about how to go about it, when Karen suggested that he might want to take Charlie and leave the 3 of them there with the surveillance equipment. The guys in this type of group didn't seem like the kind that would easily open up to women.... Frank agreed, and they switched cars. Once the guy was out of sight of the driveway entrance, Frank drove out and turned toward Shelby. He slowed when he saw the guy put his thumb out, and pulled over just ahead of him. The guy limped up to the passenger door and Frank leaned over toward the window he'd just opened. “Looks like you've had a rough day,” he said to the guy. “Hop in.” The guy opened the door and climbed in, lowering himself gingerly into the seat. He made no move to put on the seatbelt, so Frank checked for traffic and rolled back out onto the road. “Where you headed?” Frank asked him. “Shelby,” the guy replied.

He was none too talkative, so Frank took his time. The guy seemed to collapse in on himself each time he finished talking, like it had taken all his energy. Frank chatted at the guy a little, sticking to pleasantries like how at least the weather wasn't too bad for being out on the road, easing toward the question of what happened to him that he was out thumbing his way back to town. When Frank finally worked his way around to that, all the guy would tell him was “I got into a fight with a friend.” It was clear to Frank that the guy was utterly unwilling to say anything more, both because it was a sore subject and because Frank was a stranger. So Frank let it go as they neared the edge of town. But he was able to read a great deal between the lines. This wasn't just any friend he'd fought with. It was the guy's best friend. And whatever had caused the fight, the guy felt lost and betrayed. The tone of his voice also told Frank that the guy was blaming himself for it. “So, is there someplace I can drop you?” Frank asked as they rolled into Shelby. “Family or a friend's house?” “Just drop me at this gas station,” the guy said, pointing at the one on the next corner. “That'll be fine.” Frank could tell that it really wouldn't be fine, but the guy wasn't about to open up any more. He pulled into the gas station and said “Take care,” as the guy opened the door. The guy glanced back at Frank and said “Thanks,” but made no move to offer his hand. As Frank pulled away, he saw the guy go to the pay phone on the side of the building.

When Frank got back, they all switched back to their original cars. The first thing Frank said was “Well, Justin is a pretty big guy, and he doesn't really know anyone in there, so he can't be forced to beat up his best friend....” He was waiting for some reaction from Karen, and when there wasn't one, he told them what the guy had said on the drive...and what he'd been able to infer from it. Karen hadn't said anything because she was actually a little less worried when she saw the guy come out. He had looked a bit beaten up, but not horrible. So obviously he hadn't been jumped by all the guys in there. Not that they knew how many that was, but it was at least 6 including the guy that left, and Justin and the 4 other men that came there with him would have been able to do more damage than that. And if it was some kind of 'fight club'-thing going on in there, Justin was eminently capable of taking care of himself in that regard. It was around 5pm now, but they had no idea how much longer this might take, so they all settled back to keep an eye on the barn. While they sat and waited, Leigh turned off her comm unit and asked Karen to turn hers off for a minute. She was still having nightmares, Leigh told Karen, to the point that she couldn't sleep sometimes. And she was just wondering if it would be OK.... Karen told her that, of course, she was welcome to come over any time if she needed to be with other people. She could call first if she wanted, but she could just show up at the front door if she needed to, too. Leigh hesitated. She just wanted to make sure, since she knew that Karen was trying to keep her and Justin's personal life distinctly separated from their 'work,' and she didn't want to bring 'stuff' into Karen and Justin's home. Karen laughed. There was already 'stuff' in their house, but not as bad as in Justin's old house. And just because they all worked together in the Fight, didn't mean that Leigh and the others weren't personal friends, too. She and Justin would always be available to help their friends. The two turned their comm units back on.

It was getting close to dark, about 6:30pm, when things finally broke up inside the barn. No one had even noticed Terry slip away, and his missing socks got trampled into the dirt floor as everyone policed up the area around where they were sitting and found their rides back to civilization. Justin tried again to ride in the front of the van, but Tom again turned him down. So he made sure to hit the head one last time before they headed out. While he was in there, he punched in a quick text message for Frank: “30 guys, 6+ vehicles.” He didn't know when it would finally go out, but he wanted to make sure he reported what might be important to the others right away. He'd also been making sure to memorize the license plate numbers on all the vehicles there (there were several trucks, the van he'd come in, and a couple motorcycles, plus a couple other cars that he couldn't get near without it looking suspicious), so that they could track them down later. As the large double doors on the end of the barn swung open, the Envoys brought their cameras up to ready. They wanted to get pictures of everyone they could, plus all the cars and their plates if possible. Frank had brought along video cameras as well as the still cameras, and had night-vision lenses for them. He also had the mikes handy, to pick up any conversations that might be going on as the men left with their spirits high and their guards down. 3 men left the barn on foot and went to the house. The one in the center had a televangelist/motivational speaker-look about him. The men with him, one on the right and one on the left, had the look of true believers of whatever it was the guy was selling. What Frank picked up on the mike wasn't so much a conversation as some verbal back-slapping. The guy to the left said, “Good job today.” The guy on the right agreed, “Yeah, yeah...good job.” The man in the center never said a thing, but he had a very self-satisfied look on his face as they climbed the stairs to the front door.

Once Frank was satisfied that he'd gotten visual evidence of everyone he could, the two cars left to follow the van back to the city. It wasn't hard, since the bug was giving off a signal again. And that was good, since Tom once again took a circuitous route from point A to point B. The drive took almost an hour again, and when the van got back to the coffee shop about 7:30pm, Justin headed straight in to the bathroom. He'd tried to watch how much beer he drank and had made a good half dozen trips to the head, but the beer on top of the coffee had been a little too much. Of course, it didn't hurt that that just added to the image he was creating that he had a problem with riding in the back of the van. When he came out of the bathroom, Tom was sitting at the table Justin had occupied earlier that afternoon. He had a cup of coffee and a partially-eaten donut in front of him and he smiled and nodded invitingly at Justin as he went by. Justin turned back and sat opposite Tom.

“Wha'd'ja think?” Tom asked him. “At first I was afraid it was gonna be one 'a those Amway pitches,” Justin said, grinning. Tom laughed. “Most speakers do kinda sound the same,” he replied. “It sounded like the basic message was that you have to reach down and act like you've got a pair,” Justin continued. “Yup,” Tom agreed, nodding. “But the thing with Terry and Bob, was...well....” Justin didn't finish, unsure not only of what to say but exactly how to process that yet. “Well, everybody's got a price,” Tom told him. “So, um, when's the next meeting?” Justin asked. “I'll have to call you,” Tom answered. “Well, is it always on Sundays, so, y'know, I can keep 'em open?” Justin asked. “Nah, it varies,” Tom said. “Oh,” Justin replied, sounding a little disappointed. “I may not always be able to make it then.” “That's fine,” Tom told him. “Not everyone makes every meeting. We all got lives.” “Y'know, I wasn't really expecting a movie,” Justin said. “Why not?” Tom asked. “There's got to be entertainment—it can't all be talk. In fact, there was supposed to be more entertainment, but, well....” Tom shrugged, as if to say “that's life.” Then Justin asked about the refreshments. He wasn't sure if Tom was a big beer drinker normally, but the best one Justin had ever tasted was Sam Adams. He offered to bring the beer for the next meeting, enough for everyone, maybe even a keg. He didn't mind doing it, since he had a job and all. Tom had finished his coffee and donut by now, and he rose to leave. Justin rose too, and the two went out together, then headed over to their own cars and took off in different directions.

As soon as it seemed like Justin was pretty much out of harm's way, Frank suggested that Leigh try to hook up with Fellowes, maybe even get a date for later that evening. She got his voice mail again, and left a message asking if he was interested in meeting her for coffee and conversation. Then Karen got a text message from Justin: “Please bring home at least Frank. Oh God, I need to talk.” Her gut clenched. Justin had just left the coffee shop, and Frank and Leigh were taking Angie and Karen back to their vehicles (Karen's Jeep and Angie's Hog) behind the safe house. She told Frank that Justin needed to see him that night, and he agreed to follow her home, though he'd been hoping to get started tracking down who all those guys were. Angie piped up that she really wanted to hear what had gone on in the barn, then hesitated. Aiden was due to get off his 4-day shift at midnight, and, well.... But she had until then, and Leigh was curious too, so they asked to come along. That was fine with Karen, sort of. She hadn't really wanted to do Justin's debriefing at their house; but she could tell from the TM that Justin was in no condition to be anywhere but home, and he was definitely going to need to get this off his chest. So instead of 4 cars going in 4 different directions, a convoy headed out onto Cass and over to Justin and Karen's house.

Justin got home ahead of the others and dropped his jacket on the railing as he headed straight for the shower. He felt worse than he had in the desert. It was like there was sand in places where there really shouldn't have been. But at least over there he'd felt like a man. Now? How could he have not stood up for that guy? How could guys he was related to have found 'that' entertaining? Shit, it wasn't just them, either. All of them did. Nobody else seemed to have a problem with it but him, and he'd done absolutely nothing about it. He'd just squashed it all down inside.... He started stripping on his way up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door behind himself. He tossed almost everything down the laundry chute. Normally he would have been careful to put the gun away before doing anything else; but not tonight. He just tossed it on the bed as he went by. He got the water as hot as he could stand it and hoped it would wash away the ugly stain of everything he'd said and done and seen that long afternoon.

Karen pulled the Jeep into the garage next to the truck, and the others parked in the driveway. When she went in the back door, she spotted Justin's field jacket and knew he was in the shower even before she heard the water running. She didn't stop to see if the others were behind her; she just headed straight upstairs. She knew he wasn't feeling well when she saw the gun on the bed, and she could feel the heat from the steam escaping under the bathroom door. She found Justin huddled on the floor in the center of the shower, rocking ever so slightly. She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the forehead, ignoring the fact that she was getting wet. “Food?” she whispered to him. “I could fix you something....” “No, I...I can't even think about it right now,” Justin groaned in reply. “Shhh,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. “It's alright. Frank and the others are downstairs.” “Tell 'em I'll be down in a few minutes,” Justin told her; but he made no move to get up just yet. Karen nodded, kissed him again, and left him to work himself up to seeing other people. She changed out of her wet shirt and toweled off her hair; and before she left the room, she slid the gun into the safe where Justin usually kept it.

When Karen got back downstairs, ready to offer to fix something for the others, she found Angie in the family room, her boots off, feet up on the coffee table and a cold beer in her hand, flipping through the channels on the TV. She found Frank and Leigh in the kitchen. She didn't think that any of them had eaten since breakfast time, and figured they must be as hungry as she would have been if her husband hadn't been all torn up inside and huddled at the bottom of the shower. So she was glad to see that Leigh was just pulling a brick of cheese out of the 'fridge, the cheese board and slicer already out on the counter. Leigh figured that Karen's first concern was going to be Justin, as he should be; so she decided to take care of being hostess for Frank and Angie rather than add one more burden to Karen's shoulders right then. Karen still offered to make something more for them. Justin wasn't hungry, and she wasn't much either, but she had plenty of food in the house, she told them. Frank told her that he'd just been thinking about ordering some pizza. Karen pulled out the fliers she had for the local pizza places, and explained which ones had the best food, the best prices, and the quickest delivery. Frank pulled out his cell and Karen was about to tell him that he should just use their phone, when they all heard the thump of Justin dropping something, then him swearing roundly. A minute later, he was clumping down the stairs and they heard his foot slip and him bump into the wall as he grabbed for the railing.

They all stopped what they were doing. That just wasn't like Justin. First, he hardly ever swore like that around Karen or in any mixed company. But on top of that, while he wasn't what anyone would call graceful, he was usually more dexterous than the stumble on the stairs sounded. Karen had stopped stock still and had a 'deer in the headlights' look on her face. Frank closed the phone and waited. Leigh ran for the stairs to see if Justin was OK. Even Angie had stopped channel-surfing and dropped her feet to the floor, waiting for the 'entertainment.' Justin waved Leigh off, saying that he was fine but sounding irritated, and he headed for the family room. Frank called in a quick pizza order as he followed Justin, Karen right behind him. Leigh went back to the kitchen and grabbed the cheese, and took it into the family room with her. Justin was pacing in front of his chair like a caged animal, and Karen could almost see the black cloud wrapped around him. Frank sat down in the chair opposite Justin's and asked what he was beating himself up for. Justin looked at him for a minute like he was some kind of idiot; but Frank could see the pent-up pain and anger and fear in Justin's eyes. Leigh set the cheese on the table between her and Angie and sat down. All Karen could do was hover near Justin, just out of his reach. It wasn't that she was afraid of HIM. She knew he could never hurt her. But the same boiling emotions that Frank saw in Justin's eyes, Karen could feel as heat rolling off him, a heat so intense she couldn't get close to it right away.

