Glen Tate - 299 Days - The 17th Irregulars

“Lt. Bennington is here and would like to talk to Rich,” Dan said. That was scary.

“What does he want?” Rich asked.

“Says he needs to talk to you,” Dan said. “You’re not under arrest, or anything.” Dan paused and then said, “Which is good, because my guards would shoot him in about half a second if he tried that. He’s alone, so there’s no way they’re trying to pick you up by force.”

Rich was scared. Why did Bennington want to talk to him? He doubted Bennington had good news. Well, Rich thought to himself, you’re one of the leaders out here. Maybe the leader. With that comes the responsibility of answering for the community.

“I’ll be right down,” Rich said. He asked one of the Grange ladies to get him a breakfast to go. “Last meal,” he chuckled to himself.

Rich took his breakfast to go—a paper towel with a ton of cornbread and a paper cup of “sweet milk,” a milk and sugar concoction the Grange ladies invented, which was a valiant attempt at a milkshake without any ice cream—and got into his truck and headed toward the gate.

The nostalgic songs on the radio couldn’t take his mind off of wondering why Bennington wanted to talk to him. He wondered if somehow they knew about Ted.

Rich pulled up to the gate and saw an unusual sight: a police car on the bridge. He got out and found the garbage can to throw out the paper towel and paper cup. Maybe they should save paper cups, he thought, but he didn’t want the guards to think anything was wrong with Bennington’s arrival, so he tried to act as normal as possible. And that meant throwing things away.

Dan came up to Rich and said, “Curious as hell what he wants.” He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “You don’t suppose he knows about the Ted project, do you?”

Rich shook his head. “Unlikely, but we’ll see. Anything I need to know? Anything Bennington will ask me that I need to have a standardized answer for?”

Dan shook his head.

“OK, then,” Rich said, “I have a guest to meet.” Rich was acting calmly so the guards would think everything was OK.

He walked up to Bennington, who was sitting in his car, and motioned for him to get out and walk across the bridge. Dan motioned for the guards not to shoot. Dan gave a command to the dogs not to attack.

Bennington got out and came across the bridge slowly so he could look at everything and give a report to Winters on Pierce Point’s defenses. He was trying hard not to have his jaw drop at how great the guard system was out there. There were at least two dozen well organized guards with plenty of weapons, including a fair number of ARs, AKs, mini-14s, and tactical shotguns. The dogs. Bennington’s eyes were glued on the dogs. What an effective tool those were. The metal gate was impressive, too.

The Blue Ribbon Boys back in Frederickson didn’t have any of that. All they had was some guys with hunting rifles who goofed off more than they guarded. Pierce Point was squared away. That’s what happens, Bennington thought, when people are protecting their families and homes instead of protecting corrupt politicians and gangs. Motivation is everything.

“Hey, Rich, good morning,” Bennington said.

“Mornin’ John.”

“You’re not under arrest, or anything,” Bennington said, putting his hands out to his sides away from his pistol.

“You’re not dead, so I know I’m not under arrest,” Rich said with a smile. Might as well have some fun with him, and convey a message of “don’t mess with us.”

Bennington laughed. “Hey, can we talk in the car?”

“Sure,” Rich said, knowing that if Bennington tried to drive off with him, the snipers on the hill and Sniper Mike outside the gate would riddle the car with holes. Rich would die, but so would Bennington. Bennington knew this, too, and therefore wouldn’t try to take Rich in.

But, just to be sure, Rich waited until Bennington was looking at him and then raised his hand and flashed the number four with his fingers, which was a pre-determined signal to Dan and the guards. Bennington assumed this was an elaborate signal of some kind that conveyed a tactical plan, like “Shoot the car if it leaves without me giving another hand gesture.” That was the effect it was supposed to have, but in reality, the hand signal was meaningless. It was the fake signal they used to mislead people into thinking they had a very elaborate series of hand gestures worked out.

Rich and Bennington walked back to the police car. Bennington opened the passenger door for Rich as a gesture of respect. Rich nodded and got in.

“So, John,” Rich said once they were both in the police car, “What brings you to Pierce Point?” Might as well get down to business.

“Commissioner Winters would like to talk to you,” Bennington said.

That’s what Rich was afraid of. He tried to act calmly. “About what?” “About this,” Bennington said, handing Rich the fax with the picture of the hanging in the Pierce Point Patriot .

“Oh, that,” Rich said nonchalantly, even though fear shot through him. He realized they had a spy in Pierce Point. An active spy who was trying to get them killed. He knew who it probably was and knew what needed to be done. He’d deal with that later.

“Yeah,” Rich said with a shrug, “we tried calling 911, but no one answered.” Rich looked at Bennington as if to say, “Duh.” Rich pointed off in the general direction of the Richardson house and said, “We had a little felony murder and child rape thing we had to handle.” Rich looked Bennington right in the eyes, “You understand.”

“I sure do,” Bennington said. “Frankie Richardson and what’s her name, the article says. We knew them downtown, before all of this. Not surprised.”

“So why does Winters care about this?” Rich said, looking at the word “Patriot” on the fax and knowing exactly what the answer was.

“This,” Bennington said, pointing to that exact word. “‘Patriot’ is a word we don’t like. Olympia got this fax, too, and is bitchin’ to Winters to do something about Pierce Point.”

Rich was scared. Really scared. Adrenaline-rushing scared. He was struggling to control his appearance and not convey how terrified he was.

His mind racing a mile a minute, Rich casually said, “The guy who does the paper is a big New England football fan.” He looked at Bennington and forced a smile, “You know, the New England Patriots.”

Bennington rolled his eyes. “That’s all you got?”

Rich pretended to not understand what Bennington meant.

“Winters would like to meet with you,” Bennington continued. “He said ‘Rich has a good head on his shoulders.’ He wants you to tell him that you’re not into this ‘Patriot’ shit.” Bennington looked Rich in the eyes and said, “He wants to make a deal with you so he can get Olympia off his ass.”

What a relief. Probably.

“What kind of deal?” Rich asked.

“Pledge your loyalty, all that shit,” Bennington said. Rich could tell that Bennington was not exactly a devoted government employee. Bennington knew how corrupt his boss was.

“No problem with that,” Rich said, knowing he could lie to Winters, and Winters couldn’t do anything about it. It was significant that Winters had sent Bennington alone. If Winters had the ability, he would have sent a force to bust through the gate and arrest the people responsible for two “murders” by hanging. Rich was getting solid evidence of how weak Winters really was.

“How about breakfast at the courthouse?” Bennington asked.

“How do I know you won’t be taking me for a longer stay than just breakfast?” Rich asked.

“Fair question,” Bennington said. “Well, it’s pretty simple. If we piss you guys off, we’ll be visited by your fifty Marines and the contractors you have.” Rich thought Bennington actually believed that. Good.