John Gilstrap - No mercy

“Very nice,” he said, meaning it. “Give me another.”

Thomas set himself and fired again. More wood flew.

Jonathan grinned. “Excellent. Where’d you learn to shoot?”

“A buddy of mine at school has a farm. I’ve killed hundreds of bottles in the last four years.”

“Bottles don’t shoot back at you,” Boxers growled. “Ever shot anything that was alive?”

Thomas had had it with Boxers’ grousing. “What the hell is your problem with me? I’m on your side.”

“I don’t need you on my side,” Boxers said.

“But he’s here, isn’t he?” Jonathan said. “He’s volunteered to put himself in harm’s way, and we’re going to need the extra manpower.”

“Against these yahoos that are on their way? Bullshit.”

“That’s enough!” Jonathan snapped.

“It’s crazy!” the big man snapped back. “Can we talk privately?”

“We don’t have time,” Jonathan said. What was the point? He knew where the conversation was going to go. “Just say what’s on your mind.”

Boxers shook his head. “Not in front of the kid.”

“Hey!” Thomas barked. “What is with-”

“You don’t know shit, kid. You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“I know enough,” Thomas said.

“No you don’t! And the fact that you think you do is even scarier.” He turned to Jonathan. “You don’t have the right to expose them like this. It’s wrong, and you know it.”

Jonathan stared, stunned.

“I’m good for this, Scorpion,” Thomas said.

Piss and vinegar, Jonathan thought.

“What are you gonna do, Scorpion?” Boxers pressed. “You want me to speak freely, I’ll speak freely. You got the only two people who actually know how to shoot tied up on the porch, you got one who’s ready to surrender to anybody who’ll listen, you got an old guy with a bad leg, and a kid who thinks we’re gonna be attacked by bottles. What in that picture looks anything but crazy to you? If these Brigade yahoos are good enough to make us need what we’ve got, then we’re completely screwed. You’re gonna get them killed.”

Jonathan didn’t know what to say. Andrew Hawkins’s description of Ivan Patrick’s demagoguery echoed in his head. If Boxers was right-if he was asking too much from people who had no chance to deliver-then Jonathan and Ivan had something terrible in common. He said nothing as he turned and started walking toward the tree line.

“Where you goin’?” Boxers wanted to know.

Jonathan kept walking. He needed to think. A knot had formed in his stomach. Say what you like, package it as you wish, this was a revenge mission-a murder mission-and he realized now that it was a poisonous one. Dom and Ven were both right. Boxers had even seen it, for God’s sake enough for me. Now let’s get ready to kill some bad guys.”

This time as Boxers led, Jonathan followed. As he walked, he thought about Boxers’ question. The coming fight would go as it would go. Far more difficult was the next step. Irene Rivers could not have been more direct in her warning: the weapons they had in their possession were a Homeland Security issue now, meaning presumption of guilt and suspension of all civil rights. It meant disappearing. Poof. It meant never having existed at all.

Jonathan had learned years ago that it was a mistake to second-guess the past, but under the circumstances of the last week, he found it impossible not to. The ripple effect of Thomas’s rescue was staggering in its scope, the number of ruined lives and people killed-with more to come tonight.

All because of…what? Greed, he supposed. That was the common denominator. The Patrones and Carlyle Industries had been greedy for money, Fabian Conger had been greedy for attention, and the agencies that had funded the project in the first place were greedy for power. All the rest were soldiers, pawns, or merely collateral damage.

There had to be a way to stop the juggernaut of destruction. There had to be an exit strategy that would allow them to win this for real. All Jonathan had to do was find the right handle to pull.

Good old-fashioned reverse logic.

A fully formed plan came to him just like that, out of nowhere. He jerked to a stop and Boxers turned.

“What’s wrong now?” Big Guy asked.

“Not a thing,” Jonathan said with a grin. “I’ve got the answer.”

Jonathan gathered the crowd into the dining room for another chat. With two of the chairs taken by Gail Bonneville and her deputy, Thomas sat on the sofa topping off the magazine he’d fired from. Stephenson and Julie took the remaining chairs while Jonathan and Boxers remained standing. Jonathan had a little speech prepared in his head, but before he could say anything, Stephenson preempted him. “I think you need to share your plan,” he said. “And tell us how we can help.” As he spoke that last sentence, he shot a glare at Julie, as if daring her to start up again.

Jonathan exchanged glances with Boxers, then leaned forward with his forearms resting on the table. “I’ve looked over the latest satellite imagery of this place, and from what I can tell, access is limited to that bridge we came over yesterday. Is that right?”

Stephenson nodded.

“You’re sure?” Jonathan pressed. “No fire roads, deer trails, hiking trails, nothing like that? Nothing where a four-wheeler can gain access?”

“I’m sure,” Stephenson said. And right away he backpedaled, “Well, I guess if you want to get into a place badly enough, there’s always a way.”

Jonathan conceded the obvious. “Of course. But we want to make it as difficult for them as possible.”

“What about the fire road on the top of the ridge?” Thomas asked.

Stephenson scowled. “That’s hardly access to the property.”

Jonathan pulled a USGS map of the area from a flap pocket

Jonathan noted the closely packed contour lines. “That’s a hell of a steep slope.”

“Have you seen the backyard?” Julie said.

Jonathan forced a smile. God, he didn’t like that woman. There was indeed a fairly steep slope to the backyard, but apparently just beyond the tree line, it went nearly vertical.

“Why isn’t the road on the map?” Boxers asked. “These things are usually pretty accurate.”

“There’s really not much to it,” Thomas said. “It’s not really even a road. More like a wide trail.”

Jonathan asked, “How do you get to it? Where does it begin and end?”

Stephenson and Thomas looked to each other for answers, then both shook their heads. “I have no idea,” Thomas said for both of them. “I’ve never hiked it from beginning to end. I only know it’s there because that’s where you end up when you go out back and start climbing.”

Jonathan turned to Stephenson. “You either?”

“Nope. I’ve probably gone a mile in each direction over the years, but I’ve never found the end. It’s in pretty rough shape.”

It was inconceivable to Jonathan that anyone could grow up here and not know. He looked to Boxers. “What do you think?”

“It’s a weakness. Our Achilles’ heel. If we had a platoon, we’d cover it. As it is, I think we have to live with it.”

Jonathan agreed. “Okay, that brings us to our various roles for when the war comes.” Julie recoiled from the term, but Jonathan didn’t back down. “The key to survival once the shooting starts is for you guys to spend as much time as possible here inside the lodge. These timbers in the walls will stop just about anything they can throw at us. They’re just about bulletproof.”

“What about the windows?” Julie asked.

“Not bulletproof,” Jonathan said. “We’re going to spend the next few hours making this as sturdy a fortress as possible. We need to block access to that bridge out there to slow them down and hopefully even keep them out. Big Guy and I will set up an ambush at that spot, so if everything goes perfectly, you won’t even have to worry about firing a shot up here.”