“God, my soul hurts right now,” Justin told Frank. “There was this 'zealot' look on so many of their faces. And the speaker...he actually believes his own bullshit! He spoke like he was spewing the wisdom of the ages in there!” Justin finally stopped pacing and flopped back into his chair. “Angie, beer me,” he said, and she pulled a bottle from the little fridge next to the couch, twisted the cap off and handed it to him. Justin went to pull the cap off himself and seemed surprised that it was already off. Then he tipped his head back and took a couple long pulls from the bottle. “But, the speech wasn't even the worst part,” Justin continued. He told them about Bob stripping his friend for the money, stopping a couple times for another swig from the bottle. “And I did nothing,” he ended, spitting out the words with disgust and draining the bottle. “You'd have blown your cover,” Angie told him, passing him another beer. Her words did nothing to console Justin. “If it had been a woman, I'd have shot the bastard,” he said. “But since it was a guy.... God help me, I caught myself thinking that he ought to stand up for himself.” He took several hard swallows of beer and seemed to slump even further in the chair. “I feel...empty inside.”

In that instant, the cloud of anger dissolved leaving only the pain and fear in Justin's voice, and Karen's heart twisted to hear it. She came up behind him and started lightly rubbing his neck and shoulders over the back of the chair, leaning over it to kiss him gently on the back of his neck. Every muscle was rock hard with tension. But that one kiss washed away more of the pain and fear than 45 minutes of steaming hot water, and the tension began to melt away slowly. “You can stop that...in 3 or 4 days,” he said to Karen. The warmth in his voice was enough to make Karen's own tension release, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she continued massaging Justin's shoulders. “The others...they really believed that shit,” Justin said, amazed that grown men could be so gullible. “So, where were we, anyway?” he asked Frank now. Frank had gotten his laptop up and running while Justin had been telling them about the 'entertainment' in the barn. He'd been downloading all the photos from the cameras, and he left that in the background while he brought up a map. He spun the laptop around so Justin could see it, and Justin was surprised that the drive there had taken so long. Frank laughed and brought up another map that had the route Tom had taken—which looked like one of the convoluted paths that the kids in the “Family Circus” comic strip might take.

Justin saw the photos that had already been loaded and started putting the few names he knew to the faces, including the names of his 3 cousins. All three were from Justin's own generation of the family, and he still couldn't believe that men from his own family were there and that they were among the 'true believers.' Frank told him that the three left in the same truck together. This sure as hell wasn't something they could talk about at family get-togethers, Justin said. It wasn't something that was really overt, just something that 'was'--his family's structure was strongly matriarchal. Which didn't mean that the men in his family were wimps or anything. It was just an unspoken but widely understood and accepted rule that you didn't mess with the women in the family and that they generally had the last word. His grandma and aunts were at the top of the 'chain of command' right now; but he could already see that in another 10 years Marie would likely be up near the top as well. The other Envoys had all met her, so they could see what he meant. And thinking about it now, he could kind of see how that might rub some guys the wrong way. Because those women would kick his cousins' asses if they ever found out they were going to these stupid meetings.... He told the others about watching “Fight Club” in a whole new light, and about offering to bring the beer to the next meeting, which he already had a sort of 'invitation' to.

Frank asked him if he'd be able to do it. Because he didn't have to, Frank told him. It was quite clear that Justin had an extremely hard time separating himself from the role he had to play to go to this meeting, and that it was causing him a lot of emotional turmoil. Frank didn't need Justin, or any other member of his team, 'breaking' himself in order to do this 'job.' Justin told them that he could do it, although there might be plenty of puking between now and then. Karen closed her eyes hard to squeeze back the tears that threatened to spill out when Justin said that, and she continued kneading the tension from his shoulders and lightly stroking the back of his neck. It hurt her to know that he was in so much pain, and that she couldn't do anything about it. And she worried about him going back again. But she knew that she couldn't ask him not to, any more than he would have asked her not to do a séance. They each did what they could in this fight, and tried to support the other through it. All she could do was be there for him when he needed her, and pray that he would be OK, that they would be able to finish this job that he was suffering so much for, and that God would protect him from harm. Justin was describing more of what the speaker had been saying—he never did hear what the guy's name was, he told them—and how he'd even found himself nodding along with the others a couple times. Karen felt his muscles tense in a shudder. When the speaker asked what they'd be willing to do if they couldn't get in trouble for it, he'd felt a little something niggling at the back of his brain, Justin told them, like there was something Other there pushing him to believe they could do these things, or maybe feeding off their evil intentions.

Frank made a comment about Freud being right all along—that it WAS all about abuse of women and children. That had been his original theory, Frank explained. But abuse was rampant at that time, and when Freud tried to publish his theory, the ruling males wouldn't stand for it because it exposed the ugly side of a life they heartily supported and enjoyed. So Freud caved and and went with it all being about fantasies about sex. The funny thing was, Justin told them, he got the feeling that Terry might still end up staying friends with Bob, even after what happened. Frank told Justin about the 'conversation' he'd had with Terry when he gave him a ride into town, and how he got the impression that Terry blamed himself for what had happened. Justin cracked a pained smile. “I'd have held out for 25 grand,” he told them. But they all knew he was just saying that to bolster himself for going back and doing it again. Karen couldn't even imagine Justin doing something horrible like that, even if the other man wouldn't have hesitated to do it to Justin or someone else. Oh, she had no doubt that Justin could easily kill someone with his bare hands if that person threatened her or Marie or Olivia, and maybe even for any of the other women on the team. But humiliate someone for entertainment? Never. Of course, Justin added, he wasn't sure why anyone would want to see him naked anyway.

Angie started laughing and Justin thought she was laughing at the thought of him naked. But Justin couldn't see the look on Karen's face when he'd said it, which was what Angie was actually laughing at. Karen wasn't just attracted to Justin because he was the sweetest guy she'd ever met. He may not have realized it himself, but he was hot. He seemed to always think of himself as a big, dumb Polack goober, always comparing himself to the college-educated 'brains' on the team and finding himself wanting. She flicked him lightly on the back of his head. “There was a reason I was attracted to you from the beginning,” she said, speaking to him but loudly enough that the others could easily hear her. “But...I've got one and I don't see why women would even want to get near 'them,' Justin said. He was a really smart guy in some respects, but he just sometimes didn't have a clue about women. The three women looked at one another, all thinking that same thing, and they laughed even harder. Karen hugged Justin around the neck and kissed the back of his head. Then the three tried to explain to Justin that sometimes women were just interested in the same things guys were. Angie launched into how sometimes the sources of 'entertainment' in the military, especially overseas, were the same for the women as for the men. And how Aiden's “hot bod” was the first thing that had attracted her. Justin teased her that he'd figured that Aiden just had a fetish for her deputy hat, and they all joked about where that could lead, with her ending up in just her hat and gun belt.

The last of Justin's tension was finally fading away, and he grabbed Karen's hand and pulled her around the chair and onto his lap. He needed to feel her in his arms and be able to smell her close to him. They were still looking through the photos the team had taken as the meeting broke up. Leigh didn't see the guy she knew as John Fellowes among the men who'd come out of the barn, and she mentioned that to Frank. But Frank told her that maybe if Fellowes had 'something else' to attend to, he couldn't be at the meeting until he'd finished with that. Besides Tom, Justin hadn't recognized any of the men at the meeting as ones he'd seen at the gun show. Frank was looking for as much detail as Justin could give him about the men and their 'peculiarities.' Now that Justin had relaxed and his head was more clear, he was able to describe more of what he'd seen, besides the stuff that had gone on in there. There was a lot of racist 'paraphernalia' visible there, now that Justin thought about it; but it was pretty subtle—pins on guys' jackets, bumper stickers on some of the trucks. Some of it was associated with particular groups, like the Confederate flag sticker in the back window of a truck, or a Militia pin on a guy's jacket. Other stuff was just generally bigoted stuff. Justin was a little surprised to realize that he hadn't seen anything overtly 'Nazi' there.

Frank glanced over at Leigh and caught her eye. Was she ready to tell...? Leigh nodded and told Justin about the call she'd gotten from Fellowes. and how Frank had checked and found that the call had come from a phone that originated in DC. And it wasn't easy to do, Frank stressed. If he hadn't still had access to the DHS files, he'd have never figured that out. Then Leigh told them all about the dream that she'd had. She gave them enough detail for them to understand just how ugly it had been, and Justin realized that Tom's remark about “more entertainment” could have been.... He felt a little ill all of a sudden. He told the others about it and asked Angie to hand him another beer. She'd gone to the dojo to work off the anger afterwards, Leigh told them, and Justin asked to see her hands. He could tell she'd busted up the skin of her knuckles, but she'd cleaned them up pretty well. Frank told them that he was putting together a timeline based on what they'd seen and what Justin had told them. Considering when they saw Terry leave.... “What? Terry left?” Justin asked, sounding surprised. “He did,” Frank confirmed. There must have been some sort of double entryway at that door, Justin told them, because he hadn't even seen a flash of light from the door opening as Terry had left. Anyway, Frank went on, if the call from Fellowes had been intended to get Leigh into the barn, Frank explained, she would have arrived there just about the time that Terry was being assaulted. There were drugs that could have made her feel the same inability to defend herself that she felt in the dream, Frank said.

Karen asked why, besides the dream, they thought Leigh would be drugged. “I'm guessing that this bunch would find it more exciting if she was able to try to fight,” she added blackly. The others were quiet for a minute. It still disturbed Karen greatly that she sometimes had such intuitive insight into sickening things like this. But, like Fr. Andrew had told her, as long as she was troubled by it, she was probably safe from becoming like them. When the team discussed Leigh going to meet the guy, Frank continued, they decided against it because it would have spread them too thin if she'd been taken somewhere else. Karen didn't mention how she'd felt about the whole issue. She didn't want Justin to know that Leigh had seemed totally ready to consider abandoning him to whatever was going on in the barn. And that Frank had almost let her. Yes, knowing now about the dream Leigh'd had, Karen could see how she and Frank had thought the call was related to Justin's meeting. But she still stood by her original opinion, that splitting the team any further might have jeopardized all of them. She never had worked out how, even if Leigh did end up in the barn, they were any more likely to know what was going on inside than when only one of the team was in there, since there was no way of seeing or hearing inside or of the people inside getting any messages out.

As Karen was fighting to keep her anger in check, Justin was saying that he thought the meetings might happen every couple weeks at the most. Then Justin stopped, struck by a sudden thought. The guy named Pete, that he'd ridden with to the meeting, could be dangerous to his boss, Justin told them. Pete had been clearly angry at the woman; and if the guys that went to these meetings were capable of doing 'outside' the stuff that they'd all seemed eager to do when they were in the barn, then Pete might very likely cause his boss serious harm. In fact, now that he considered it, Justin thought he knew which dealership the guy worked at, and he'd be more than willing to stomp Pete into the ground, he told them. Leigh offered to back him up on that job, but Angie told him he'd just be blowing his cover. However, she'd be happy to help too. Justin thought for a second. It would be poetic justice for Pete to get stomped by two women, he admitted—and Angie and Leigh were more than capable of that. Justin grinned. “Oh, by the way,” he asked Frank. “Are we going to keep Terry out of the loop somewhat on this job, so that she has plausible deniability if we have to do something 'extra-legal'?” “Not a bad idea,” Frank agreed. They were all still looking over the photos as Frank ran them through facial recognition software. Justin pointed out his cousins on the video footage as they pulled out of the barn. Leigh laughed at their lack of taste in cars. Justin explained that they never approached him in the barn, but that he wasn't sure if they'd even remember him or recognize him anyway. It had been a good ten years since he'd last seen them, and he'd changed a bit since then. He still couldn't understand how anybody from his family could stand listening to the crap he'd heard there. But obviously there were guys out there who couldn't stand a woman who stood up for herself—or talked.

Frank asked if Justin was ready to eat something yet, and Justin realized how hungry he was. He hadn't had anything substantial to eat since breakfast. Frank told him that the pizza was staying warm in the oven, and Justin got up to get another beer. He figured it was about time that he took over his proper 'hosting' duties rather than making Angie wait on him. Justin and Karen hadn't even noticed the pizza being delivered. But Frank had been listening for the knock on the front door, and Leigh got up and answered when the pizza came and put it in the oven until they were ready to eat. Now, Justin got beers for everyone, while Karen and Leigh went out and got the pizza, plates and napkins and brought them back to the family room. Frank laughed as things settled into what an outsider might think was just an average gathering of friends. He really appreciated the insight he'd been able to gain into everyone's psyches, he told them as they all went on like they'd just been talking about the Lions instead of a gathering of men who were being whipped into a frenzy by a whacko who truly believed that abusing women and children was the way to solve the world's problems. Frank and Justin discussed the possibility of using a keg of beer to get a transmitter into the barn that would be powerful enough to bust through whatever was shielding the place. There was a pretty large hollow in the bottom of most kegs. If Justin could fashion a false bottom to disguise it, Frank could easily come up with the electronics.

