The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (21 page)

Sigmund did not hesitate.

He seized the hen by the neck, its wings flailing around wildly as it fought against his grip in vain. He raised the bird up before him and gazed into its bulging black eyes, speaking to the doomed fowl as he thought of someone else.

“Tonight, I am going to peel the skin back from your pathetic little body. Once I have finished with that, I will grin merrily as I put fire to your flesh. Then, when you have been seasoned to my fancy, I will smile as I slowly feed on your lifeless corpse.” He pulled the bird closer, squeezing even tighter as he whispered his sadistic words. “Time to die, my little friend.”

He gritted his teeth and nearly snarled as he shoved its head into the sand and twisted violently. Two seconds was all it took before he heard that distinct snap and the hen went still. He raised the thing before him—inspecting its lifeless body with a blissful beam—before stuffing it into his paper bag.

His satellite phone rang, vibrating softly in his inner pocket. He set the now full bag down, withdrew his phone, and answered.

“Jacob, you’re interrupting my evening,” Sigmund said. “You know I hate that.”

“I also know how much you wanted me to call you once I finally spoke with Lukas,” Jacob replied.

Sigmund leaned forward and smiled. He had instructed Rhys and Jacob to hold a meeting with Lukas once things in Chicago had calmed down some. Sigmund had watched the White House press briefing earlier that day and despite his growing discontent with Lukas, he wanted to congratulate the man for his shrewdness. The president could fabricate a lie better than anyone Sigmund had ever known, and it was one of the few reasons he had let Lukas live all those years. Nonetheless, his continual failure and clear dishonesty with the other Patriarchs, despite the Oath he had taken, had caused Sigmund to wonder if the time had come to remove yet another brother of fate before too much damage was done.

“Well, the suspense is killing me,” Sigmund said after a moment’s pause. “What did he have to say?”

“He said he was in control,” Jacob replied. “He agreed—reluctantly I might add—to the media campaign. I for one believe it will help him save face and I don’t think we have anything to worry about with him.”

“Is that Jacob the Patriarch speaking? Or perhaps a man too willing to overlook failures for the sake of loyalty to family?”

“You know I am loyal to our cause,” Jacob replied defensively. “I do not hold anything above our sacred struggle. But we are all bound together by blood in that struggle, Sigmund. We cannot go about always making enemies within if we wish to succeed. In my honest opinion, which I do not offer lightly, Lukas is and has always been loyal.”

“Loyal enough to want victory,” Sigmund said disdainfully, “but stupid enough to let one man threaten it all.”

“Lukas assured us that whatever Adam Reinhart took will not lead back to the Patriarchs.”

“But he doesn’t know what the congressman took, now does he?”

“No,” Jacob responded. “He has his agents and the entire nation looking for the congressman as we speak. Despite all that, I cannot help but wonder. . . .”

“Wonder what, my old friend?”

“I wonder if the time has come that we join in that search and silence Adam Reinhart before he reveals anything more.”

“No,” Sigmund replied bluntly. “I know you might see value in it, but let America take care of Adam Reinhart. I will not risk our involvement, and I’m sure he will show up eventually, dead or alive. We have our own problems to worry about.”

“Which are what?”

“Not what,” Sigmund said, “but whom.”

“Lukas?” Jacob asked quietly.

“Let him go and nurse his reputation for now,” Sigmund said as he looked down at the brown paper bag with a grin. “Despite your assurances, I cannot help but think he has bit the hand that feeds him one time too many. The time might come soon enough when the sun must set on Lukas Chambers.”

C
hapter
E
leven

The Blood of Men for the

Tales of Tyrants

The morning light crept into the room, slowly passing through each row of blinds one by one before falling onto Adam’s face and stirring his senses that had lain dormant for quite some time. His heavy eyelids fluttered, trying to decide whether or not it was time to join the world of the waking once again. Reluctantly, he forced his eyes open and surveyed his surroundings.

The taupe-colored room was small and absent of furniture apart from his bulky bed and the leather recliner next to it. A large glass window with a tint of silver-gray took up most of the space on the wall to his right while two smaller six-panel doors shared the wall to his left. Across the room a lone spider quickly traversed the plastered wall, stopping as though it was trying to decide if its cover had been blown and then scurrying out of sight. The room was silent, other than the low vibration of the ceiling fan above as the blades cut through the air, circulating a cool and welcomed draft.

Adam tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. A dull soreness that had nestled into his back transformed into a searing flood of fire that coursed through his flesh, jolting his side and awakening the knowledge of other wounds. His right leg throbbed from both thigh and calf; it was not a strong ache, but rather an unyielding annoyance, as though heavy weights had been placed on his hip down to his foot. His cheek prickled where a straight and shallow scar crossed his face. The scabbed-over wound began underneath his left eye and journeyed a couple of inches toward his ear, tapering off over his cheekbone. Though his body was sore and beaten, the worst sensation was an overwhelming panic that came as he failed to remember what had happened to him.

