The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (28 page)

              “And where do you propose we go?” Adam asked. Gene cocked his head sideways at Adam, but he didn’t answer. He just tossed the glass tablet back inside, took his cowboy hat off for a moment, and ran his fingers through his gray hair. He paused before putting his hat back on and began walking back to the rear of the vehicle.

              “Listen, you’re not going to try and take him out. It’s not going to work, and you know it.”

The colonel ignored Adam as he shut the hatch and looked down at the dead man. After a brief hesitation, he kneeled down, shoved the man off the side of the vehicle, and loudly shut the final open door.

“You’ll want to get him inside with the others soon,” Gene murmured.

“Damn it, would you just stop for a second and listen to me?”

              Gene turned around angrily. This time, he was the one grabbing Adam by the collar.

“No, you listen to me! It’s time you man up and do what you have to do. All of you. If you think revealing the president’s true colors to the nation is the best option—and if you think you can actually do it—then by all means, don’t let me stop you. Let that be your battle. But that’s not my fight and it never will be. It’s time for me to leave, and I’m going alone.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I told Eric this morning that if you weren’t on board then I was leaving. He has a twin-engine prop plane waiting four miles from here registered to an old friend of mine. It seats twelve so it should take all of you where you need to go. One day soon you’ll realize that the time for diplomacy is over and that the time has come to take a stand and fight. Until then . . . well, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, I reckon.”

“And what is it you think you need to do?” Adam asked.

The colonel stood there, looking out from underneath the leather rim at the dead agent next to the vehicle, his weathered face unreadable. His pause was brief and his eyes unsure, but in the end, his voice was steady.

“A war between brothers is coming,” the colonel said as he entered the driver’s seat of the SUV, “and I must ready my men.” Gene nodded the tip of his hat and drove off.

Adam stood quietly, hoping that he had not just made another terrible mistake. Max approached him, took one look at Adam, and began dragging the dead man inside without a word. Adam watched silently as the SUV disappeared into the distance. He walked back into the house after a few minutes and found the others gathered together at the back of the living room. He told them of Gene’s departure.

“Well, I must say that I will miss that man,” Elizabeth said. “There are not too many bachelors left that can make me smile like he could.”

“I know Gene; I’m sure he will be back,” Eric said.

“So what now?” Sarah asked as they all waited, looking for Adam’s guidance.

Adam looked back at them silently before walking over to the large window, now shattered by the gunfire, and gazed out as the breeze drifted in. The view beyond was both soothing and majestic. Cool water, rich and blue, flowed underneath a far-reaching American sky. For a month he had concealed himself in the security of their safe haven—secretly wishing that they could remain hidden there forever, but it too had now been tainted by a death born of Lukas Chambers and his friends. Despite the differences between Adam and the colonel, it was obvious to him that Gene had been right about one thing. War was coming—a war that Adam believed would destroy America forever if he failed to warn the people first.

As he stood there, wondering just how in the world he could do exactly that, he almost laughed when it dawned on him.

“We’re going to tell the people what we know,” he said to the others. “We’re going to need someone America trusts to get the word out for us, and I know exactly who that is.”

C
hapter
F
ifteen

Alea Iacta Est

The hooded man in the back of the vehicle bounced around and cursed with each new bump in the long dirt road. Eric Corsa sat beside the man, watching him carefully as the old beat up Ford Raptor raced toward their destination. He wasn’t sure the plan was going to work, but duty beckoned him and his new friends to act, and what had to be done simply had to be done. Though he didn’t like it, he knew what was at stake and that they couldn’t do anything without the scared and angry hooded man.

“Would you roll down a window or something?” the man shouted. “I’m dying under here!” The driver—one of Elizabeth’s men—looked in the rearview mirror at Eric who gave him a nod. The back windows rolled down, letting in a choking cloud of brown dust. A wall of trees interspersed with the occasional farmland-revealing gap hugged each side of the road, towering beside and above the truck like a dense canopy. It all reminded the captain of his childhood days on his family’s homestead an hour outside of Oceanside, California. Not his real family—his parents had both died years ago—but the family who had adopted him and given him a way to seek revenge. The thought of his parents caused him to rub his finger across the edge of the small glass tablet in his pocket, debating inwardly if he should pull the device out and watch the video it contained for the ten thousandth time. Though his youth had been somewhat positive, considering the circumstances, he had still been forced to grow up fast and take up the sword early, so to speak. Be that as it may, he had never felt the weight of the world burden him as it did now and never had he ridden home with someone he had abducted in the middle of the night.

The flight out of Montana two weeks prior had been surprisingly uneventful. The others had been so nervous of a pursuit that even Eric, a battle-hardened veteran, had to breathe deeply and calm himself once the plane was in the air. He had wished for something better than the old twin-engine piston they had left in, but she was a good set of wings that had proven true during their flight.