Leigh just happened to be passing the laptop as one particular photo was being processed by the recognition software, but she recognized it first. It was one of the deputies from Port Huron. That gave everyone pause to consider the danger. Luckily, Justin had only been up to Port Huron once so far, last Wednesday night and Thursday, when Frank had summoned him and Karen up there that first night. Justin didn't even recognize the deputy now, so hopefully the two had never encountered each other. “Well, no offense, Frank,” Justin said, “but there are guys who join law enforcement for the power it gives them. I'm betting that's this guy's kick.” That seemed to be the basic point of the whole meeting, Justin told them; that everyone had a price and that if there was no threat of retribution, most people would be willing to do just about anything. But as far as he was concerned, Justin said, he drew the line at rape. Even murder was less evil, since there were plenty of reasons he could justify murder, but none that could even remotely justify rape. Ever. This led to a conversation about how some cultures seemed to promote justification of rape. Not just cultures as defined by country or religion, but by any community or population, even the military or the Church. Justin, Frank and Angie had certainly seen how harassment of women, including rape, seemed to be part of the culture of the military. But Karen argued that it was a false syllogism to say that because abuse of women in the military was relatively common that it was part of the culture. That was like saying that because a number of priests had abused children, the Church had a culture of child abuse, she complained. Not every man in the military had come to believe that abuse of women was acceptable. “No,” Justin agreed. Karen squeezed Justin's hand and smiled at him. She may have been attracted to him because he was really hot; but she fell in love with him because of things like that—how he couldn't even understand how any man could justify hurting a woman.

Around midnight, things started to break up. Angie was expecting Aiden to get out of work soon, and she wanted to be home when he got there. After finding out that her dream may actually have been prescient, Leigh was a little spooked and didn't feel like going back to an empty condo. So Angie invited her to come home with her. She could sleep on the couch, so she'd be close to Angie and Aiden if she did have a nightmare. Frank was willing to stay a little longer, if Justin needed to talk to him privately, but Justin told him that was OK, he'd be fine now. So Frank headed back to Terry's place, hoping not to have any nightmares himself. And as soon as the house was cleaned up and locked up, Justin and Karen went up to bed. Leigh was having a hard time relaxing enough to fall asleep, so she and Angie flipped on the TV. Angie sprawled across the recliner and let Leigh have the couch since she'd be spending the night there anyway. They looked for something 'light and fluffy' to help Leigh get to sleep, but before the movie was half over Angie was out cold.

Aiden dragged in around 1:30am. Angie was awake and armed before Aiden had pulled his key out of the lock, but even she couldn't prevent what happened next. He'd let himself in, and stumbled to the couch thinking the form lying across it was Angie. He was half-asleep, and said only “Hi, Hon,” before flopping down onto Leigh. He realized that it wasn't Angie as he was on his way down and saw Leigh trying to sit up. When he landed, he immediately rolled off onto the floor with a THUMP. As Aiden and Leigh apologized to one another, Angie holstered her gun and went to help Aiden up. She grabbed his wrists, but as she pulled him up to a standing position, she stooped slightly and pulled him onto her shoulder and 'fireman-carried' him to the bedroom. As they left the room, Aiden's hands dragging on the floor behind Angie, he grinned at Leigh and said “I love my woman!” A moment later Leigh heard the 'fump' of him landing on the bed. A few minutes later, Angie came back out of the bedroom. If Leigh needed to come snuggle, she could, Angie told her. Aiden was already fast asleep and wouldn't mind. Heck, he might not have minded if he were awake either, Angie said grinning. Leigh smiled. She was OK right then, she told Angie, but she'd come knock on the door if she needed to later.

None of the team had bad dreams that night, and they all slept restfully. But in the morning, they all found a couple of disturbing articles in the back of the paper. One was a short, one-inch article about a man named Terry shooting himself. The other was a police brief about a very messy single car accident that happened the past evening. The body had been so damaged by the crash and subsequent fire that the police had not yet been able to identify the sole occupant of the vehicle.

It was the wee hours of Sunday, Oct. 15, when Frank pulled in behind the Star Coffee Shop. He'd just finished dropping Virginia off at Metro to catch a redeye back to DC, and he wanted to scope out the address Justin had been given for the meeting with Tom Harper later today. He'd be bringing all the surveillance equipment he could fit in the car along with him, but he wanted some idea of what was going to be possible and what might be completely useless. The shop was in the front half of a squat building stuck between two much larger ones. It looked pretty new, like maybe something older had been torn out and this thrown up to fill the gap. There was an alley running behind all the buildings on the block, and a narrow driveway along the side of the shop that led from the street back to the alley parking lot. Along that side of the building, there was a back door that looked like it was mostly used for taking out the garbage to the nearby dumpster. There were plenty of windows on the ground level of the place, perfect for using the laser mike. It looked like there might be a basement, and luckily there was a tiny ribbon of weedy grass along the front that he could stick a 'spike mike' in if the men went into the basement for the meeting. But Frank suspected that the shop was just a staging area, and that Justin and anyone else that had gotten a similar 'invitation' would be taken somewhere else for the meeting. So he'd be stocking a healthy supply of bugs, too. He just hoped that he'd get the chance to get one on the vehicle they went in. Trying to wire Justin would be far too risky when they were trying to infiltrate a group as potentially paranoid as these people would be.

Frank headed back to Terry's just before the sun peeked up over the river. He was running on fumes by now, and he knew he wouldn't be able to fend off sleep much longer. It had been hard making it this long on only occasional cat naps. Terry must have been out for her morning run when he got in, because she wasn't there. He crawled into bed, desperately needing sleep but worried about what dreams it would bring. He'd only been lying there about 15 minutes when he felt Terry crawl under the covers beside him and spoon up to his back. But by the time that his brain had fully digested that fact, he was out. He woke to the sound of chanting. He didn't recognize the language, but he felt like he ought to. It had an itch of familiarity to it.... He realized that he felt very warm, toasty warm. On some cellular level, he knew that the chanting was good and that it would bring him what he wanted. But the longer he laid there, the warmer it got. It was getting uncomfortable now. Sweaty. Stuffy. It was getting hard to breathe. As he laid there, it began to dawn on him that his eyes were open. But he only knew this because he could see flames beginning to eat through whatever was surrounding him. He felt the adrenalin rush of his fight or flight response coursing through his body, but his limbs felt too heavy to move. The cold of fear begin creeping through him, through his forehead, the back of his neck, his chest, his fingertips. Though the fear was great, he knew that through this suffering would come the fulfillment of all his wishes....

Frank woke with a start as he was doused with a pan-full of cold water. Damn! That was worse than a cold shower! He realized that Terry was calling his name, fear in her voice. She'd been trying to wake him because she couldn't seem to bring his fever down and was about to call 911, she told him. As the fear from the dream subsided, he realized that he was naked. He was quite sure that he'd been wearing pajamas when he got into bed. He looked around and noticed a pile of wet towels on the floor beside the bed. The pan of water had been a last resort, Terry was saying. She'd started trying to wake him gently, doing things that had always worked in the past. As she described her attempts, it occurred to Frank that any one of those things would have had him awake in an instant, normally. The first few would have been pleasant enough ways to wake, but the attempts got progressively more extreme as Terry's fear grew when each one failed. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, and shook her head as she pulled it away. Strange. His temperature felt almost normal now. So she held out her hand and cracked a smile as she said “Now, help me change this bed.”

Angie and Leigh had gone back to Angie and Aiden's place after leaving Port Huron. Angie was more than willing to let Leigh spend the night again, but Leigh had decided to head home. Somehow, getting out and doing something that took her mind off her last nightmare gave her the confidence to try sleeping alone again. She no longer felt so overwhelmed, since time had distanced her from the dream. She fell asleep easily and slept quite soundly for a long time. Until she realized she was cold, very cold. She could hear men's voices shouting. They were harsh, speaking in Old German. She tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't. It took her a moment to figure out that she was blindfolded. And naked. That was why she was so very cold. She pulled her knees to her chest, curling up to try and warm herself. She tried feel around for the covers and found that her hands were tied tightly behind her back with coarse twine. Suddenly a man's rough hands grabbed her violently. She was shoved over onto her back and he held her down. She tried to kick out but felt only the air, cold on her legs. As her mind reached out, feeling for the power of the Art, she felt nothing. She could hear others around her, all men. All laughing, shouting, egging each other on to more horrific violations. She struggled, but that only made the shouting get louder, as they laughed about the proper place of women and how this one—she--was fulfilling her only proper purpose. She focused on her aikido training, hoping to break free. But nothing she did worked. She was completely helpless, and the men—so many of them—showed her no mercy. She planned how she would bite them, tear off chunks of their flesh if they got close enough. But nothing she did, nothing she planned was effective. And it was that helplessness that scared her most of all. It seemed like an eternity before she heard a sound beyond the laughter and shouting. Sirens! Perhaps someone was coming to help her....

She woke, realizing that the sound wasn't sirens but her alarm clock. She tried to sit and found herself wrapped in the sheets, part of them tangled around her face. She shook as she unwrapped herself. And as the smells of her home began to creep into her consciousness, she knew that it had all been a dream because there had been no smell there. And yet it felt so real. Her arms and thighs felt bruised; but when she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, there were no marks on her. When she stepped out of the shower, the hot water had done little to wash away the anger and fear. She needed to hit something and the best place for that was at the dojo. She dressed in sweats and threw shampoo, a towel and clean clothes into her workout bag. She had a feeling she was going to work up a heck of a sweat. She headed straight for the heavy bag when she got there and tried hard to concentrate on her form as she began pounding it. Sweat was dripping down her back, but she barely felt it. It took her several seconds to realize that there was someone standing behind her just beyond her reach. She coiled unconsciously as she turned, ready to face an attack. “Too much anger and you lose your edge, and become nothing but a beast,” her sensei said quietly, fully relaxed and yet somehow completely ready to deflect her blow had Leigh lashed out without thought.

Leigh released the breath she only now noticed that she was holding. “What has made you so angry?” Sensei asked her. “Really...dreams,” she replied, feeling silly even as she said it, that she had let something that was so...shapeless, so...immaterial, get her so worked up. “I was trying to...let it go, here,” she started, nodding toward the bag. “And I was hoping...to talk to you.” She shrugged, unsure where she was going with this but trusting that Sensei would help her find her way through the ordeal. She started to describe the dream, telling him how she woke feeling cold, naked and blindfolded, and how her helplessness was the thing that disturbed her the most. He stopped her with a tilt of his head. “Let's go to my office,” he said, turning. She followed him across the dojo and through the door. “Please, sit,” he told her as she turned back from closing the door. She took half a step toward the chair placed in front of the desk before seeing him motion toward the cushions in the other corner. He didn't even pause to see if she spotted the movement as he crossed to the small credenza tucked behind the desk. “Center yourself; watch your thoughts,” he continued as she finished settling onto the cushion. She wasn't quite sure how he knew what she was doing when he had his back to her, but he did that kind of thing all the time.

She had her eyes closed and was concentrating on steadying herself, body and mind, when she heard him placing things on a tray. By the time she opened her eyes, he was settling onto the cushion opposite her, no tray in sight, and he began to talk her through breathing exercises. Her breathing began to slow and she could feel the sweat drying on her back and forehead. Her eyes closed again, she counted her breaths, and heard the rustle of his clothing as he stood and crossed the room. Part of her brain wanted her to open her eyes and see what he was doing. The other part noticed that she'd lost count of her breath, and she started over again at one. When he came back, she could hear him setting a full tray on the low table beside him. She opened her eyes and watched him making tea for her, carefully measuring out the tea with the tiny wooden scoop, pouring the hot water into the cups and whisking gently with the small bamboo whisk. Many long minutes later he held the cup out to her, carefully turning it to present it with the most beautiful side facing her. She took the cup from him, resting it on one palm as she now turned it to put the most beautiful side facing him before taking her first sip. Then he sipped also, watching her. As she concentrated on the flavor and feel of the tea, the cup warm, cradled in her hands, her other senses began to open to her surroundings as well. There was the slightest hint of incense in the air, and the delicate tinkling of chimes. She was calm now, and felt like she had as a child when she was wrapped in her parents' arms. She was touched by his simple act of making tea for her, how that and the incense and his quiet attention made her feel cared for.

