Sensing the tension, he showed his retired-policeofficer
and licensed-private-investigator identification
, including his concealed-carry permit. "We're
coming from Mather jetport," he explained. "I'm
escorting Dr. Masters and General McLanahan
home."
The officer heard the name "McLanahan" and
stopped at once, recognizing Patrick in the backseat
. "Sorry to have bothered you, sir," he said, and
nodded to his partner to stop his flashlight probe.
"Have a good night."
"No problem at all, officer Patrick said.
"What's going on?"
"Couldn't tell you, sir. Where are you folks
headed?"
"Old Sac. Front and L."
"The Sarge's Place." The officer obviously recognized
the address. "I'll call ahead and make sure
you're not bothered again-we have checkpoints set
up all over. Have a good evening."
The other checkpoint they encountered did a cursory
inspection, probably so it wouldn't seem as if
they were exempting anyone, then, waved them
through. Ed helped Jon into the apartment, then
wished them good night and departed. Jon was moving
about fairly well, but Patrick was close at hand
to help him as he undressed and got ready for bed.
"Jon, I am so sorry for this," Patrick said for the
umpteenth time. "I promise you, this will never
happen again. Never."
"Never? As in, you're going to stop this scheme
of yours?" Jon asked. Patrick's eyes fell to the floor.
Jon went on: "Patrick, you know I agree one hundred
percent with what you're feeling, with your
hurt and pain and desire for revenge. I sure as heck
would want a piece of that biker guy, espec4ally
now that he's given me forty stitches and messed up
my good looks."
Patrick smiled at his boss, new brother, and
friend.
"But taking on these guys is crazy," Jon continued
. "You have no choice but to turn just as dirty,
as low-down, and as psychotic as the worst of those
jerks in order to beat them. Is that what you really
want?"
"What I want is to destroy the punks who killed
those cops and tried to kill Paul," Patrick said.
"How, Patrick? We carried some fake nerve-gas
grenades tonight, hoping we could scare our way
out of trouble. But these guys don't scare too
damned easy." To hear Jon Masters say even a mild
cuss word told Patrick how upset he was. "What do
we carry next time? A gun? I'll bet every guy in that
bar had a gun. Do we carry bigger guns? Machine
guns? Bazookas? What? How far do we take it?"
Patrick chose not to answer the question. "If you
want to help, I'll plan it so you won't have to come
into a place or situation like that again," he said.
"You'll be support only from now on. I don't want
you in the line of fire."
Jon looked bone-weary at that, as well as scared,
but he nodded resolutely. "I'll still help you,
Muck," he said. "I agreed to help, and I will."
Patrick sank into a chair in the corner of the bedroom
, rubbed his eyes, and tested his nose, cheekbones
, and jaw for any signs of fractures. lon, I'm
not going to hold you to that," he said. "I feel like
I'm out of control, like I'm on a roller coaster. I
can't control what I'm feeling. I want to lash out at
those guys. I feel I have the power and the ability to
do it. I don't want to sit by and watch while others
fight my battles for me, especially the cops in this
city that are hamstrung by politicians and bleeding
hearts.
"But I'm doing it wrong, dammit! I'm not afraid
for myself. I'm like you in that airplane fuselage-I
know the danger, but I've got to do it. But then I
think of Wendy and young Bradley, and how my son
would grow -up without a father ' if I died in that
hellhole of a bar, trying to stop scum of the earth
who can probably never be stopped." He stopped
and buried his face in his hands. "Oh God, I don't
The ring of the doorbell startled Patrick. I ought
to have a gun, he thought. He went to the door.
"Who is it?" he called.
"Mr. McLanahan? This is Captain Chandler, Sac
PD. I'd like to speak with you." Patrick looked
through the peephole and saw Tom Chandler holding
his gold badge up to the lens.
A thrill of panic ran through Patrick. Had he been
discovered already? He opened the door and let
Chandler inside. He had no other officers with him.
"You're up late tonight," Chandler said.
"We were working late, out at Mather."
/'You and another gentleman, right? Average
height, thin build, short hair, looks like a teenager
?
"What's going on, Captain?"
"You know what's going on, Mr. McLanahan,"
Chandler replied angrily. "You were at the Bobby
John Club tonight, you and some other guy. Is he
here?" Patrick was silent. "You better answer me,
Mr. McLanahan, because in about three seconds I'm
ready to bring the wrath of God down around your
ears.//
"Yes, he's here," Patrick answered.
"Is he hurt?"
"Yes, but he'll be all right. We had a doctor look
at him."