There had been no news reports or bulletins informing the public of the five dead agents at the Montana retreat they had fled. Eric figured that the president didn’t yet know or—more likely—he did know but didn’t want the details of five murdered agents clouding over his national apology tour. So, for the first three days, Eric had flown the group from one small airport to another, refueling and keeping quiet about his cargo, until they finally reached the upstate New York farm that had belonged to a friend of a friend. He had hoped their new destination would bring a sigh of relief; however, even in the old, forgotten farmhouse, Eric didn’t feel safe.

He felt betrayed.

He had been one of the few Americans to fight in the Iranian civil war that had touched much of the Middle East a few years prior. Fresh out of the Academy, he had been attached to one of the three squadrons sent over to help stabilize an already unstable region. As a pilot, he had flown his jets for two years on missions that encompassed everywhere from the hills of Kandahar to the deserts of Iraq. He had dropped his bombs and strafed his targets without ever second-guessing his orders. He had believed in fighting the never-ending war on terror and saw it as his duty to the nation he loved. But now, after reading his commander-in-chief’s journal, he couldn’t help but realize he had been blindly following the man who had caused him so much anguish in life.

Sadly, it was that very thought which bothered the captain the most about Adam Reinhart. Eric had come to like the congressman, and he had hoped the man would recover quickly so that he could continue the good fight. As much as he wanted to believe Adam was now doing just that, Eric was not so sure anymore that the congressman and the others were going about things in the most sensible way. Eric had always been a calculated realist, and he hated gambling so much on such an important mission. But he also knew that battles, be they violent or not, were never won without accepting a certain amount of risk. He just hoped now, as they bounced around in the back of the truck and neared the farm, that their latest actions would not also be their downfall.

The man next to the captain began to huff and puff loudly from underneath his black hood.

“We’re almost there,” Eric said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“That’s what they told every soldier and contractor in Afghanistan thirty years ago before beheading them,” the man retorted.

“We’re not going to hurt you, let alone behead you,” Eric said. “We’re trying to help you and a lot of other people. You’ll understand soon enough.”

“Bullshit!” the man shouted. “Who drugs someone so they can’t fight back, puts a bag over their head, and hauls them around in the back of a car for God knows how many hours, all because they had
good
intentions?”

“Your friends,” Eric replied.             

“Friends?” The man laughed. “Let me tell you something,
friend
. I have a lot of friends. Many of whom are rich and powerful. You are most certainly not one of them. Whoever you’re working for is not one of them. On top of that, half the country knows me by face. When I don’t show up to work Monday morning, they will all be looking for me. So don’t think you’re getting away with this. Your luck ran out the moment you shoved me in the back of this car.”

The old pickup slowed and came to a halt outside of their destination. Eric didn’t get out immediately. He sighed. He wanted to say something to Adam. He wanted to tell the congressman that what they had done and what they were doing was wrong. Yet, it had not been Eric, Adam, or any of the others who planted the seeds of war. They were only the first responders in the fight for America’s heart; a battle that Eric knew he would do whatever it took to win.

He just hoped—as he stared at the frightened American beside him—that he wouldn’t lose his humanity in the process.

“You’re here for one reason,” Eric finally said. “It’s because those friends you
think
you have are not really your friends. We brought you here to see the truth. I don’t like that things have to be like this, but they do. Now let’s go. My friends—the people who I hope you will come to call your allies—are waiting.”

The sunlight breaking through the gaps in the old barn roof reminded Adam of the day he and his son, Judah, had hunted together almost one year prior. He scratched his beard—which had grown past the stubble it had been at the cabin—and looked through a broken window at the white farmhouse. His family was inside the old white home, along with the doctor. They had traveled with him across the country—flying from one destination to the next while being secretive about it all. His kids had enjoyed the voyage like it was an exhilarating vacation. Adam hated it. Sure, he was happy to see them every day, he simply hated that they had no place to go where he thought they’d be safe. Elizabeth had told him to find the good in his life and cling to it during times such as these. Every day since his awakening in Montana, he had vowed to do just that. He had spent every waking moment he could with his family as he recuperated.

He had sat on the back deck of that cabin with his dad for hours, looking out over the lake as they talked and tried to solve the world’s smaller problems. He had played with Eva and Grace and enjoyed their tea parties—happily smiling as they giggled about the little things that little girls come to love. He and Sarah had enjoyed their coffee together each morning, talking of everything except the problems that threatened them. Their conversations had been a welcomed break from the stress that had weighed down his weary soul. Judah had walked alongside him as he hobbled under the covered porch with his cane, trying to regain the strength he had lost. Judah had talked much about the things he had discussed with Adam the year prior. To no surprise, it turned out that he and the pretty girl with the dark brown hair had been dating for a couple months before Adam’s fight in Chicago. However, anytime he had asked his boy about what he wanted to do when he grew up, Judah would change topics. After a few attempts Adam realized why his son was quiet about it all. Judah was old enough to understand some of what was going on—more than the girls at least—and what he knew was enough. He recognized what was potentially beyond the horizon and that dangerous men wanted to change the country from what it had been. But his son’s discouragement had only fueled Adam’s fire within. He wanted to help Judah, his girls, and all the other American children believe that their country would remain as the land of the free and the home of the brave.