“You do not need to tell me more,” he said, looking at her over his cup. “Why don't we focus on why you feel such a loss of control and how you may regain your equilibrium in the face of that loss of control. This may be more effective than bloodying your hands.” He glanced down, and she followed his gaze and saw that her knuckles were indeed bloodied. Her mouth opened with the beginning of an objection. She'd tried so hard to watch her form.... How could she have done so much damage without even noticing...? She closed her mouth before the words even formed. In fighting against her dreams, against control being taken from her, she'd lost control in the here and now. Instead of describing the details of the dream, she told him now about the fears it had raised, about how her work as a bounty hunter required her to remain in control, how a loss of control could easily lead to a loss of life—her own or, worse yet, someone else's. About how disturbing some of those jobs could be—and how disturbing some of her dreams had become. She avoided going into too much detail about the work she did, and wondered as she skirted the issue just how much Sensei might already know about such things.

“There will always be things you cannot affect,” he said when she had finished. “And there are things you can do nothing about. You must meditate on these so they do not take you from you.” He looked hard into her eyes, speaking and listening with his own, making sure she understood both what he said and what he didn't. He smiled. “Drink your tea. Share the quiet.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply the aroma of the tea before sipping. They sat quietly together until they'd finished the tea. He took their cups and placed them carefully on the tray, then stood and carried the tray to the credenza. Leigh stood too, understanding that he'd done all for her that he could right now and that it was up to her to go out and work with the things he'd suggested. She stopped and turned back as she neared the door, thoughts of other jobs and other times she'd felt a loss of control whirling in her head. “Do you know Edward Harrington?” she asked Sensei. “Who?” he asked, turning to look at her. “Just someone....” She paused, not wanting to say too much. “Avoid him. He's very scary,” she told him. The hint of a smile flickered on his face as he bowed to her, a gesture of both thanks and dismissal. She bowed in return and went out. She went to the locker room and cleaned up her knuckles, then taped them before continuing her workout. When she'd worked up another good sweat, being more careful this time of her motives as well as her actions, she showered again and changed into clean clothes.

Frank and Terry quickly got the bed stripped and remade. Then Terry went out to the kitchen to make them breakfast, and Frank went to take a cool shower. He thought about the dream, making himself remember as much detail as he could so he could record it accurately later. Whatever he dreamed, it was not his own death but someone else's. When he'd dressed, he began recording the dream on his voice recorder so Terry could listen to it later. He carried it with him out to the kitchen table, where she set breakfast and some iced tea in front of him. She listened to the dream while they ate, and shook her head. She was so glad she didn't have his dreams. And he hadn't even been trying to have this one, he told her. She checked his temperature again and it was back to normal. Then his phone rang. It was Leigh. It was late morning now, and she was wondering if Frank would be available for an early afternoon consultation. Frank thought for a second. Justin's meeting was at 2pm, and Frank wanted to be staking the coffee shop out well before Justin got there. “Sure,” he told Leigh. “We can set something up around babysitting Justin.” Now Leigh paused. There was something else she needed, a favor. She'd had another bad dream, and at some point she might need to use Frank as a 'teddy bear'. “You'd better ask Terry,” Frank told her, holding the phone out to Terry as she cleaned away the dishes.

Leigh put the question to Terry. Frank felt the temperature in the room drop. “I thought you were staying with Angie for that. Couldn't you just use her again?” Terry said a little candidly. Terry was not very 'sharing-oriented.' It wasn't that she was unsympathetic to Leigh's predicament. But when she was with a guy, she wanted to know exactly where she stood. She and Frank had never talked about having an exclusive relationship. Hell, they'd never really talked about their relationship at all. But she was pretty observant, and she'd never gotten the impression that Frank was playing the field. Neither was she. And if she was going to be monogamous, she expected the same from him. Leigh seemed like a nice enough person, but she was just a little too good-looking. It wasn't that she didn't trust Frank. Or that she didn't trust Leigh. But with a woman that beautiful, well, things might just happen even if nobody planned it. Leigh quickly explained that with Reg out of town, well...she just wanted to make sure that she had a back-up, in case Angie couldn't help her again. “Well...as long as Frank is just a fall back....” Terry said. Frank grinned evilly. “Maybe you could offer your own services,” he said to Terry. “As long as I can put a video camera in the room....” Frank leered, then started laughing as Terry told Leigh what he'd just said. Leigh wasn't quite sure what to say. She hoped she hadn't offended Terry by not asking for her help. “Remember,” Terry told her, “I'm not really the 'touchy-feely' type. It's not that I'm not sympathetic...I'm just not...really good at sharing.” Leigh got the point, and wondered why Terry would feel threatened by her. Terry passed the phone back to Frank with her hand over the mouthpiece. “I'm going out for a run. I really don't want to come back and find you in bed with her,” she whispered to him. “She's too good-looking.”

Terry went out, and Frank told Leigh she could come over any time she was ready. Leigh headed straight over from the dojo. Five minutes after Frank hung up, his phone rang again. As Terry started her run, she realized that she didn't know how long to stay out. “Call me when I can come back,” she told Frank. “I know you need privacy with your patients.... But don't let me find you in bed with her.” “Don't worry,” Frank told her. “Good,” she said, her breathing starting to get slightly heavier as she started jogging. “We won't discuss how this reflects on your own self-image right now,” Frank said. “I'm just being very clear and forthright,” Terry replied. She hung up and Frank followed suit. A short time later, Leigh got there. The first thing she did when Frank let her in was apologize for hitting on some issues Terry had. “Hopefully you two can talk about that sometime,” she told him. The next thing she did was hand him an envelope. Like Justin, Leigh was concerned that someone might mistake her connections to the white supremacists/fire cultists as true interest in their twisted beliefs instead of a cover, if something happened to her so that she could no longer defend herself. So she'd written out a letter explaining her actions, she told him, so that people could hear it in her own words. Frank offered her a seat, glancing at her raw knuckles. “I already talked to my sensei,” she told him. Noticing what he was looking at, she lifted her hands and gave him a clearer look. “I did try to use good form....” she said, by way of explanation. “Even professional boxers tape their hands before pummeling something,” Frank told her.

Leigh sat there for a second, then began telling Frank about her dream. As she talked, Frank tried to see if he could sense any residue of contact with the Unknown on her. Nothing. So whatever caused the dream was something natural and personal. When she finished telling him all the unpleasant details, Frank asked Leigh what she thought brought on the feelings of helplessness. “Not being able to deal with the big things...and the whole 'woman, know your place'-thing, which is a big part of the whole paleoarchaic-Eurocentric cult issue,” she replied. “Do you think the infiltration plan brought it on?” Frank asked. Leigh thought for a moment. “I...don't think so,” she told him. “It doesn't feel like that's it.” The German speech in the dream could simply have come out of her research, she explained to Frank. The strongest comparison she could find was her helplessness with the Weendigo. They'd been dealing with lots of influences like that, Frank pointed out, including Harrington. Lots of different things, like the zombies, deal with the loss of will, Leigh agreed. Frank asked if she'd heard from Reg lately. She'd gotten an email from him, Leigh said. He needed to be grounded with his family. “How does that make you feel?” Frank asked her. Leigh thought for a second. “I'm happy that he's back and OK...except for not knowing where he was,” Leigh told him. She stopped, but Frank could see that there was something else she wanted to say. “I...feel bad that we don't know anything about Raimon yet. I just wish I could do something to be more effective than I have been.” Leigh paused again. “But...I'm only one person, and so not Dee,” she finished. “Of course, there's things that not even Dee can fix,” Frank mused.

Saturday night, Justin slept the sleep of the just. He and Karen had spent hours watching movies on Saturday as research for the 'meeting,' and he'd spent even more time reading through all the 'literature' he'd picked up at the gun show. Karen did everything she could to convince him that he was a good person, that learning all this awful stuff so that he could fight the bad guys did NOT make him a bad guy. He fell asleep with her reassurances easing his mind. The next morning the two went to Mass like usual. All through Mass, Karen's only thought was that Justin be OK when he went to this meeting. All the movies, all the preparations Justin was making had her scared. He'd switched over to using a 9mil because it had more stopping power, and he was going to be carrying that and a ceramic knife that he'd be hiding in his boot, too. She'd already insisted on going along with Frank on to keep an eye on Justin at the meeting. But it didn't hurt to ask 'the Big Guy' to keep him safe too. So every prayer she said included a request for Him to watch over Justin. Gradually, Karen realized that there was a warm spot on her chest, the spot where the crucifix hung. She smiled and a tear ran down her cheek. Maybe that's all Fr. Andrew ever wanted, that she trust that God was a stronger ally in this fight than she gave Him credit for. No, this wasn't a 'test.' She was a firm believer in “God helps those who help themselves;” she'd be doing everything in her power to make sure Justin made it through this. But she was willing to take all the help He could give her on it.

After Mass, the two went out for breakfast, then home. Karen had already agreed to meet Frank at the safe house at 1pm, to get out and start their surveillance of the coffee shop. That was fine with Justin. He didn't want to know anything about what was going on with that, so if anyone tried to find out anything from him, he could honestly say he had no idea what they were talking about. And Karen leaving early would give him a little time to get himself into the role he was going to have to play. He really didn't want Karen to see him like that anyway. He waited until she left before he changed into his 'costume.' He'd already planned to wear a desert tan t-shirt and jeans over his Nomex undies, and his field jacket over all of that. It was not quite 3 years since he'd gotten his discharge papers, but when he looked in the mirror it felt like it was just yesterday. The bulk of the shoulder holster was mostly hidden under the jacket, and he slipped the knife into his boot and pulled his pant-leg down over it. He sat quietly in the truck for a final few minutes, making himself set aside everything he'd been brought up to believe and pretend to think like a close-minded Neanderthal. He'd girded himself for this 'battle' as well as he could without completely surrendering himself to that way of thinking. Then he drove over to the coffee shop.

From the moment he pulled out of the garage about 1:30 that afternoon, Justin assumed he was being watched. When he pulled up in front of the shop, he parked, then sat and watched the shop for a few minutes. The place seemed busy enough. Most of the patrons appeared to be working class. They'd go in, then come out a couple minutes later with one or more plastic-lidded styrofoam cups. Finally, he got out of the truck and locked it down. He was thinking like a GI again. He straightened his jacket and made a crisp cross-over heel-to-toe 180, his boot heels thumping lightly as he squared-up before checking for traffic. He felt a sudden chill, like a cold breeze had just blow across the back of his neck. Hell, it was October in Michigan. He turned up his collar. Not much down here on a Sunday afternoon since there was no game at the stadium today, and Justin's heels tapped loudly on the concrete as he crossed the street. Inside, the place looked like your average, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. Nothing fancy. There was a wall just inside the door, to block the cold when people came and went. There was one of those big espresso/cappuccino machines on the back counter, but it looked too clean to have been used much that morning. It smelled like their main thing was your basic plain coffee, though from the smell they must have used the best Arabica beans, perfectly roasted. They had pies in one display on the counter, and a large glass case with donuts. At the far end of that was the register, and beyond that another wall with tables on the far side. Where that wall jutted out, there was a hallway that led toward the back with a sign pointing back to the restrooms.

Behind the counter was a guy in his 40s with an obvious beer-gut. Justin walked up to the counter eyeing the donuts. “What'll it be?” he asked Justin brusquely. “A large Arabica and 2 of those,” he replied, pointing at his favorite type of donut. “And, uh, I was supposed to meet a guy here...Tom?” Justin added as he handed the guy a ten. “Just have a seat,” the man at the counter told him, shoving the open cup and a small plate with the two donuts across the counter then digging in the cash drawer for Justin's change. Justin glanced around. There were a number of tables open, but only a few that got him both a view of the door and a seat where not too many people could get around behind him. The paranoia of this whole 'cult' way of thinking was starting to rub off, and Justin wanted his back as close to a wall as he could get it. Over the next ten minutes, about a dozen guys came in, most of them getting a coffee and a few donuts then leaving again. 3 of them didn't leave, though. Each one of the three walked to the counter, paid their money, and got their coffee without ever actually placing an order out loud. Either the counter guy was a mind reader, or those guys had been here often enough before to be 'regulars.' Each of them, like Justin had, picked an empty table where he could see the door.

