John Gilstrap - Threat warning

Her right hand dropped to her hip. “Screw it,” Stacy said. “Fine. This is long overdue anyway.”

As she started back to the sofa, she froze in her tracks and craned her neck. “There’s a huge man in my backyard,” she said. “He’s armed.”

“He’s with us,” Jonathan said. He pressed the transmit button that was located just out of sight up his left sleeve-his non-gun hand. “We’re secure here, Big Guy. You can come in.”

“You’re secure?” Stacy repeated. She seemed aghast. “Secure from what?”

“Focus, Stacy,” Gail said. “Come. Sit. Start from the beginning. What is it that is coming apart?”

Stacy retook her seat next to Gail. Exactly per the plan, she was hopelessly confused. None of her world made sense right now, and confusion always played to the benefit of interrogators.

“You said something about the Army. Are you talking about the United States Army?”

“The Army of God. It’s a nutso group of paramilitary types here in the county. They’re like all the groups you hear about in the news. I don’t know that they do any harm, but they’re just creepy. Every now and then, one of the soldiers-that’s what they call themselves-tries to get away. Not often, but occasionally.”

Boxers entered the home without knocking, and effectively filled the opening. Stacy drew an inch or two closer to Gail, who again put a reassuring hand on her leg. “Really, he’s okay,” Gail said. “So what happens when they try to get away?”

“If they call us, we’re instructed to tell the sheriff right away.”

Gail produced her speckled composition notebook from a pouch pocket in her cammies and opened it. “What is the sheriff’s name?”

“Neen. Kendig Neen.” She brought her hands to her face. “Oh, God, I’m going to be in so much trouble for this.”

“And what does Sheriff Neen do with the information?” Stacy wiped away a tear. “It’s not as if he reports to me, you know? I mean, it’s the other way around.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t know the details. All I know is I tell him, and then the problem seems to go away.”

Jonathan leaned in closer. “What does ‘go away’ mean?”

The longer the interview went, the smaller Stacy seemed to become. “I mean that I just never hear any more about them. The problem just. .. goes away.” Clearly, it was the only way she knew to phrase it.

“Does that mean that the children also went away?” Gail asked.

Stacy’s eyes darted up. “Oh, they weren’t all children. In fact, this is the first one who was a child. That’s why I thought it was so, well, sad.”

Jonathan was confused. “You mean to tell me that you get calls from adults seeking help from a kidnapping, and you routinely do nothing to stop it?”

“No, no. Not at all. Not children and not kidnapping. Just people who want to get away and need help doing it.”

Boxers growled, “And you just hang them out to dry.” He had a way of making the floor move with his voice when he was pissed.

“It’s not like that,” Stacy said. Her voice showed deep frustration at not being able to get her point across. “They’re all adults over there. Or adults with children. It’s like a closed community. As far as I know, no one’s kept against their will. It’s just that sometimes, I guess, people want to be somewhere else.

“When we get the call, we turn it over to Sheriff Neen, who himself is pretty active in the Army-or at least he seems to be. He goes out and I guess he talks to them, and then there’s no problem anymore. It’s like an internal matter. A family matter.”

Gail said, “But in last night’s call, Ryan Nasbe said specifically that he and his mother had been kidnapped. He also said that his kidnappers had killed those people on the bridge in Virginia. Surely you heard about that.”

Stacy wiped her eyes again.

“Didn’t you think for a minute to call the police or something?”

“We are the police, ma’am. Out here, we’re all there is.”

“The front of every phone book lists the number for the FBI,” Jonathan said.

Her whole body seemed to sag now. “I’m a dispatcher, Agent Harris. I’m not a sworn officer. I do what I’m told, and in this case, I was told to tell Sheriff Neen and forget about it.” She turned to Gail. “And how do you know so much about this call, anyway?”

Gail ignored her. “Where do we find Sheriff Neen?”

Stacy squinted as she looked at the clock on the far wall. Red marks on the side of her nose testified to glasses that she had neglected to put on. “I imagine he’s still at home asleep. He usually gets into the office around nine.”

“And where’s the headquarters for this Army of God?”

“The headquarters or the compound?”

Jonathan waited for it.

“Well, they’re different places,” Stacy explained. “The man in charge of the Army is Michael Copley, and the-”

“He owns a factory here,” Jonathan interrupted, recalling the reference from Sam Shockley.

“Appalachian Acoustics, right. He runs everything there, or so I’m told. So I guess the headquarters would be at his house. His castle, really. The place is huge. But the compound itself is all the way at the end of Hooper Road. Do you know Hooper Road?”

“I’m sure we can find it,” Gail said.

“Maybe not,” Stacy corrected. “I don’t think it’s on any map. Anyway, the camp-or the compound, or whatever you call it-is huge. Must be a hundred acres. Maybe even more.”

“And that land is owned by this Copley guy, too?” Jonathan asked. Venice would verify all of it later, but he was curious what Stacy would say.

“I guess he owns it.” She shrugged. “I never really thought about it. He owns an awful lot out here. Anyway, there must be a couple of miles of fencing around it, and there are armed guards.”

That got all of their attentions. “ How armed?” Boxers asked.

“Pretty darned armed. Rifles and such. Or so I’m told.”

“And that didn’t impress you as odd?” Gail asked.

“Everything about them impresses me as odd,” Stacy said. “Start with the fact that they think they’re an army. As if we need another one of those. You hear shooting and stuff from up there all the time. Sheriff Neen says they have one of the best target ranges he’s ever seen. Him and the deputies shoot up there all the time.”

“And the soldiers?” Jonathan pressed. “Do they shoot up there, too?”

“I imagine. Why else have a range?”

“What are they arming up against?”

“I have no idea. Maybe just to keep people out. I’ve never heard them make any threats or anything. Plus, they’ve got those government contracts, so they can’t be but so far out there.”

Jonathan raised a hand to seek clarification. “Appalachian Acoustics has the contracts, right? Not the Army of God.”

Stacy nodded. “Right. Not that there’s a lot of difference. Most of the employees-maybe all of them-are members of the Army and they live on the campgrounds. It’s like the old days when the mines provided housing and the company store.”

Jonathan remembered Sam Shockley mentioning that she had recently been laid off from the factory. “Has the Army of God always run the factory?”

“They’ve always been involved, as far as I know, but not like they are now. Lots of folks in this area lost their jobs when Copley decided to bring everything in-house.”

“Is the factory on the compound?” Boxers asked.

“Might as well be. There might be a fence or a road or something separating them, but for all intents and purposes they’re on the same property.”

“Have you ever been up there?” Gail asked.

“Good heavens, no. That is one secure place. More fences, more guns. I think it has to do with their government contracts.”