After a few moments of gazing through the jagged window, Elizabeth spoke.

“He’s here,” she said. “It’s time.”

Adam stood up when the latch slid back. Sunlight poured into the musty barn as the doors opened wide, creaking loudly on the old rusty hinges that were too used to the way things had been to be quiet about their awakening. Eric walked in guiding the man with the black hood. He led him over to a chair in the middle of the room, whispered something into the man’s ear, and then walked over to Adam at the far side of the barn with a look on his face that spoke of bad news.

“What happened?” Adam spoke quietly so that the man could not hear them. “Did everything go alright?”

“It did,” Eric replied. “Just like we planned. He was at his Maine vacation home for the weekend, alone, when we drugged him.”

“So what’s wrong?” Adam asked. “No one saw you, correct?”

Eric’s hesitation was momentary, but it spoke volumes of his uneasiness. He knew little about Eric Corsa, other than his unwavering devotion. Adam’s mind began to race, and he wondered how quickly he could have his family elsewhere to safety if they had been compromised. However, before he could ask anything else, Eric spoke.

“I’m not so sure about all this,” Eric said.

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

“I . . . I just think we’re better than this, you know? I know what we’re doing is right in some way, but for me, this is too similar to what friends of mine falsely swore under oath they didn’t do to innocent people in the Middle East.”

“We have a lot riding on this, Eric,” Adam replied. “Don’t worry; we’re not going to torture him or anything.”

“But haven’t we already?” Eric asked. “I’m here to destroy the evil that’s corrupting this nation, not to become part of it. I mean, he doesn’t know anything besides that he has been abducted and taken somewhere against his will. If that were me, I’d be thinking the same things he has been thinking the whole ride here. I’d be thinking, ‘this is it.’ I don’t know. Killing men that would otherwise kill you, like back in Montana, and for you in Chicago, that’s one thing. But drugging a civilian, pulling a bag over their head, and taking them hours away in the middle of the night is another thing entirely.”

Adam hesitated. He needed Eric on his side, but he also needed that side to be one rooted in morality and virtue. Otherwise, he would lose what made his fight the good fight. “You’re right,” Adam said after a long pause. “But you’re also wrong.”

“Sir?”

“I have sadly come to the conclusion that, in order to fight evil, we will need to do evil things. I’ve learned that since Chicago. I know what I did there was in self-defense, and it was the same in Montana. But even so, I killed them, and not a day goes by that I wish I had not had to. And however much I hate it, it had to be done. I know what we do today is nothing compared to what we will have to do tomorrow if we don’t stop Lukas. So, I will continue to do what good men must in order to fight this evil. Both of us will. What we do is justified by our struggle for a freedom from tyranny. What Lukas and the Patriarchs are fighting to obtain is a freedom
for
tyranny. That is what makes us different. And if kidnapping that man over there helps us save millions of lives and defend this country by exposing the president . . . well, then it is justified, and I hope you can see that.”

Adam slapped Eric’s shoulder and smiled. Thankfully, Eric smiled back and nodded. Adam began walking over toward their guest but turned back to Eric once he passed the captain.

“Besides, when he hears what I have to say, he might just thank me.”

Adam and Elizabeth walked over to the middle of the barn where the man was sitting, stopping a few feet short of their guest. The man swiveled his head side to side, obviously trying to see anything he could from under his cowl. Adam thought about what Eric had said, and he found that he did pity the man sitting before him. However, he also thought back to his words to the captain and found strength in them. He would need to hold tight to those virtues because no matter what the outcome, he was having a hard time not believing that things were bound to get worse.

A lot worse.

Adam reached forward, grabbed a hold of the top of the black hood, and pulled the cowl off the man’s head.

“Hello, Mr. Martin,” Adam said.

Dan Martin—lead anchor for the ANB—looked up at Adam with wide eyes and shock on his face for a few seconds before unleashing his profane-rich tirade.

“You stupid son of a bitch! I should have known it was you. What the hell is all this all about? Is David Malcovich here?”

“David’s fine,” Adam said as he motioned over to the far wall. David smiled and nodded back “He’s on our side. Just as I hope you will be, too. Mr. Martin, I know this is hard for you to understand, but you’re here because we need your help.”