About 2:15pm, about 15 minutes after the last of the other men came in, Tom came in. He waved at the counter guy as he came through the door, and before he'd crossed the short distance to the register, the guy had a cup of coffee on the counter. Tom picked up the cup on his way past, and came straight over to Justin. “Sorry,” he told Justin, “I got caught up in traffic.” Justin nodded. This was Detroit. Didn't matter where you went when, you were bound to hit traffic, he said to Tom. Tom smiled. “Come with me,” he said. Tom walked down the hallway that led to the restrooms with Justin right behind him. The other 3 men followed them and Justin felt his gut tighten just a little. He'd had a feeling that they might want to search him before they let him into their meeting. He figured the stairs to the basement must be back there, as well as the head. He was wrong. They got to the back door and Tom pushed through it. Out in the alley right in front of the door was a beat-up, dark-colored panel van. Tom slid open the side door of the van, then greeted the other three guys—Carl, Pete, and Sandy. All three were in their late 20s and in good shape. Tom introduced Justin to them, and told them that Justin would be coming along that day. The inside of the van had soft padded benches along the walls, and no windows. It looked like it was used as much for hauling stuff as for moving people. The others started to climb inside and Justin asked if it would be possible for him to ride in the front. He hinted that he suffered from motion sickness. Tom paused for a second, like that was the first time anyone had ever asked him that in the same situation. “Better not,” Tom told him, shrugging. He slapped Justin on the back as he climbed in. “Just try to keep it in,” he joked to Justin. Justin grinned and told Tom and the other three that he would do his best. Tom slid the door shut and Justin could hear the crunch of broken glass as Tom walked around to the driver's door. He heard Tom climb in and start the van, but he realized that the van was modified so that he couldn't see either Tom or the windshield from in back.

Frank and the others had gotten to the coffee shop at about 1:30pm and staked out their positions. Frank brought with him every potentially useful piece of surveillance equipment that he had. Since he and Angie were the only two who knew how to operate it all, they rode together in the Lincoln. Karen rode with Leigh in Charlie. Terry had begged off joining in the stake-out since she'd been working long hours all week. She needed a day to decompress if she could. But she told Frank that if they needed her, she was just a phone call away. Aiden was still working and there was no way he'd be able to sneak out, and Tony was off blowing something up at that moment. The four were wearing their comm units, and had parked opposite the building at the far ends of the block. When Frank saw Justin and the other men heading down the hallway to the back of the shop, he suspected immediately that they'd be going out the back door. He warned Leigh and Karen to keep an eye on the front, and he and Angie went around the corner to check out the alley. Frank could see the van and knew he had to get a bug on it before it left. He left Angie to monitor the equipment, and he hopped out and went toward the mouth of the alley at the end the van was facing. He waited until the van was almost at the end of the alley, then stepped out into its path as if he were drunk and not paying attention. Tom stomped on the brakes, and Frank had just enough time to slap the bug on the front end of the van before staggering on his way. Tom never even noticed that the bug had been placed.

When the van had gotten out of sight around a corner, Angie pulled up and slid over to let Frank drive. They knew exactly where it was now, and Frank gave Leigh directions to parallel its path one block to its left and he'd be doing the same one block to its right. And they started on a very circuitous drive into the northern suburbs. Inside the van, Justin quickly lost track of where they were and which way they were going. The one thing he could tell was that they weren't getting on any of the freeways. “So, how long you been out?” Carl asked Justin. It seemed like the other three already knew one another. Justin had no reason to lie, since anyone could easily find out the truth already knowing his real name. “Almost 3 years,” Justin told them. The men chatted a while about the Tigers winning the AL then losing the Series. Pete offered smokes around, but he and Sandy were the only two that smoked. The conversation turned to the lousy job market. Sandy had just gotten laid off in the last round at GM, he told them. Carl nodded knowingly. He'd gotten laid off too, he complained, but the n---er that was hired 6 months after him still had his job. Sure, Justin said, but if he'd been laid off there would've been a huge stink from the NAACP, and blah blah blah. Justin could feel his IQ dropping even as he spewed this shit.

Pete took up the refrain from there, but he said that the n---ers weren't the real problem. It was the women. They were the ones you really had to look out for, he exclaimed. His own boss was this b--ch with her head up her ass, he said. Then, turning to Justin, he explained that he was in car sales. This b—ch had only gotten her promotion on her back and now she was making his life a living hell. Justin just nodded in agreement. He had a feeling that he was really pissed off at her because she turned him down. Justin was starting to show some signs of distress now, but it had nothing to do with motion sickness. It just made Justin really nervous for anyone else to be driving instead of him. No one else he knew, with the exception of maybe Frank and Angie, drove as well as he did. He could tell that Tom was taking an evasive route to wherever they were going, because of all the corners they turned. No one needed to turn that many corners to get anywhere in the Metro area. They didn't spend much time at lights, and Justin got the impression that the route was planned as a deliberate attempt to confuse him if he'd been trying to keep track of where they went. To change the subject, he commented that he wished he'd thought to bring a sandwich or something. Carl pulled a package of sausage sticks from his jacket and shared them around. The conversation now turned to chocolate and other foods they'd missed in 'the sand box.' Sandy and Carl were convinced that the best stuff was stolen by the locals, and they all went off about the Iraqis using every derogatory term they'd learned over there—and some they'd learned over here. This went on for a while because all of them but Pete had served in Iraq. It turned out that Pete hadn't served. Justin was a little surprised, because he had the look and the talk down. He wondered if the guy couldn't pass one of the tests or if he'd just never had the guts to try.

In the tail-cars, the others could tell that the van was heading in the general direction of Mt. Clemens. Frank had gotten the license plate number as the van had left the alley, and he now punched in his password to get into the DHS system for a quick trace. He didn't want to use the back door Jared had left him too many times, or someone might notice and lock it down. And that might not even be the worst of what could happen if they caught him in there. If Terry had been at work today, he could have had her do it. But it would look suspicious for her to go special for it, even if she stayed and did other stuff to try and cover it. It turned out that the van was registered to Holtzman's Dairy in Novi. Must be who Mr. Harper worked for. They'd been tracking the van for over 20 minutes now, through Warren and Sterling Heights, and the roads as they got farther out were becoming too far apart to make it realistic for them to keep the van bracketed. Frank wanted to try and get one of the cars ahead of it in a pincer movement of sorts. So he told Leigh and Karen to hit the freeway and head up toward New Baltimore. When they got there, he'd be able to tell them where to go next, and that would get them in front of the van. This route was getting a little too familiar to Leigh, who'd been up this way a couple more times that Karen had in the past few days.

In the van, Justin was just seriously starting to think about a pee-break after 45 minutes of driving. He probably should'a stuck to a small coffee. Then the feel and sound of the road surface changed suddenly. They'd turned off the paved roads onto a dirt or gravel one, and traveled for a couple more minutes. The van slowed and made one last turn, and Justin heard what sounded like a big door being moved. Then the van slowed to a stop and he felt the engine shut off. Tom parked the van next to a pick-up and came around to let the other 4 men out. Justin hopped out of the van and saw about a dozen other men milling around an amazingly large barn. The barn smelled old to Justin, but it didn't smell like it had been used for any sort of farm business for quite a while. He could also smell coffee. But, first things first—he asked Tom where the 'head' was. Tom pointed out that and the table where a large coffee urn sat surrounded by syrofoam cups, spoons, sugar and a jar of creamer powder. It was like showing up for any other kind of meeting—union, AA, whatever. Before Justin could walk away, Tom introduced Justin and the other 3 men to the others who were already there. But it felt to Justin more like he was being announced, since Tom didn't actually give him the names of any of the other men. And they were all men. Not even somebody's wife there to tend to the coffee. There were a bunch of other vehicles, mostly pick-ups plus a couple motorcycles, parked at that end of the barn with the van, and a rough semi-circle of old folding chairs and straw bales set up over near the coffee. When Justin came out of the bathroom, he ambled over to the coffee and fixed himself a cup, then wandered back over to the only clump of guys he knew. As he was walking, he pulled out his cell phone. Hunh...no bars. One of the guys Justin didn't know saw him do it and asked if he was expecting a call “from the old ball and chain.” “Not this time,” he told the guy. “I just forgot my watch.” He stuck out his left arm so that his empty wrist showed out the bottom of the jacket sleeve. The guy pulled up his own sleeve and showed Justin his watch. It was about 3pm.

Frank could see that the dirt road was more of a long driveway than a road, and he followed cautiously, expecting either an ambush or roadblock. He found a spot to pull off, and watched as the van pulled into a barn. Leigh and Karen were already out at the 26 Mile Rd. exit from 94, and Frank directed them toward an area of Shelby south of 26 Mile just south of Van Dyke Rd. That's when he and Angie noticed that the tracker had stopped emitting a signal. It wasn't that it stopped moving; it had disappeared completely. The drive ended in a large farm yard. At one side was the barn, which Frank estimated as being about 60-70 years old. On the other side was a farmhouse about the same age. There was a big stand of trees between them that must have been planted when the buildings were new. There was no sign that it was being lived in, but it looked like the yard had seen plenty of traffic recently. There were curtains in the windows, but not what you'd expect in an old farmhouse. They looked heavy, like the sound-dampening type they use in hotels. There were no windows on the barn, so Frank tried laser-miking the house. Nothing. He wasn't just not hearing any sounds; he was getting complete silence. The house had been hardened. He tried the barn anyway, hoping that maybe he'd at least get something. Again, nothing. They were using something to shield both the house and the barn from listening and seeing devices.

As Leigh turned the car west off the top of the 26 Mile Rd. ramp, her phone rang. But it wasn't her personal phone, it was the disposable one shed handed out the number for at the gun show. She flipped it open and answered “Erickson.” The guy on the other end introduced himself as John Fellowes. He wasn't sure if “Kristen” remembered him; they'd met at the gun show, he reminded her. Of course she did, she told him. John asked if she would be interested in going out for a hay ride with him. Some friends had invited him and he thought she might enjoy it too. 'Kristen' told him that she was out for a “Sunday drive” with a friend, but that she could probably meet him in a half hour or so. John offered to pick her up and 'Kristen' described roughly where she and Karen were at the moment. “Great!” John replied. “That's really close to where the hay rides are!” The women happened to just be passing a small donut shop named Flaherty's, and 'Kristen' suggested she meet John there. “Great! I hope you're dressed for the outdoors!” he told her before hanging up. She wasn't even lying when she told him she was, since she'd put on her silk long johns when she'd dressed for the surveillance job. By the time she hung up, they were rolling up behind the Lincoln.

Karen couldn't believe what she was hearing when Leigh explained to everyone what the call had been about. How could Leigh be planning on just ditching the job they were on to follow this lead?! Never mind that it was obviously a trap. Why on earth else would this guy have called all of a sudden about a “hay ride.” Frank understood immediately why Leigh was interested in doing this. Neither of them had really expected that her dream would turn out to be prescient, but this was too much of a coincidence. The problem was that Frank couldn't say anything about Leigh's reasons for agreeing, not even with her approval. Only she could explain that to Karen. But Karen wasn't in any mood to listen to excuses anyway. Justin had gone into this meeting believing that they would all be out there to rescue him if things went bad. Leigh had no right to jeopardize Justin's safety to run off on some other job on the spur of the moment like that, and Karen was never going to support that idea. “Can I just say one word?” she said sarcastically. “Weendigo. Remember what happened when the team got all split up because I got mind-controlled into wandering off when we were supposed to be tracking Leigh?” she asked them all. This was simply a bad idea on a lot of levels. “It does scream TRAP,” Angie agreed. “But,” Frank argued, “maybe the two things are related. Right now, we have no way of knowing what's going on in the barn. It's too much of a coincidence,” he said, “that she got called just after Justin arrived at the barn for this 'meeting.' For her to get taken in there by this John Fellowes might be the only way for us to find out what's going on inside.”

“Sure,” Karen retorted, “and then SHE”S inside with no way for us to see or hear her, either. That makes two of them captive inside and only 3 of us to rescue them. IF she gets taken in there. And that's a big IF. If she gets in trouble somewhere else completely, then the team would have to split even further for someone to stay with her and someone to stay with Justin.” Karen took a deep breath, the anger and fear clear on her face. “Let me make myself perfectly clear,” she said, her voice hard as nails. “No offense, Leigh, but if it's a choice between saving you and saving Justin, I'm staying here with Justin.” No one said anything for a minute. On the one hand, Frank had to admit that Karen was right. This team would be split too far to be effective, if Leigh wasn't taken inside. And if she was, what then? He trusted that Leigh was able to defend herself pretty well. But they had no way of knowing how many she'd have to defend against. And whether Justin was in any position to help or if he was going to need rescuing himself. He asked Leigh for more details about the call. She gave him the number that Fellowes had given her at the gun show, but the number he'd called from wasn't that one. In fact, her cell showed only “Private Number” as the caller. Leigh took the phone over to Frank. He hooked it up to his computer and logged into the DHS system again. He needed to track back to where the call originated from. It took a few minutes, since the call was redirected a couple times, but he finally got part of the answer. The phone that made the call was on an account out of the DC area. Now that was strange. The GPS chip in it was shut off, but Frank was able to find the source tower for the signal and it was one of several in the area. Cell phones will usually use the nearest tower. So Frank narrowed the possible source radius by mapping the ranges of all the other nearby towers.