He searched his memory, scouring through a sea of hazy darkness like a drowning man frantically looking for a floatation device in the middle of the night.
Sarah,
he thought. It was a stable memory that gave birth to others.
Mom, Dad, the kids. Joe.
That one conjured up a profound and unexplainable sadness.
Joe was . . . dying? No. Oh God. Joe is dead. Murdered by . . . by the president!
He recalled something he had done to the president—something dangerous and something recent.
Virginia. I was in Virginia.
He remembered that he had been at President Chambers’ home, but he couldn’t remember leaving or why he had been there in the first place. He dug deeper, digging through what felt like a shroud of fog and rain.
Rain.
That word tickled a memory buried not long ago. It had been raining wherever he was.
Darkness. Lightning and thunder. It had been night. Slick streets, tall buildings . . . Chicago? I was in Chicago. But why?
He squeezed his eyes tight, trying to recall what he had been doing there.
Something happened. Something important. Someone . . . a cop. Four men. The chase.

The fight.

With that recollection came the pain; an intense agony surged from the blackened gaps between his memories, causing him to cover his face with his hands and reel with shock. He thought back to the alley and the horror of being shot. He felt his cheek again and shuttered at the remembrance of the bullet and how close he had come to death.
Death. My God, I killed them!
He remembered as he made his way down the street toward something—some place safe.
David’s house. That’s why I was in Chicago. I went there after I stole the. . . .

Anxiety began to set in for a second time. Adam reached under the covers to search his pocket but found that someone had taken his clothes. He tried to remember more. He recalled falling, hitting his head on the sidewalk, and a prayer.
The voice.
Someone or something had urged him to climb the stairs, and the last memory he held of the rainy night was that he had banged on an unknown door before losing consciousness.
Who found me?
Am I still in Chicago? What was on the USB? Who has it? Who holds the fate of the nation?
Whether friend or foe,
someone was obviously there, caring for and nursing him back to health.
But who and for what reason?

He sat up again, struggling through the aching waves that pulsated from head to toe, and grabbed the corner of the nightstand next to him as he tried to pull himself off the bed. His hand slipped, knocking a lamp over the side and sending it crashing to the floor. Footsteps rapidly approached from behind one of the wooden doors, and Adam looked around for something he could use to defend himself. His adrenaline surged as his heart pounded inside his chest and he braced himself for yet another fight. He was about to shout out defiantly when the door burst open. His eyes immediately began to well up with tears as he recognized the new arrival.

“Oh God, Sarah!” he said with a feeble cry of relief.

Sarah turned back toward the hall behind her and shouted.

“Elizabeth, Gene, get the doctor! He’s awake.”

Adam tried to sit up again, but Sarah ran over to his side. She sat down on the bed next to him and put both hands on his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Sarah said. “Lie back. It’s alright, you’re safe now.” She gently pushed Adam back onto the bed. His wife was by no means made of iron—she had always embodied a distinct gentleness with every touch—but Adam didn’t think he could have opposed her efforts to lower him back down if his life had depended on it. He was weaker than he thought and he decided not to protest.

“What happened?” Adam said as he winced uncomfortably.

“What happened was you nearly got yourself killed, Mr. Reinhart.” A familiar voice with a soothing southern drawl filled the room. “From the story we heard I would dare say you’re luckier than an Irishman on Saint Patrick’s Day wearing nothing but green.” Elizabeth Holt entered the room followed by a man unfamiliar to Adam. “But I’ve heard you’ve got some Irish in you and you know what they say: ‘If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, then you’re lucky enough.’”

The unidentified man walked over to the side of the bed and took out a flashlight. He held his hand flat the length of Adam’s nose and shined the light back and forth between Adam’s eyes. Satisfied, he set the flashlight aside and continued his examination of the other wounds. Elizabeth sat down in the recliner next to the bed and introduced the man.

“This here is Doctor Jack Bear, and he undoubtedly saved your life.”

“As the lady said, luck saved your life, Mr. Reinhart. That and stubbornness, I reckon. Had you got to me a few hours later you would have most certainly died,” the doctor said.

“Luck had little to do with anything.” Gene Smith walked into the room wearing jeans, a long leather jacket, and the same dark brown cowboy hat he had worn at their last meeting. “Glad to see you alive and well again, Adam,” he said with a grin. “Damn glad.”

“Wait,” Adam said, confused, “where are we? Where is my family?”

“Oh they’re fine, Mr. Reinhart,” Elizabeth replied. “Quite fine. Max is most likely recouping from playing ‘house’ with those sweet girls of yours. You should see the softer side of Tanker when he gets to playin’ with the kids. If I didn’t know better I’d say the man’s arms were built to dangle laughing children about.”

“But how did you know?” Adam asked. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember calling you. How did you know where I was?”

“Now Adam,” Elizabeth said, “did you really think you were the only one I had looking out for us?” She glanced at Gene with a smile.

“You two know each other?”