Chandler breathed a sigh of relief. "You have any
idea how stupid that move was, McLanahan? Do
you? What were you two doing at that bar tonight?"
"Trying to get answers," Patrick said. He decided
to try his desperate-burnout-older-brother routine
again. "I'm just trying to find the ones who hurt
Paul. I was just there to look around, listen, try to
learn anything I could."
"With a gas grenade?"
Patrick shrugged, averting his eyes. "Hey, I'm not
into guns or pepper spray. I had to do something."
Chandler took a step closer and pointed a finger
at Patrick's face. "If I find out you're doing anything
else on the streets in connection with the robbery,
Mr. McLanahan, I will toss your ass in jail for obstruction
and interfering with a police investigation
," he said. "No more, do you understand?'
"Yes. I understand."
"You'd better." Chandler paused for a moment,
then said, "Listen. For what it's worth-and only
because your brother's a fellow cop-I'm going to
tell you this. You will not repeat this to anyone, or I
Mfl lock you up. I wanted to let you know that two
men who allegedly were involved in the Sacramento
Live! shootout with the police downtown
have been arrested. A third was found dead.//
"That . . . that sounds like great news, Captain
," Patrick said. "Thanks for telling me. Do you
expect more arrests soon?"
"Yes," Chandler said. "We'll let you know of any
further developments. I'm going to remind you
again that all this is classified information. I'm telling
you th
is as a courtesy. Don't disappoint me."
"I understand, Captain." Chandler nodded and
headed out the door.
Patrick went back to the bedroom and found Jon
asleep; the painkiller had kicked in. Back in the living
room he got out the listening-device recorder
eager to hear what had gone on at SID headquarters
in the past couple of hours. The news was astounding
. Two men had been arrested after showing up at
a north-area clinic with broken legs and internal injuries
, professedly from an auto accident. Both were
German nationals and held valid work permits for
Canada, but their injuries were not fresh and their
story made the clinic staff uneasy enough to call the
police. The nature of the injuries suggested they
might have been the ones hit by Paul in the offduty
cop's squad car during the Sacramento Live!
shootout, and the arrests followed.
The second part of the news was even more startling
: Joshua Mullins had been found dead in the
Sacramento River-shot execution-style. Patrick
went back to the bedroom and woke up Masters.
"Well, it looks like Mullins's dead," he told him,
/land two of the holdup men were arrested when
they tried to get medical treatment."
"Mullins? The guy that nearly killed you tonight
is dead?" Jon looked very pleased. "That sounds
like good news to me, brother. Looks like the cops
were on the warpath after all."
Patrick nodded.
"So?" Jon went on hopefully, "Does this change
your plans now? What are you going to do?"
"I think, brother," Patrick said with a satisfied
smile, "that I am going to bring my wife and son
home from the hospital, then see to it that my
brother Paul gets all the help and care he7 needs. And
then I'm going to get on with my life and leave the
police work to the police. I've seen enough to know
I'm outgunned, outclassed, and just about completely
clueless." He got to his feet and stretched,
relaxed and satisfied. "Good night, Jon. I'm sorry for
what I got you into tonight."
"Don't be, Patrick. I'll be fine."
"I'll take care of you, and then we'll get back to
work," Patrick said. "We've got to get Helen back,
go schmooze the FAA and the airlines into getting
that BERP-development deal going again, and then
knock Hal and Gunny Wohl's eyes out with the Ultimate
Soldier system. I can't wait to get started.
And he went out to the sofa bed in the living
room and slept. Despite the pain from the battering
he had taken, Patrick slept soundly for the first time
in many days.
WILTON, SOUTH SACRAMENTO COUNTY,
CALIFORNIA
LATER THAT MORNING
don't understand any of this," said Bennie "the
Chef" Reynolds. "First you send two of the Major's
men to the hospital-and then you execute another
one? What's the sense in that?"
Townsend smiled but did not reply. Bennie, Gregory
Townsend, the former German soldier Bruno
Reingruber, and several of Reingruber's men were at
one of the Aryan Brigade's hideouts in the rural area
of Sacramento County about thirty miles south of
the city. The ranch house was in the center of a
forty-acre parcel of land, surrounded by multiple
fence lines and electronic security monitoring; police
couldn't get within a quarter mile of the house
in any direction without being spotted. It looked
like a typical stucco house common in the hot, dry
Sacramento Valley, but in reality it was a small
fortress. The doors, hinges, and frames had been reinforced
with steel to prevent all but a vehiclemounted
ram from breaking, them down; booby
traps were set up all around the ranch to warn of
intruders; and the place had caches of weapons,
equipment, and supplies enough for an extended
siege or to equip a very potent strike team. Inside, it
was more of a command center than a farmhouse.