The next step was trying to find out something about this guy. While Frank did a search on the name John Fellowes, Leigh described what the guy looked like. Unfortunately that was pretty damned average. Frank's search came up with The Fellowes Company, founded by one Harry Fellowes. An entomologist named John Fellowes. A Lord John Fellowes. But he couldn't match any of them to the phone number Leigh had given him, or to DC. He pulled up pictures on all the John Fellowes he could find, but none of them were the guy Leigh had met. Karen laughed and said “It'd be funny if this guy was also Agent Stevens.” The others didn't think it was, and Frank pointed out that they'd all seen his picture already and he wasn't the guy Leigh'd met either. So much for trying to inject a little 'conspiracy humor.' Finally, Frank had to agree that Leigh going on this 'date' would be a bad idea. There were just too many variables they couldn't control. Leigh called the number Fellowes had given her. She got the generic answering machine message “Sorry I can't take your call right now, but if you leave a message I'll call you back.” But it never stated that it was Fellowes' phone. 'Kristen' told him that she had to apologize, but the friend she was with objected to being ditched for her to go on a hay ride with him, and that she hoped he'd get the message in time. Karen could tell that Leigh wasn't happy with the group's decision; but for perhaps the first time in her entire life, Karen truly didn't give a rat's ass. They'd never seen her angry before. What happened when Frank pulled that little prank on the cruise ship was nothing. If anyone screwed up their 'mission,' and Justin got hurt....

In the barn, a guy Justin hadn't seen until just then was finally calling the 'meeting' to order. “Let's talk about how to get what you want out of life,” he started. “Let's face it...we've been handed the short end of the stick. It's time to take it back....” “And beat them with it,” some wit hollered out on the other side of the circle. The speaker grinned. “The question is, what are you willing to do about it?” Justin leaned over to the guy seated next to him. “If this turns out to be an Amway pitch, someone's getting shot in the dick,” he whispered to the guy. The guy snickered, but most of his attention remained on the speaker. The speaker continued his speech, to the effect that 'you are your own biggest limitation.' There was a lot of “You're not willing to do what it takes,” and “Yeah, there's other obstacles (affirmative action gets mentioned as one), but that's not what's holding you back.” Justin leaned back in his chair and looked around. There were about 25 or 30 guys there, in a rough circle around the speaker. “I'm willing to shoot every man in here to save my wife.... Twice,” Justin mumbled, not really caring who heard him. The speech droned on....

JUSTIN’S WAR JOURNAL
Entry 67 [---typed]

---Well, like I said before, there’s no way I was wearing a wire into that redneck fest so there was no way I was taking my digital recorder in there either. Too much chance of the enemy capturing information we didn’t want them to have. So, I’ve got to type this up like a normal after action report from back in the service. Just hope I remember how everything went down.

Karen and me went to church, like normal. We thought that Tom’s group might have me under surveillance, so I had to keep acting the same as I usually would. I think we both did a whole lot of praying. On top of my prayers for the safety of my family and friends, I prayed for guidance and clear thought and resolve to do the right thing. My own version of the soldier’s prayer I guess. I think Karen was scared. Even more scared than she let on probably. I wanted to talk to her and try to make her feel better but I think I might have broke if I’d done that. I was in a steel clad frame of mind and I didn’t feel like I could let loose of that. I’m going to have to make it up to her when this is all over and I can stop pretending to be a bastard and act like a real man again.

The rest of the crew made their surveillance plans without me. We figured that was best since we all know I can’t lie too good. The less I knew, the less there was possible for me to let slip. Or for the enemy to dig out of me if I was discovered. Yeah, I had that thought in my head too. I made darn sure not to bring it up around Karen. Bad enough I was going into the lions’ den, I didn’t have to remind her that I might get bit.

I drove to the coffee shop and arrived with a good ten minutes to spare. I played it the same way I would with any other meeting, except with a little extra paranoia. The one thing I thought I had going for me is that people in a strong mindset tend to think that others think the same way. Saw it on a show on aberrant psychology a while back; the lady psychologist said that thieves think everybody steals or wants to steal. I figured if these guys are paranoid then it’s best to lock into that mindset. Since I’m already a bit justifiably paranoid myself, I just went with the feelings. I sat in the parking lot for a couple minutes to get a look at the place before I went in.

This was not a frou-frou coffee shop. This was a good old fashioned coffee and donuts place. Well, they had more than just donuts, but you get the idea. For one thing, the cups were Small, Medium and Large. No bullshit Italian words. Guy behind the counter was pretty good sized; older guy with some gray in his hair and a bit of a belly. Looked to me more like a short order cook than a barista. (Jeez. I’m almost ashamed of the fact that I know the word “barista”.) I ordered a couple of donuts and a Large regular and sort of hemmed and hawed about how I was supposed to meet a guy named Tom. The guy gave me my order and told me to take a seat.

I grabbed a chair where I could watch the door and the counter and as close to having my back against a wall as I could get. During the next fifteen minutes or so, about a dozen or so working class type folks came in and out. All but three of them got their orders and left. I noticed something a little out of the normal for those three. They didn’t order. They just walked up to the counter, the counter guy already seemed to know what they wanted, handed them their order, they paid and then took a seat.

Tom finally showed up. Again, didn’t place an order. The counter guy just knew what he wanted. So Tom and his three buddies seem to be some kind of regulars. Tom spotted me, came over and tossed me a to-go lid and said to follow him. He led the way around the far end of the counter. There was a hall back there that you’d just about miss because of the lighting and the way the place was laid out. I’d spotted the restroom sign before and at first I just figured there was also a private meeting room back there that they didn’t advertise. But Tom led the way past the restrooms and to an “Employees Only” door that led out the back. We came out in the dumpster alley out back.

Tom had a battered older blue Chevy panel van waiting. The other three guys, I found out their names were Carl, Pete and Sandy, had followed us out. So I was guessing maybe this wasn’t their first time seeing the elephant. Tom made simple introductions, first names only, and told everybody to pile in the back. He had simple bench seats back there, like a paddy wagon or road crew transport; bare bones, nothing fancy. I didn’t like the idea of flying blind so I asked Tom if I could ride up front. I told him the truth, that I have a hard time riding in the back. He just assumed it was because of motion sickness and said to try not to puke. Real truth is, I’m more comfortable when I’m driving. Most people just aren’t good enough drivers to make me comfortable. I didn’t want to mess up this deal, so I sucked it up and climbed in the back.

We got moving pretty soon after Tom closed the side door. During the ride, I got to know the other three a little. All three were in pretty decent shape; looked like they probably worked out, although Pete and Sandy were smokers. I think it was Sandy that offered me a cigarette but I told him I was quitting. I still carry the Camel unfiltered, box pack, and my Zippo and most people accept that excuse. I’ve never really smoked but I’ve been carrying cigarettes and a lighter for years.

I should maybe explain why I carry cigarettes and a lighter even though I don’t smoke. After you’ve been in the service for a while you find out that American cigarettes are better than money in some countries when you’re dealing with the locals. Lots of soldiers carry a pack or two. I never got out of the habit. A guy from Special Forces explained it to me before. He said that offering money can come across to some people as the “rich American” trying to buy everything and everybody and it can and will piss them off, big time. But offering a cigarette and smoking together is seen as a friendly gesture that says you are willing to relax with this person. Heck, he told me there’s some old Turks who still won’t do business anywhere except gathered around a hookah with some of that tea that will hold a spoon upright.

An extra side note for those who might be out there; unless somebody specifically asks for them, NEVER give menthols to any of these people. Most people outside America absolutely despise the taste and some even think they’re poisonous. Also, most of them don’t much like the filter either. About seven out of ten will just tear it off, so why bother? That’s why I carry the Camel unfiltered. Decent tobacco and one of the few store-bought you can get with no filter. Also means no butts to police up after. And as for the lighter, carrying a good lighter is considered common courtesy in some units, as well as just plain handy if you’re ever in a survival situation.

Carl and Sandy were ex-military but not Pete. It was real easy finding out about Pete because he did a bit more talking than the rest of us. I tried not to talk much. Like I said before, I was playing the new guy who wasn’t totally sure about things yet, so I let the others do the talking. Lots of talk about this or that racial group that was causing this or that problem and how they’d been screwed over by them. For instance, I think it was Carl who said that he got downsized out of his job at the plant while the black guy who got hired six months after him didn’t. Not that race doesn't sometimes come into this kind of thing but I did wonder what else decided whether it was Carl or the other guy who kept their job. Of course, I didn’t say that to these guys. Just let them keep on talking while I grunted and sounded agreeable.

Like I said, Pete did a lot of talking. His comments went in a slightly different direction. Oh yeah, he was full of all kinds of “righteous indignation” at the different minority groups, but it went beyond that. Pete was saying this or that non-white racial group were only half the problem. He said that women were the real problem. Pete’s a car salesman and he went on and on about his boss, who he said was a hard core ball busting bitch. Said he’d like to put her in her place or teach her a lesson and all that other bullshit. I’m sure Frank could have analyzed the guy real well but my impression was just that Pete was a whiny punk who, on some level hates women, and wasn’t really as good at his job as he thought he was. He wanted somebody convenient to blame. But I didn’t say that to those guys. I just grunted and let them keep talking. But in the back of my mind I filed away my real opinion of Pete. I knew I would never trust him alone with any female.

I tried to keep track, but I couldn’t tell where Tom was driving us. Pretty obvious he was taking a lot of extra twists and turns just to throw off any tails. Tom drove for a good 45 minutes and as best I could tell, we headed roughly north. About the only thing I knew for sure was that we hadn’t taken any of the ways across to Canada but other than that, I was just this side of lost.

When Tom opened the van door to let us out, we were inside of a big old barn. There were about thirty people in the barn; all guys. There were also about another half dozen vehicles besides Tom’s van. Yeah, it was that big of a barn. The place smelled like old hay, dust and dry wood; like it hadn’t been used in a really long time. Just before the van stopped and Tom opened the door, I felt the “No Signal” vibration on my phone go off. I didn’t even think about it and I was checking the phone when Tom walked up. He asked if I was expecting a call and I said no, pointed to my wrist and told him I didn’t have my watch, so I was checking the time on my phone and I just noticed that I wasn’t getting any signal. He said that was a problem out here and I dropped the subject. I wasn’t about to let him know that I figured he was full of crap. I wasn’t sure how they were doing it but I was pretty sure that the barn was signal hardened. My phone was acting the same way it did when we built the copper cage to contain the Ghost in the System. I was just hoping against hope that Frank might be able to pick something up with the laser mike. But I also figured that if they thought of blocking one thing, the odds were they’d thought to protect against the other most common listening device. These guys were not newbies. They were covering their asses.

Other than the phone, the only thing concerning me when I got out of that van was where to find the nearest restroom. After all, I’d just finished a large coffee before we went on this little field trip and then got my kidneys bounced for 45 minutes. Trotting off to the john also gave me some time to myself to check out the barn. Not a whole lot to a barn besides four walls, a roof and some big doors, all wrapped around a bunch of hay, and that’s what I found.

By the time I got back to the rest of the group, I guess it was time for introductions. But it was only Tom introducing me, Carl, Pete and Sandy to the rest of the group, first names only. He didn’t introduce any of the guys that were already there to us. It felt more like he was presenting his new finds for approval by the group really. After that, they started getting everybody together for the meeting.

Everybody took a seat on old hay bales or whatever and we ended up in sort of a big semi-circle. I got kind of uncomfortable for a minute there because this was the first chance I’d had to see all the guys who were there. This was one of the things I’d been dreading ever since we first started planning for me to go to this meeting. There were some familiar faces in that group of white supremacists and possible cultists. There were three of them and I remembered them from at least a couple family reunions or birthdays. That’s the down side of coming from two big Catholic families. You end up related to a whole LOT of people and sometimes you don’t always recognize or remember the name of a blood relative. Their names escaped me right at the moment and I had no idea if they recognized me at all. My hair wasn’t as short when I first came back to Detroit from the service and I know I hadn’t seen these guys in a while. I knew which side I’d be on if it came down to it, but I didn’t know about them. Would blood prove thicker?

One guy stepped up to speak. He didn’t strike me as any more or less a leader than just about anybody else there, so don’t ask me why he was the one doing the talking. He started out sounding like some kind of inspirational speaker. He was saying that we ourselves were the only thing holding us back from getting whatever we wanted. He kept repeating that we only had to decide what we would do to achieve whatever we wanted. I scanned around the room as he said that and one thing came to mind to answer him. Deep down inside, I knew that I could and if needed, would, kill every man in that barn to save my wife. I might have even mumbled it under my breath. I don’t remember. That thought brought me up short for a second. In the back of my mind, I reminded myself that I didn’t know for sure that any of these guys were the Enemy. If they were just idiots scrabbling for a scapegoat to blame all their problems on, then I couldn’t just start shooting. I had to remember that.

