Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

"Me, neither. I'd like you to do me another favor. After I'm gone, go see if there's anything you can do for Marlon. He lives out at the Cowley farm on Route 8. See if you can get him into a VA hospital."

"Sure. You're a good guy."

"Don't let it get around."

Gail said, "You must have a lot of mixed feelings right now. You're about to leave home again, and you're embarking on a great and unknown journey into a new life with another person. Are you excited or scared shitless?"

"Yes."

They finished breakfast and Gail asked Keith if he had an extra toothbrush.

"Sure. I'll find it. Come on up."

They went upstairs and into Keith's room. He opened the wardrobe.

Gail looked at the uniforms, the saber, the bulletproof vest, and the odds and ends of a career that required many accessories. She asked, "What exactly did you do?"

"This and that." He took out the M-16 rifle. "Basically, I spent twenty-five years fighting commies. They got tired of it about the same time I did."

"Was it fulfilling?"

"Toward the end, it was about as fulfilling as your job. Here — this is called the fire control selector. It's on safety now. Move it here, and it's ready to fire. You just keep pulling the trigger. It chambers a new round and cocks itself automatically. This is the magazine. It holds twenty rounds. After you empty the magazine, you push this catch and the magazine pops out, then you push a fresh magazine in and make sure it clicks in place, then you pull this handle back and it will chamber the first round, then it's automatic again." He handed the rifle to her.

She said, "It's so light."

"And it doesn't have much kick."

She practiced loading a magazine, chambering a round, and aiming. She said, "It's pretty simple."

"Right. It was designed for people like a Billy Marlon. It's simple, light, easy to aim, and very deadly. All you need is the will to pull the trigger."

"That I don't know."

"Then you shouldn't take it."

"I'll take it."

"Okay. Here's the carrying case. There are four fully loaded magazines in these side pouches, and in this pouch is a scope, but don't bother with that. It's for long-distance firing. I don't think you'll wind up in a firefight with the Spencerville police, but you'll feel better at night if this is under your bed. Okay?"

"Okay."

She said, "I'll go unlock the trunk, then take Jeffrey for a walk." She went downstairs, and a few minutes later, as Keith got dressed, he saw them through the window out by the barn. He went downstairs and out the back door and put the carrying case in their trunk beside the empty food containers. He closed the trunk and went inside and poured another cup of coffee.

A few minutes later, Gail and Jeffrey returned. Gail said, "Really nice place here." They made small talk for a few minutes, then Gail said, "Well... time to go." She put her arms around him and kissed him. "Good luck, Keith. Call or write."

"I'll write. Meanwhile, get a security company down from Toledo to check out your phones, and get a mobile phone."

"Good idea." Jeffrey took his hand. "Hey, if you need anything before you take off, don't call — stop by."

"I think it's all set. The house key's under the workbench in the toolshed."

"Okay. We'll keep an eye on things until you get back."

"Thanks for everything. Good luck with the revolution."

They all embraced again, then the Porters left, and Keith watched them drive off, reasonably certain he'd see them again in better times.

At about ten A.M., Keith was on a ladder, replacing the rusted hinges on the door of the haymow. Working outdoors had cleared his head, and he felt better.

He heard the sound of tires on the gravel and turned to see a gray Ford Taurus coming up the long drive, a cloud of dust trailing it.

Keith couldn't imagine who it was, but it might be Annie. Then again, it might not be. He came down off the ladder in time to pick up his Glock 9mm from atop the toolbox, stick it in his waistband, and throw his shirt on over it. He walked toward the house as the driver's-side door of the car opened.

A man of about his own height and age, with sandy hair and wearing a blue suit, got out and looked around, then the man saw Keith and waved. "Howdy! This the Landry farm?"

Keith continued walking toward the man who came to meet him.

The man said, "Fine spread you got here, son. I'm fixin' to buy you out, or run you out. All you sod-busters got to clear out for my cattle."

Keith came up to the man. "This is Ohio, Charlie. We don't talk that way."

"I thought this was Kansas. How the hell are you?"

They shook hands, then embraced briefly and patted each other's backs.

Charlie Adair, of Washington, D.C., and the National Security Council, had been Keith Landry's immediate civilian superior and Keith's sometimes good friend. Keith wondered what he was doing here and guessed it was some administrative thing, paperwork to be signed, or maybe just a physical check to see that Keith was where he said he was, how he lived, that sort of thing. But somehow, Keith knew this wasn't so.

Charlie Adair asked, "How have you been, Keith?"

"Fine until two minutes ago. What's up?"

"Oh, I just came by to say hello."

"Hi."

Charlie looked around. "You were born here?"

"Yup."

"Was it a good place to grow up?"

"It was."

"You get cyclones here?"

"At least once a week. You just missed one. There's a tornado later today if you're still around."

Adair smiled, then asked, "So, you settled in?"

"I am."

"What's a place like this worth?"

"I don't know... four hundred acres, house, building, a little equipment... maybe four hundred thousand."

"No kidding? That's pretty good. But outside of D.C., in Virginia, those gentlemen's farms go for a million."

Keith didn't think Charlie Adair came to Spencer County to talk about the price of land. Keith asked him, "You just fly in?"

"Yeah, took an early morning flight to Columbus and rented a car. Nice drive. I found you without too many problems. Police knew right where you were."

"This is a real small place."

"I see that." Adair observed, "You got some good tan. Lost some weight."

"Lot of outdoor work on a farm."

"I guess." Adair stretched. "Hey, can we take a walk? Long flight and long drive."

"Sure. I'll show you around."

They walked around the farmyard, and Charlie feigned an interest in everything, while Keith feigned an interest in showing it to him. Charlie asked, "This all yours?"

"No. It belongs to my parents."

"Will you inherit it?"

"I have a brother and sister, and we don't have primogeniture in this country, so we'll have to make a decision someday."

"In other words, if one of you wanted to farm the place, that person would buy out the other two."

"That's what sometimes happens. Used to happen. Now the heirs usually sell out to a big concern and take the money and run."

"Too bad. That's what's killing the family farms. Plus estate taxes."

"No estate taxes on farms if you keep it in the family."

"Really? Hey, that's something those assholes in Congress did right."

"Yeah, that's a short list."

They went into the cornfields and walked between the rows. Charlie said, "This is where my cornflakes come from."

"If you're a cow. This is called field corn. You feed it to cattle, they get fat, you kill them, and they become hamburgers."

"You mean I can't eat this?"

"People eat sweet corn. The farmers plant a little of that, but it's mostly harvested by hand around August."

"I'm really learning something. You planted all this?"

"No, Charlie, it was planted about May. I got here in August. You don't think corn would get this high in two months."