The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Exactly one minute before the appointed time Sutherland rode up to the gate of the Kurtz camp. She was glad to see that the Dobermans were not there to greet her.

At the stroke of eleven, her ears picked up the sound of an engine. A khaki-colored World War II Jeep with two men in it drove up to the other side of the gate. Both men were dressed in camouflage. Aviator sunglasses shaded their eyes. The driver wore a wide-brimmed fatigue hat and the other man had a do-rag tied around his head Rambo style.

The Rambo impersonator got out of the car. He had a thick muscular body and his black hair was cut close to the shiny white scalp. A droopy mustache emphasized the downward tips of his unsmiling mouth. Sutherland’s eye went to the pistol holster and hunting knife at his waist.

Rambo pressed the button on a remote control. The gates swung open and he gestured for her to come inside. When she had ridden in, he closed the gates behind her and said: “Follow the vehicle.”

As she trailed the Jeep, she couldn’t help thinking how her poker-playing father used to say, “In for a dime, in for a dollar,” an adage meaning that if a hand was worth a little bet it was worth a big bet.

The road sloped gradually through thick piney woods. About a mile from the gate the forest ended and the road ran between a dozen or so one-story wooden buildings that looked like worker housing. They sported a fresh coat of white paint and seemed in generally good condition.

The Jeep kept on going past the buildings and stopped at a guard house manned by two armed men in camouflage. The driver jerked his thumb at Sutherland and the guards waved them through. The driveway went through a patch of dark pine woods and led to a two-story brick Victorian mansion with a black mansard turret and roof. The lawn that surrounded the mansion was overgrown with weeds.

The Jeep stopped and Rambo got out. “Go around back. General’s waiting for you.”

Sutherland slid off the Harley and went to use the kick-stand, but Rambo grabbed the handlebars.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she said.

“Just putting your pretty bike away for safe keeping. General’s in his shooting range. Follow the gunshots and you’ll find him.”

Her eyes smoldered with anger as she watched Rambo wheel the bike toward a five-port brick garage next to the mansion. Then she shouldered her pack and walked toward the pop-pop-pop sound coming from behind the mansion. She rounded one end of the house and saw a line of targets set up in a field.

A man wearing a fatigue hat and a matching desert camouflage uniform was firing a rifle at the targets which depicted a mean-faced man holding a pistol. The letters ATF printed in big letters across the chest identified the target as an Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms agent.

The shooter had the M-16 rifle on automatic, firing methodically in bursts of three. As soon as he shredded one target, he moved on to the next and repeated the process.

Sutherland waited patiently. The man stopped before shooting at the last target, and turned around as if he knew she had been standing there all the time. He lowered the rifle and gestured for her to come over. He took off his safety goggles and ear protectors, handed them to Sutherland along with the rifle then pointed to the last target.

Sutherland hadn’t fired a gun in years, but her army training asserted itself. She slipped on the ear protection and goggles, put her arm through the sling and felt the rifle stock snug naturally against her shoulder. She clicked the safety off, squinted through the telescopic sight, curled her finger around the trigger, ripped off three shots and clicked the safety on.

The man pushed a button and the target moved toward the firing station along a track. He thrust his forefinger through one of the tightly clustered holes in the target’s forehead.

“You didn’t go for the easier heart shot.” He had a low, gritty voice.

“I like a challenge, sir.”

“You learn that in Iraq, Corporal Sutherland?”

“I learned a lot of things in Iraq, sir.” She smiled. “The first thing I learned was never to give up control of my weapon.”

Kurtz gave Sutherland a sly smile. He took the rifle back and with the other hand he patted the holster at his belt.

“Had my eye on you every second, corporal.” He made sure the weapon was unloaded and broke the action. “C’mon up to the house and have something cold to drink.”

Kurtz walked with a John Wayne swagger as if he’d just gotten off a horse. He led the way toward a raised veranda that took up around a third of the back side of the mansion. He directed Sutherland to a white painted cast-iron table and chairs and went through the French doors into the house, returning a minute later with two cans of pre-sweetened iced tea. He gave a can to Sutherland, popped the other and plunked in the chair across the table from her.

He removed his hat to reveal steely gray hair in a flat top military cut. “Hope you weren’t expecting anything stronger. I don’t allow alcohol here at the encampment.” He smiled, raised the can in the air. “Skaol.”

Kurtz took a sip that was almost dainty for a man who seemed to emanate a boot-camp macho masculinity. Then he knocked down the contents of the can, set it on the table and stared at Sutherland with deep-set amber colored wolf eyes under a straight brow.

