Дэвид Балдаччи - Mercy

Only three federal agents lay dead, a product of their superior training, weaponry, and body armor, and the Faithful’s inability to shoot straight. Buckley had always assumed that his father had killed all three. He was an excellent shot. Buckley had always felt shame that he had failed to kill a single one of them.

The Faithful had either been arrested or, in the case of the mothers and their children, dispersed around the country to begin new lives without the faith. Buckley and his siblings had been placed with family members who had never subscribed to the doctrine of their parents. The time with his parents had been the best of Buckley’s life. The time right after, the worst. When he had turned eighteen, Buckley had worked hard to scrape together enough money to bring his siblings to live with him. He had leased a house not too distant from here, and Buckley took it upon himself to raise them in a way that was reflective of their parents’ beliefs. But, to no avail. The moment his sisters had turned eighteen, they had fled, never to be seen again. His brothers had grown up to be petty and unsuccessful criminals, slaves to the booze and the drugs and the women who exploited them.

And then only Buckley had been left. Freed of his familial obligations, he had set out building his personal empire. He had done it with a single-minded focus that allowed him to outsmart even those smarter than himself because he simply wanted it more. He outworked everyone because he knew what it was like to lose everything. And that fear burned through him every minute of every day and powered him like a nuclear core did an aircraft carrier.

And now he was here. For something truly monumental. This had gone far beyond merely avenging his sad sack brother’s death. This was taking on the federal government and finally holding them to account for destroying his family .

An eye for an eye was a remnant of a savage culture, though it was espoused in pretty much every book of religion there was. But it fit his situation perfectly. What he would accomplish here would not change the world, he knew. But it would make the unjust death of his father and his way of life feel suitably avenged.

Buckley was dressed in jeans, a sweater, a tan hunter’s jacket, and Wellington boots, for the ground was muddy after recent rains. He walked the perimeter of the new fencing, nodding to the guards in the tower who were armed with AR-15s and watched the land out to the horizon for threats. The place was not thriving with hundreds of people as it had in the past. Other than himself and some select associates, the only other people here were Britt Spector and one other person. Perhaps, for his plan to work, the most critical person of all.

Buckley opened the door to one building that had a sign out front reading, simply, JAIL. Even among the Faithful you had those who needed to be punished, and this was where they had performed their penance. His father had been a stickler on that. Rule violators needed to be made examples of. That was one reason Buckley had rebuilt it, as just a symbol. However, he had never expected to actually use it.

But now, this building housed Carol Blum.

She sat on a small, hard bed behind a set of steel bars. Her clothes had been replaced with old-fashioned black-and-white-striped prison scrubs that Buckley had bought and used to stock the jail. Back then his father had favored the striped prisoner uniforms. Wrongdoers needed to stand out and be made to look foolish. Zebra stripes fit the bill nicely.

She looked up at his approach. He could tell she was trying to put on a brave face, but right behind that façade was stark fear. Buckley would be afraid, too. It was just in the nature of human beings facing the end of their lives to be fearful.

He stood on the other side of the bars and looked at her. She didn’t have a blindfold on. There was no need of one.

“Are you being well taken care of?” he asked.

“Are you serious?” she asked. “Or did you just come here to play mind games with me? If so, I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“I’m sorry if my query offended you. And I believe you’re right. It was, under the circumstances, callous.” He sat down in a chair and crossed one leg over another. “So let’s get down to it. Tell me about the Pine sisters.”

“Why?”

“They’re fascinating. I’m curious.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what they’re like.”

“I just met Mercy,” said Blum.

“Still, whatever you can contribute.”

“I will tell you nothing that will cause harm to them.”

“Not my point. But to show you I’m doing this in good faith, let me tell you about my family. Ken was my youngest brother. I was the oldest. I also have two sisters. My other brothers were also failures in life. They’re all dead or in prison.”

“And your sisters?”

“They left the family long ago,” Buckley replied.

“I’ve always found that women have far better judgment in certain matters than men.”

Buckley smiled, but there wasn’t much behind it. He was here to get useful information, but there were limits to what he would accept from anyone. He felt a tremor in his right hand and was somewhat surprised to see it curling in anger. But there had been a lot of anger in this place. Maybe just his being here was allowing it to percolate to the surface, supplanting what was normally his controlled and placid manner. He had truly been an angry child on that horrific night. He had worked for years to subdue those demons. He thought he had; now Buckley was not so certain.

He cleared his throat and said, “Ken had a girlfriend. He was terrible to her. A true monster. Despite my best efforts, he really never became civilized in any appreciable way. Then he ran into Mercy Pine, for let’s call the woman by her proper name. They fought. Ken eventually pulled a gun. And she, deservedly, beat him up. Later, in the hospital, he died of the injuries she inflicted on him. She probably has no idea he’s even dead.”

“So this is simply about avenging your brother? Even though, as you said, he deserved it?”

“There is nothing simple about revenge, particularly for a family member. But while it might have started out that way, it has grown into something more... symbolic.” He looked around. “Do you know where we are?”

“We were on a jet. We landed. I was led here. There wasn’t much opportunity for me to see anything.”

“This compound used to belong to my parents. Peter and Deborah Buckley. Are the names familiar to you?”

Blum’s eyes narrowed and understanding spread over her features. “It was over thirty years ago. Your parents headed up a group of religious zealots. But they were also involved in drugs and selling weapons. And other things. The feds came here. There was a violent confrontation. Your father was almost killed.”

“And my ‘angelic’ mother testified against him, and then abandoned her children. My father was later murdered in prison. By the way, what ‘other things’ are you referring to?”

She looked him over. “You had to be merely a child back then.”

“I was twelve.”

“Well, then, perhaps you didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

Blum hesitated. “It’s not important.”

“No, it is important if it’s about my family.”

“The FBI had a hand in the arrests and prosecutions, that’s why I remember it. I was assigned out west at the time, not too far from where this compound is located. I even assisted in some aspects of the case. It was all hands on deck because of the complexity. That’s why I remember it so well. It was a top priority for several federal agencies, including the Bureau.”