The kitchen had been set up as a communications
.center, and the dining room transformed into a conference
room.
"It is simple, Mr. Reynolds," Townsend said.
"Major Reingruber's men fought with courage and
skill and were wounded in battle. As distasteful as
it is to turn any of our men over to the enemy, civilian
medical facilities are far superior to our field
hospitals and it became necessary that they receive
the care they deserve.
"Mullins, on the other hand, disobeyed a direct
order to stay out of establishments and areas designated
off-limits by myself and the staff. He was especially
ordered not to make contact with any
Satan's Brotherhood members or frequent any of
their so-called clubhouses. He violated all of these
,directives. His capture could have jeopardized our
entire operation. There was only one penalty suitable
for his dereliction of duty and gross insubordination-death."
Welli that certainly followed the pattern of this
organization, Bennie said to himself. Townsend and
Reingruber were ruthless when it came time to discipline
their men. Reingruber's sergeants dispensed
.that discipline swiftly and painfully. Bennie had
seen the German soldiers accept punishment like
automatons, standing at attention while taking a
blow to the stomach or a cattle-prod to the back.
And if they failed to stay standing at attention or
were a little slow recovering from their punishment
, they got more of the same. Reingruber and
sometimes Townsend himself presided over the discipline
sessions, and always spelled out to the other
soldiers the exact nature of the transgression for
which the punishment was being administered. The
converse was true too: If a soldier did well, even in a
small way, they offered praise and congratulations
almost to the point of effusiveness. Bennie hated to
admit it, but it was challenging and rewarding to
serve under these two. Their men were paid well,
ate well, and trained and worked hard . . .
. . . 100 bad they were murderous bastards who
would kill any or every one of them if they felt the
need.
Several minutes later, a lookout reported that
pickup trucks were on the property. The announcements
were followed by electronic warnings picked
up by motion and seismic sensors-and woe to any
I sentry, Bennie knew, who didn't report an approachini
intruder to Townsend or Reingruber before
the sensors went off.
"Pickup trucks. Brotherhood," a sergeant reported
. "Five in all." Townsend and Reingruber
nodded. A few minutes later, five Satan's Brotherhood
members were admitted into the ranch house.
They were thoroughly searched, manually as well
as electronically, and a boxful's worth of weapons
taken away from three of them. Typical Brotherhood
&nbs
p; , thought Bennie. Either the bikers actually
thought Townsend wouldn't check them for weapons
, or they thought that once he had found one or
two, he'd stop looking.
The leader of the Brotherhood, Donald Lancett,
did not show. Bennie had warned Townsend he
wouldn't. In his place, Lancett had sent one of the
local chapter heads, Rancho Cordova president Joey
"Sandman" Harrison, to represent the Brotherhood.
If there was a right choice for this meeting, Harrison
was not it. Sandman had been ousted as the president
of the Oakland chapter of another outlaw motorcycle
club, kicked out because he was so mean,
so murderous, and spent so much time in prison. He
hated the role of representative, envoy, or message
boy; he hated foreigners; and he hated'anyone who
even considered trying to move in on his very lucrative
east Sacramento drug territory. Clearly, Lancett
had chosen him for today's meeting in order to get
in Townsend's face and stay there.
. Harrison's beady eyes scanned the room. He noticed
the big bottle of Jack Daniel's sitting on a table
in the corner, went 'over, opened it, and took a big
swig' ' Townsend watched him with an ironic grin.
"Help yourself to a drink, Mr. HArrison, he said.
Harrison belched, walked over to Townsend, and
sent his hand down to Townsend's right hip. The
holster he found hidden under the jacket - was
empty. "I requested no weapons, Mr. Harrison,"
said Townsend. "I kept my part of the bargain."
"Good thing you did," Harrison grunted. He took
another pull at the bottle. "So you're Townsend,
huh? You the one who had to pull Cazaux's plug,
right? You probably think -you're hot shit now." He
turned to look at Bruno Reingruber. "This the fucking
German?"
"Major Bruno Reingruber, my deputy commander
and senior officer." Reingruber stood at
parade rest beside and slightly behind Townsend,
his square jaw held high, his chest inflated. When
he heard his name, he snapped to attention and gave
a Nazi salute.
"Heil fucking Hitler," Harrison said, his voice
.filled with disgust. "You guys are pretty, real
fuckin' pretty. You must all be pretty stupid dumbasses
too." Then Harrison's eyes rested -on Reynolds
. "Hey Bennie, you tell your friends that if I ever