It’s amazing how fast thoughts can whiz through your head. It was like I had a whole thought out discussion in my head in a split second. I realized that part of me wanted them to be guilty. I wanted the guilty ones in my sights, in my hands, so I could make them stop what they had done. I wanted to be able to do something, to stop them so they couldn’t burn any more children to feed their sick freak monster out in the field.

The guy that was doing the talking seemed really fixated on that question about what we would do. It had a real intensity coming from him. It sounded like he’d asked it many times and he sounded like a believer. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and that light feeling at the base of my skull, like when the adrenaline is just about to start flowing hard core. The way he kept asking that question got me to thinking that maybe he had something in mind when he asked. Was there going to be a test? Was this going to be like some gang initiation where you have to commit a felony or get jumped in? What did HE think we needed to do to prove we were good enough for his nasty little gang? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. More later.

Tony had left town shortly after the team got back to Detroit that morning. He had an implosion to do tomorrow, and had a flight out scheduled for this afternoon. He'd started getting it organized a few weeks ago, and Sunday was the big day. An old grain elevator that got surrounded by subdivisions was being brought down, so there would be plenty of people coming out to watch. Normally Tony would just plot the placement of the charges, then go back to check on the job a couple times and let others handle the final 'button-pushing.' But being in the middle of a residential area like this, they wanted him on hand to do one last walk through before they brought it down. When Frank was done talking to Jared, he headed home to finally get a little sleep. Not much, mind you. He was still trying to dodge the 'nightmare bullet.' But enough to keep him going later. He'd been thinking about Agent Collins. Whose side was she on? If he could talk to her, he could find out. Hopefully she was still in Michigan. The others went home, too, when they were done messing with Jared's 'shadows.' Leigh asked if Angie would mind her sleeping at her place. Leigh's nightmare had really shaken her up, and she was a little afraid to sleep alone. That was fine with Angie, since Aiden wasn't off again until Monday. As long as Leigh didn't snore. Leigh said she'd never had anyone else complain about it.

Justin and Karen had gotten a nap's-worth of sleep before Frank called, so they weren't as desperate for it as the others. Justin collected a few other 'supremacist' films on the way home, “for research,” he kept reminding Karen, as if she might otherwise begin to think he was really interested in that stuff. It had started the night before. After spending hours at the gun show and listening to a lot of hate-filled 'speeches,' Justin had been desperate for reassurance from Karen that he was not a bad person. My God, of course he wasn't! He was a good man, one of the best she'd ever known. Oh, he wasn't perfect; no one was. She knew that he probably carried around a few bigoted ideas in his subconscious just like she did, just like everyone did. He might not even realize it; most people didn't. But even if he did, he would never act on them. Never. And no one could ever make her believe that he had. She told him this over and over, last night and now. And she'd keep saying it as long as he needed her to, until she could convince him that it was true. She laid her head against his shoulder and rubbed his arm as he drove. She wished so much that she could make him trust himself more. She did understand what it was like not to. And she knew that he had his own reasons for not doing it, just like she did. All she could do for him was to keep reminding him that SHE trusted him, completely.

When they got home, Karen went to the kitchen to make some popcorn. (Hey, what was a movie marathon without popcorn, right?) While the popper warmed up, she went to the family room expecting to find Justin getting the first movie set up, but he wasn't there. It took her a few minutes to find him. He was in his workshop with the door shut. He told her he'd be out in a little bit and that he'd meet her in the family room. A half hour later, he came out and asked Karen to look at a piece of paper he was holding. It was a letter. In it, Justin spelled out how he was working undercover on a bounty hunting case when he went to the 'vets' meeting' with Tom Harper, and was absolutely NOT a racist, no matter what happened and what it might look like. He was also holding 4 envelopes, labeled with her name on one, and with Uncle Jerzy's on the second, Frank's on the third, and Mark Conway's on the fourth. He'd even gone as far as calling Mark to find out the best way to 'date' the letter to prove that it was real and written before he went to the meeting. Would signing it in front of a notary public be enough, Justin wondered. Mark said that was one way. Or he could video tape his message and hold up the front page of a newspaper. Or he could just let Karen verify it. And if that wasn't enough, the conversation they were having could also be used as proof.

Now Justin was starting to scare her with his concern that he might not make it back from the 'meeting.' She had certainly been aware of the white supremacists/racists/skinheads long before now. You couldn't grow up in the Detroit suburbs without seeing or hearing about them. And she'd seen some of them at the clubs when she went to see Choking Susan and some of the other local punk bands play. She knew they could be dangerous when they wanted to be, but the danger had always seemed so remote. The ones she'd talked to in the clubs had seemed nice enough.... Now though, Justin, her own beloved husband, the strongest man she knew, her rock, was meeting with these people and he wasn't sure he would be coming home. She bit her lip as she read, trying not to show her growing fear. She handed him back the letter and hugged him. The letter was fine, she told him. But he wasn't going to need it, because nothing was going to happen. He was going to go there and listen to their crap, and smile and laugh and slap them on the backs, then he was going to come out fine and she would make him forget all their stupid garbage. She cupped his cheeks with her hands and tipped his face down, looked him deep in the eyes, and willed him—and herself--to believe that everything was going to be OK. Then she kissed him. The movies would just have to wait for later.

The popcorn was a little stale by the time they finally got to the family room, and there was a tell-tale scattering of half-eaten kernels that reminded them to feed Drew before they got comfy on the couch. They watched “Triumph of the Will” first. Justin got tired of it after about an hour, and wanted to fast-forward through it or just turn it off. But Karen was entranced. She was amazed at Reifenstahl's cinematic technique and use of symbolism. In some ways, it was like watching a modern documentary, but with a lot more 'feeling'. And even though she didn't understand most of what was said in the speeches, she could see how people were drawn in by the pageantry and spectacle, how it fulfilled a basic human need to belong to and believe in something bigger than the self. They watched a Klan recruitment film next, mocking it throughout for its amateurishness compared to the cinematic beauty of “Triumph.” The other two movies were fictional, 'action' movies—“American History X” and “Fatherland.” Karen was appalled at the raw violence, and could feel a knot of fear growing in the pit of her stomach. She even let Justin turn her head during a couple particularly gruesome scenes, happily burying her face against his side. Afterwards, Justin felt unclean and a little bit ill, and had an overwhelming urge to take a shower or two. Fear was making Karen wish that Justin didn't look quite so much like those fresh-faced young men in “Triumph.” Then someone else would be doing this instead of him. She followed him upstairs and hoped that the water would wash away both their fears, or that by the time they came back down, everything would have changed and Justin wouldn't have to go to that meeting tomorrow after all.

When Frank woke, he had decided to act on his intuition and he called Agent Collins. He introduced himself, but she didn't seem to know who he was. He explained that he was on leave from DHS, but that he'd been asked to help on the bus burning case by the sheriff before the case had been taken over by DHS. He was wondering what she thought about the crime and if he could talk with her about it. She was still at the Holiday Inn in Port Huron, so she agreed to meet him in the bar there about 9:30pm. Frank went through the pictures he'd taken that first evening, and picked out the ones that would best show the changes that had happened between then and when Agent Collins was called in. He printed hard copies of those to show her. Then he cleaned up and left for Port Huron. When he got there, Agent Collins was sitting at a table in a quiet corner, working on what looked like a scotch. She immediately spotted Frank when he walked in, and rose from her seat. When he was close enough, she offered her hand. They settled back down at the table and Frank ordered a drink. Agent Collins didn't waste any time. Did he know anything about how the case got taken away from DHS? Because small town sheriffs weren't usually up on Federal paperwork. Maybe, Frank admitted, but the DHS didn't usually change crime scenes, either. He watched her spine stiffen, and she opened her mouth to object to what he was implying. Frank pulled out the prints of the photos and laid them in front of her before she could get angry at him.

Agent Collins clamped her lips down on whatever words were about to come out, and reached into her purse and pulled out her glasses. She began looking through the photos, then set them down and looked hard at Frank. She had gotten to the lab about 2:45pm on Friday, she told Frank, and those photos were not of the crime scene she began documenting at that time. No, Frank agreed, they weren't. Collins stiffened again. “I would NEVER do such a thing...” she began. Frank could tell that she wasn't lying about that. She was obviously offended by the implication that she'd faked the scene. He asked her when she'd been called and gotten into town. Stevens had called her Thursday evening and told her that she needed to come out and process the evidence. The first flight she could get wasn't until the next morning, and she landed in Detroit at 1:30pm. Frank pointed out that Stevens had taken over the lab at 6am Thursday morning. Collins paused, suddenly realizing what Frank was saying. She looked back at the pictures. They told a very different story from the evidence she'd been processing, and she asked Frank if he had any proof that his photos were real. Frank told her that the county sheriff, his deputies, and the State Police forensics techs who were processing things before Stevens took over could all vouch for the truth of Frank's photos.

Collins went back to looking at the photos more closely. She was more talking to herself when she wished aloud that she'd had an explosives expert in the lab sooner. And when she'd finished looking at them, she told Frank that she'd like to have another look at the scene now that she had an idea of what she was looking at. But she didn't figure the sheriff would be likely to let her in, after what had happened that morning. Frank asked if Stevens knew what had happened yet. She did call Stevens that morning, she told Frank, but she hadn't heard anything back from him yet. But to be honest, she didn't care if he knew that she was taking another look, she said, because her professional reputation meant more to her than her career advancement. Obviously, Frank replied. He was just concerned because Stevens' star seemed to be on the rise and it could hurt her. Then he pulled out his phone and called Sheriff Lane. Would it be OK if he brought another forensics expert to the lab with him? “Sure. Why not?” Dan replied. “The more the merrier. But I'm not sure you'll get anything else out of it. I'm basically holding the hill here until the DHS takes it back.” Frank thanked him without telling him who he was bringing. Then he called Angie. Could she come up to Port Huron? “Well...” Angie started. Leigh was still sleeping, and Angie wasn't sure about leaving her there alone, she told him. Frank suggested that she just bring Leigh along, and Angie told him she'd meet him at the lab in an hour and a half.

When Frank and Virginia got to the lab at 10:30pm, Harper was the deputy in charge. “Does Uncle Dan know that she's here?” he asked Frank. “Yes,” Frank replied. Harper went back to the hand-held game he was playing, as Virginia pulled out the sheaf of photos and followed Frank around the bus. Her eyes widened a couple times when she finally saw in-person the changes that had been made. She spent the next hour doing the same thing Karen had done last night--laying out the photos of the original scene alongside the physical evidence, making notes and measurements, taking scrapings. As she worked, there was a growing aura of blackness around her. Now she was PISSED, and Frank could tell that a person wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of her anger. When Angie and Leigh got there about 11:30pm, Virginia was studying the side of the bus with the ALS, muttering and growling. Frank introduced Angie to Virginia, saying that she was currently an explosives specialist with the Detroit Police and was formerly with DHS, the Wyoming County, NY, Sheriff's Department, and the US Marines. Oddly enough, Virginia had actually heard of Angie—that she was one of the best at what she did, and that she was kind of crazy. Frank explained that Angie had investigated the original scene and Virginia asked if she'd found signs of accellerants. “No, absolutely not,” Angie answered. In fact, the closest thing she could think of to what she'd seen, she told Virginia, was Spontaneous Human Combustion...and that doesn't happen. “Except when it does,” Leigh added. She introduced herself to Virginia and explained that she was an anthropologist specializing in myths, legends and the cults related to them.

Virginia looked at them for a few seconds. There was only one person she could think of who could be behind this. Well, two people actually. The sheriff was the second, but since Frank was helping him then it was unlikely that he'd been the one to screw with the evidence. The big question, for her anyway, was why someone would do this. Frank suggested that maybe it was a military experiment gone wrong. That was the only reason he could think of that the government was going to such lengths to cover it up. Virginia asked if there were any more human remains recovered beyond what she'd seen. As far as Frank and his team had been able to tell, no. Virginia hesitated again. The new evidence she was seeing now bespoke of an inconceivable amount of heat being involved. There was something wrong with this whole case on a whole bunch of levels. “I think it's going to take me a very long time to finish my report,” she told Frank. Would two weeks be long enough for him to do whatever he was intending? Frank thought for a second and asked if she could give him 3 weeks. Maybe she could happen to fall ill, she suggested. Frank reminded her that helping him might not do her reputation any good; but he was hoping that if he could precipitate anything else out of this, the whole cover-up scheme might never have to come to light. “Why are you on leave?” Virginia finally asked him. Because he was following a case that led high up and someone didn't want him finding out where the trail ended, he told her. That was what she was afraid of. Frank suggested that maybe if they could hold off Stevens until after the election, the outcome might be the one thing that could slow him down.

