Myrmidon

CHAPTER SIX

The boy stared at Chapel, his eyes glistening with rage, until the rap came again on the truck’s window. The window rolled down a few inches—not far enough for Chapel to see who was inside—and the boy ran over and spoke with the truck’s passenger in low tones. He took a cell phone from the passenger and came back to the gate. “He wants to talk to you,” the boy said, holding the phone through the bars of the gate.

Chapel walked over slowly, his hands in plain view, and took the phone. He smiled at the boy as he lifted it to his ear. “Mr. Belcher?” he asked.

“That’s right. You’ve got my attention, Federal. Bringing a drone like that into my home—that’s got my whole attention. You sure you didn’t come to kill me?”

“The drone is harmless,” Chapel assured him. “It was in the neighborhood, looking for marijuana plants. You’re not growing any marijuana, are you?”

“No,” Belcher said, as if he were insulted by the idea.

“Then it doesn’t have to mean anything to you. Do you have a pair of binoculars? If you look closely at the drone, you’ll see it’s unarmed. No Hellfire missiles, no machine guns. Just a camera.”

“I’ve already looked,” Belcher told him. “Curiouser and curiouser. What exactly are you trying to do?”

Chapel shrugged though he doubted Belcher could see him. “I could have covered myself in skinhead tattoos and tried to infiltrate your compound. I could have shown up with a hundred ATF agents and black helicopters.”

“You could have tried something like that,” Belcher pointed out.

“Instead, I figured I’d be civilized and come ring your bell in person. We need to talk, Mr. Belcher. About Ygor Favorov and one other thing. The drone is there to make sure your people don’t just shoot me and bury me in a shallow grave out here. Its camera stays on me. But it doesn’t have any weapons, and it can’t hear anything we say.”

“Is that right? I’m not being recorded right now?”

“I’m wearing a hands-free device, and I have a phone in my pocket,” Chapel admitted. “If you like, I’ll leave them here in my car.”

“I like,” Belcher agreed.

“Then you will talk to me?”

“If only to figure out just who the hell you are,” Belcher said. “That is, I’d like to see if you’re just about the bravest son of a bitch I ever saw or just the stupidest.”

“Just in the interest of full disclosure—I have a sidearm with me as well. That I plan on keeping while I’m here. Is that a deal breaker?”

“Give the phone back to Andre.”

“Is he the one with the Hitler-mustache tattoo?”

“Yes.”

Chapel handed the phone back to the boy. Andre spoke to Belcher for a few seconds, then shoved the phone in his pocket. He nodded at Chapel and started opening the gate.