Rather than challenge his piercing gaze, Sutherland glanced around as if she had been intimidated.

“I didn’t expect to find a place like this way out here in the woods.”

“Quite the little shack isn’t it?”

“I grew up in a coal mining town. This is like a palace to me, sir.”

He twitched his lips in a quick tight smile.

“Call me General Hak. I’m named after my grandfather Hiram who built this place and lived here while he developed the mines. It’s fine for my purposes, but it could use a little work.”

The place could use a lot more work, Sutherland thought. Bricks were missing, concrete trim was cracked and the panes in one of the tall windows had been replaced with plywood. The chairs they sat in were rusted where the paint had flaked off.

She simply nodded in agreement.

“I was surprised to get your email,” he said. “We get a lot of queries, but not too many drop-ins.”

“Like I said, sir — I mean General Hak — I was riding through the mountains. Not even sure where I’d land next.”

“We did a background search to make sure you were really in the army like you said. You checked out okay.” He sat back and laced his fingers behind his head. “What’re you running from, corporal?”

“What makes you think I’m running from something?”

“Hell, everyone’s running from something.”

“Guess you’re right, General Hak. I joined the army to get away from West Virginia. When the army let me down, I ran away from everything.”

“How’d the army let you down?”

She told him about going to Iraq, her enthusiasm for army life, and how her career hopes were dashed when she was attacked and the army not only didn’t protect her, but punished her with a discharge. She didn’t have to fake the emotion in her voice when she related how she had retreated to the desert isolation of southern Arizona, and how she went aimlessly on the road after her house caught fire and burned down.

The general’s features hardened. “Every one of those bums who dishonored you would have been shot under my command.” He sat forward in his chair. “Sorry to hear about your house. Probably some damned illegal Mexican torched it.”

That set him off, and for the next half hour Sutherland sat at the table and tried to feign a tacit approval as Kurtz displayed his warped version of reality. He weighed in against the objects of his ire one after the other. He talked about restoring the honor of the Kurtz name and fortune, which must have been a veiled reference to the failures of his playboy father. She heard echoes of her own paranoia in his ramblings, when she had raged against imagined forces that were out to get her. She almost felt sorry for the pathetic old man, but she reminded herself that he was unpredictable and dangerous. He reaffirmed this when he slammed his fist down on the table so hard it made Sutherland jump.

“The only thing that’s going to stop this great country from going down the drain is the militias. Are you ready to join us and make sure that doesn’t happen?”

Sutherland could only nod.

Kurtz’s manner changed completely. His thin lips widened in a broad smile.

He brought his hand to his chest. “I’ve got a bum ticker. Doctor says I could go any second. One foot in the grave the other on a banana peel. We need soldiers like you to carry on the cause when I’m gone. The militia movement’s had some hard times, and it’s up to folks like us to rejuvenate it. The government’s been cracking down, trumping up fake charges to get us in trouble with the law. We’ve been trying to bring the militias together, but all this takes money. You got any money, corporal?”

“A little, General Hak.”

He gave her an avuncular wink. “Just jerking your chain, corporal. What you’ve got is even more valuable. You’ve got military training and enthusiasm for the cause. You got the stomach for an intervention to help victims of the government?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Good enough. In the meantime we’re keeping a low visibility.” He furrowed his brow. “One other thing I’ve got to ask. You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“No, sir! I’ll take a polygraph test if necessary.”

“We caught you on camera yesterday. Why were you snooping around our gate?”

“I’m a trained soldier, General Hak. I was doing recon.”

He burst into laughter, stood up and extended his hand.

“That’s the kind of fighting spirit we need. You can stay here as long as you want. We’ll try you out. You’ll take our pledge. Most of the people are in the militia part-time, but we’ve got a small full-time cadre here at the base. You met a couple coming in. They’ll give you a tour of the camp, get you outfitted, go through some physical tests to see where you fit in. Mess is at sunset and it’s early to bed.”

She shook his hand.

“Thank you, sir. I was wondering about my motorcycle.”

“You’re free to leave any time, but we can’t have people constantly going in and out of the compound. Besides, it’s dangerous with the high voltage fence and the sentry dogs.”

He snapped off a salute. She did the same, but by then he had already turned and was striding back to the French doors.

As she stared at his back, she again remembered her father’s advice.

In for a dime, in for a dollar.

She tried to ignore the fact that Pop had lost his shirt at cards.