“And if not?” Virginia wondered. There were some people involved in the case, Frank told her, who could not just be 'removed' in order to complete the cover-up, including herself, the sheriff, and a number of MI State Police forensics experts. Too many people had seen what the evidence looked like before it was altered. They might not have known exactly what they were looking at, but they surely had overheard others talking who did know what they saw. Most of the Sheriff's photos had gone missing, oddly enough, he added. Even the ones stored on the sheriff's computer. Though they might not be able to explain what the truth was, at least it would no longer be getting covered up. Virginia was angry again, thinking about the corner she'd almost been forced into. “No one uses me,” she said, staring hard at the remains of the bus. “No one.” She looked back at Frank. “I owe you a debt,” she told him. Frank told her that all he wanted was for her to get him a copy of her notes and conclusions as soon as possible. He would hate to see something happen to her then find her name on something that she'd never written. At that comment, she suddenly realized the seriousness of what she was going to be doing. She nodded that Frank would have what he'd asked for, and Frank went out to burn her a copy of the photos he'd taken and of all the analysis that the rest of the team had done after the sheriff had wrested the case back from DHS.

When he handed over the thumb drive, Virginia asked if he had a couple hours to spare, to get her to Metro so she could be back in DC before Stevens woke up. Angie and Leigh headed back down to Detroit, while Frank took Virginia back to the hotel, where she quickly packed and checked out. He could have sworn that there was frost growing on the car windows as he drove her to Metro, from the icy anger tempered with fear that wrapped around Virginia like her coat. She was silent for most of the drive, sitting with her eyes shut, thinking hard about her next move. The fact that Stevens had gotten her presence on such short notice meant that he had 'chops' at the highest level, she finally said to Frank. He nodded agreement. At least if she was in DC, she'd be able to claim that she'd been called away to another case—and there was certainly no shortage of people that wanted her expertise. There'd been a long list of cases that had originally been ahead of Stevens' request. She'd just tell him that she'd gotten what she needed in MI, and that she'd get her report to him as soon as she could. She could delay it for a little while based on her work-load, then get sick, then.... Her voice trailed off as she wondered what kind of fall she was setting herself up for. Frank consoled her with the thought that Stevens would be focused on getting the lab and evidence back from the sheriff for now. It wouldn't even cross his mind for a while that she was jumping ship on him. And if Frank did see her back in MI, it would show them both just how much clout Stevens had.

JUSTIN’S WAR JOURNAL
Entry 66 [---typed]

---Man, I think my brain feels dirty. I remember hearing a saying that I don’t remember how exactly it goes. It’s something like, “Be careful when hunting monsters or you might become one”. I know it’s something like that. Anyway, as tight as dark and broody as some of the thoughts in my head are right now, I wonder about that. I’m trying to get myself in the right frame of mind to deal with this white supremacist veterans group tomorrow. Karen’s helping me get through it, because it’s kind of getting to me. She keeps reminding me to yawn on purpose to crack my jaw muscles loose because I’ve been unconsciously grinding my teeth and clenching up so bad. I’ve already taken an extra shower and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one more in the near future. Wading through this stuff while I’m trying to think like one of them just leaves me feeling all wrung out and tired and hollow inside.

We tracked down some really old movie from like 1935 called “Triumph of the Will” in German. The whole movie is in German and the copy we found didn’t have subtitles. Not sure if I’d want to read the translation anyway. I flat out did not like it. I don’t think that one’s going to help me much with the white supremacist point of view but it sure gave me a look inside a cult mentality. Holy crap but some of those guys had the “wide eyed believer” look going on, big time. I only just barely understand some German from my time stationed over there, mainly how to order a beer and call a taxi, but the tone of voice and the looks on the faces was enough. Hitler really, really believed in what he was doing. He was a stark raving loony tune, but it sure seemed like he believed every word he was saying. That ugly little troll of a man led most of a country into one of the darkest bits of history ever. Makes me wonder if Hitler was that evil just on his own or if something was riding him. For all intents and purposes the Nazis were making massive human sacrifices almost every day. Is it possible Hitler’s plan was just an earlier version of the End of Days path Edward and his cronies are trying to bring around? Or maybe some other dark Unknown ritual? Or maybe he was just an evil little bastard that conned a country. I don’t know. I just wish I didn’t have to look at the oily little fucker.

Like I said, watching all these movies at the same time, especially “American History X” (more than once, so far) and “Crash” is kinda getting my head in a weird place. But I’ve got to do this to get in the right mind set for that meeting tomorrow. I don’t have time enough to read all kinds of books, so movies and music and pamphlets are as good as I can do. Not necessarily stuff that IS racist or white supremacist but stuff that helps me get kind of a feel of what’s inside the enemy’s frame of mind. Stuff that helps me think the way I think they think. I HAVE to have my game face on for this.

Frank said he’s going to scout the address Tom gave me. We know it’s a coffee shop; privately owned, not a chain. No way am I going in there wearing a wire. Too easy to detect if you know what you’re looking for and some of these guys just might. These are military vets and a lot of times that means at least a low level of paranoia going on. Not to mention the fact that if you get a good sized group of vets together then there’s a real good chance a couple of them served in Intelligence. So Frank is checking the place out with an eye towards a listening post nearby. Said he’d be able to hear what was going on in there even without a wire. When I asked him what if we were in the basement and there’s no windows to bounce a laser mike off, he said he had that covered too. Hey, when it comes to surveillance I gotta trust Frank. Reg is about the only person I’ve met who knows more electronic surveillance than Frank does and I think Frank’s even better than most feds. I may be trusting the crew with my life on this and I feel like I couldn’t be in better hands. More later.

---Still Saturday, October 14th and we’re still doing the “mind prep” movie marathon. Getting near overload though and I think we’re going to stop soon. I swear, I’m going to have to watch twelve hours of baby cartoons after this is done just to get my brain back in balance. I called Mark down in New York after dinner. I figured I could use a bit of legal advice and he’s the most savvy lawyer I know. Since he knows about The Fight, I was able to lay out the real situation for him and what my idea was. He gave me some guidance and then got back to his life. Now what I asked Mark about was sort of a “letter of intent” so there’s some evidence that I don’t really want to join a white supremacist neo-Nazi group but I’m presenting myself that way to investigate a possible link to a crime. The letters are sealed and dated. I’m leaving one with Karen, one with Uncle Jerzy, one with Frank and I also mailed one to Mark.

---Still Saturday night and we just heard from Frank. He went to meet with Agent Collins earlier today and ended up spending most of the day with her. I think he had a good idea on this one. He let her know about the evidence that had been changed and asked her if there was some kind of Top Secret government thing going on here that needed to be covered up. He said she thought it was a bad joke at first but then he showed her copies of the photos he took during the first investigation and kept for his own records. He said Collins really got hot then. She wanted to know if Frank was suggesting that SHE had manufactured or planted evidence or let it be done. I think that’s when Frank knew that Agent Collins was a straight shooter and not just Agent Stevens’ monkey. She wasn’t trying to cover her ass; she was pissed and wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Frank and Agent Collins talked about the timeline between when the bus had been found, when the local crime lab had started their investigation, when Agent Stevens took over the lab and when she was brought in. Turns out there was a nice big gap in there where Stevens and his crew had more than enough time to doctor the evidence. And then they brought in Agent Collins to validate their findings. From what Frank was saying, having Collins’ name on a report is like a certificate of authenticity or something. She’s one of the best and people know it. But she doesn’t play politics or kiss butt so she’s not as high up the ladder as she might be otherwise.

She really went over those pictures while Frank told her about some of the other things that were wrong and they talked about Agent Stevens’ reputation. Most in DHS seemed to have at least heard of Stevens, the rising star. But only a few had started to pick up on the fact that he was taking credit for other people’s work. Collins was one of the people who knew Stevens was a credit stealing weasel and she had a suspicion that he might have some kind of mentor making him look good. Frank pretty much confirmed her suspicions when he told her that as far as he could find, Stevens doesn’t even select his own team members. He gets assigned a case, then the right people to solve the case get sent to him and then he takes credit for their work. Collins said she hadn’t been sure why Stevens had brought her in on this case when she first saw the bus. This was after it was doctored of course. She said the evidence seemed to tell a pretty obvious story. So the idea that she had actually been brought in to validate Stevens’ bill of goods was sounding more plausible. Frank knew he really had her hooked when Collins said she couldn’t tell enough from the pictures and wished she could get back into the crime lab, especially if she could track down an explosives expert. Frank said he might just be able to do both. She was definitely interested but she didn’t think Sheriff Lane would ever let her back in that crime lab. Frank called the Sheriff and got permission to bring “his team” in for another look at the evidence. He called Angie and Leigh on the way to the lab and asked them to join in. I think they were all for stickin’ it to Stevens.

The Deputy at the front door of the lab was surprised to see Agent Collins again from what Frank said. Considering he was there when Collins and her team were escorted out of the lab, I can understand. But Frank had clearance from Sheriff Lane so he let them in. Angie and Leigh showed up shortly after Frank and Collins got there. They gave her a guided tour of what had really been found before and she looked for proof that the new evidence had been faked. Well, I guess she did some serious CSI tricks and found what she felt would be some pretty damning evidence. Even as much as I watch NCIS and CSI and all those shows, I couldn’t quite follow what all Frank said Collins did. I guess she analyzed the age of the paint and the scorch marks and like that. Angie was able to show her that the new burn patterns were slightly different and overlapped the original burns. They picked all the manufactured evidence apart until after it got dark.

When they’d done all their analyzing, Agent Collins said she figured she had enough to make her investigation last about two weeks. Frank asked her if she could maybe stretch that out to about three weeks. They both seemed to think we might have a friendlier political environment for “our” side of this investigation after the elections in November. I guess that’s a definite possibility. I mean, it does seem like most of this End of Days crowd have hooked themselves to the Republican train. Maybe Agent Stevens won’t have as much backup if the political climate changes?

Anyway, Frank said the next thing Collins asked for was a ride to the airport. She wanted to catch the soonest flight back to D.C. so she could get there before Agent Stevens wakes up in the morning. That way she can claim that she’s on a different case (which technically, she is) if he asks to get her back onto his case. I think we all figure that Stevens is probably going to be able to pull enough strings to take back control of all that evidence by Monday. Now we’ve got to wait and see. Later.

---One other thing; I’ve been thinking a lot and talking with Uncle Jerzy and he’s helped me realize some things and make a decision to change something in my life. Probably not something he even realized he’d helped me figure out. I’ve been carrying around my .357 Taurus ever since I got back from the sandbox. I don’t even remember what all I was thinking when I made that choice. I’ve since figured out that picking that cannon was a knee jerk reaction to rebel against military life. The Army made me carry a 9mm pistol the whole time I was in. But, in my opinion, it’s too small a round to really get the job done. They’re not a man-stopper; they’re a damn money saver. The suits don’t care if Johnny Jihad or whoever is wearing body armor and a 9mm hit is less effective than punching the guy. Cheap guns and cheap ammo make it easier to balance budgets and that’s what most of those bastards really care about. Okay, throttle back; rant over.

So anyway, to rebel against being forced to carry a glorified BB pistol what did I do as soon as I got out of the service? I strapped on one of the biggest cowboy guns in my collection; not to mention one of the more expensive ones. Yeah, it is a damn good gun but it’s loud as hell, throws a mini fireball out of the barrel that gives away your location with every shot, kicks like a pissed-off mule and has a good chance of putting a bullet through your average brick wall. It’s just too much gun for the combat situations we’ve actually faced. So I’m switching to a .45 semi-auto.

All in all, a .45 is actually a better man-stopper, or Thing-stopper, than a .357 and gets the job done without the fireworks, recoil or blow-through problems. A real smart friend of mine once said something about how .45s are a good combat round because most people fall down when you hit them with a lead ashtray traveling at several hundred feet per second. I’ve been practicing with a Glock in .45 caliber since the end of last year and I have to admit that I like it. They make a high quality weapon that’s built to survive abuse and still get the job done, not to mention a thirteen shot clip. And I’ve even got a good deal of silver ammo already cast for it. I was originally just going to use their .45 sub-compact as a backup weapon but I got a good deal buying it with its full size big brother. Practiced with both to get familiar and now I think the full size just graduated to regular carry. Yeah, I feel comfortable with this. Not sure why I’m putting this in here really. I guess just in case there’s somebody else out there in The Fight who’s not sure what firearm they should use. Maybe this will help somebody other than just me in the long run. I hope so. That’s it for now.