“The lady and I’ve been working at bringing down Lukas long before you came along,” Gene said in his rich, Texan accent. “She has her reasons and I have mine. That’s all you need to know for now. When David gave me a call, just before you came a pounding on his door in the middle of a thunderstorm, I rang Elizabeth immediately to bring her up to speed.”

“And am I supposed to think that you were in on this too, Sarah?” Adam asked sarcastically with a little laugh that caused him to wince and cough through his smile. “How did they find you?”

“As they said,” Sarah said, “you’re quite stubborn.”

Gene began to explain. “David found you soaked and half delusional on his doorstep,” he said. “Luckily my pilot was able to get me to Chicago by the following day. When David said how bad you were, Elizabeth made some calls and enlisted the doctor here to watch after you until we could get you some place safe. A few days after that, when we finally got you out of downtown, you woke up shouting. Nearly caused me to fall out of my chair. Before the doc could put you back under, you kept shouting ‘Clohesy Lake’ and ‘Sarah’ and that we had to go. I didn’t know what the hell you were fussing about, but I started searchin’ around. Couldn’t find it at first until I figured out how to spell the damn thing right. Took us a good week to get there once we flew you here to safety, but we found your family camping out, living off fish in the middle of the Rockies.”

“And Gene’s men convinced you to come?” Adam asked his wife.

“Not Gene’s men,” Sarah said as she smiled at the colonel. “He came down himself. Of course your dad had a fit over trusting someone he didn’t know, but by the time we got here you’d think they were best buds.”

Adam nodded lightly to Gene. “Thanks for doing that. I won’t forget it.”

“Hell, it’s the least we can do for what you did for us.” Gene leaned against the wall next to the window and crossed his arms. He glanced at Elizabeth and nodded.

“So you keep talking about getting me to safety,” Adam said. “Where exactly are we?”

              “We are safe,” Sarah said. “You are safe. That’s all that needs to matter for now.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s all that matters,” he said. “My clothes—the pants I was wearing—I had something in my pocket.”

They all looked at each other uneasily as though they were trying to decide who should speak first. Eventually, it was Gene who broke the silence.

“We have it,” he said.

“What was on it?” Adam asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” Sarah said, shooting a warning look at the others. “The good news is you’re alive and it looks like you’ll stay that way.” She began to tear up, gazing at him apprehensively as her eyes brimmed. “You had us quite worried.”

“Have no fear, Mrs. Reinhart,” the doctor said. He had finished his examination of Adam and stepped back quietly. “Blood loss was the worst of his problems by far and a few weeks rest should have helped with that substantially. As painful as they may have been, those bullets didn’t break bone and he’s healing up just fine. I figure he’ll be hobbling around with those rascals of yours within a couple weeks, and with luck, he’ll be back to normal by summer’s end.”

Adam turned to Elizabeth and spoke as bluntly as he could.

“What was on the USB?”

“We’ll get to all that in good time,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, a man like you needs as much rest as he can manage, what with you being the most wanted man in America and all.”

“The most wanted man in America?” Adam repeated in a raised voice, which triggered another awful cough.

“Calm down, Mr. Reinhart,” Gene said. “We said you’re safe and they won’t find us here. At least not for a while.”

“So would somebody please tell me where ‘here’ is exactly?” Adam demanded.

“Why, you are at Lukas’ home of course,” Elizabeth said. “Oh now don’t get your under garments all tied in a knot. We all know you’re not wearing them anyhow. We’re not at his Virginia home if that’s what you were wondering. This is just one of the many properties his old company owns and never uses. My late husband—well you know he used to own the company before Lukas’ father and then Lukas himself. This was an executive retreat up here in Montana on the shores of Flathead Lake. After Lukas’ father and then my husband were out of the picture, God rest their souls, well I guess he and most others just forgot about it and went on with their scheming and what not. But not me. You see I’ve been watching this place for quite some time now—even before Sue was murdered—and I always had a heart for it. After she was killed, well I knew it would be a good place to lie low from that psychopath if ever the need be. I figure the best place to hide from the man would be in one of the dozen places he couldn’t care less about anymore.”

“And that’s exactly what you need to do now,” Gene said. “We all need to stay low until things calm down a bit. We number few but we’re safe until we figure out what to do next. Honestly, Elizabeth is right. I’ve monitored everything I can without revealing myself to see if they followed us, but he has no idea just where in the hell you ran off to. I, for one, don’t reckon he’ll be looking here.”

“Well now, Colonel. You coming around to my view on things at last are you now?” Elizabeth asked sarcastically.

“I’m not ashamed to admit it; I didn’t like it at first. As much as I threw a fit even I know we had almost nowhere to run. Only a fool believes the safest place to hide is under his enemy’s nose, but I reckon we were all fools to get involved in this mess in the first place. I suppose Mrs. Holt here knew what she was doing.”

Adam raised his eyebrow and looked back at Elizabeth. “How did we get here?”