William Krueger - Northwest Angle

Anne asked, “Did you ever study the Inquisition, Seth?”

“Not all of them could do that kind of thing,” Sarah said. “I don’t believe Josh could. He doesn’t have the guts. But Abigail does.”

“Why do you say that?” Cork asked.

“Because she’s just like the Reverend. Obsessed. She absolutely believes everything they stand for. End Times and Satan’s armies and that anything done in the name of the Second Coming is justified. If you’re not one of them, you’re on the side of Satan. Black and white. Good and evil. Right and wrong. She can’t see it any other way. Even Gabriel’s not so bad. He delivers the fiery sermons these days, but she’s the power behind the church. Whatever was done to Lily, if Abigail didn’t do it herself, she was there making sure it was done right. She’s pure hate in human form.”

Cork looked to Bascombe. “You said they’re on their way here?”

Bascombe shrugged. “I radioed them from Kretsch’s boat.”

“It’s me they want,” Smalldog said. “I’ll be happy to greet ’em.”

“They’re coming prepared for all-out war,” Bascombe said. “God’s on their side. They won’t stop with killing just you. They’ll kill everybody here. There’s more to this than you know.”

“What do you mean?” Cork said.

“If I tell you everything, will you let me go?”

“Go where?” Cork said. “We have enough to hang you no matter where you go.”

“Let me take him out back,” Smalldog said. “In five minutes, he’ll tell me everything he knows, I guarantee it.”

“No!” Rose and Anne spoke together.

“Tell you what,” Cork said. “Give us everything you’ve got, and we’ll speak on your behalf to the authorities when this is over.”

“Gee, thanks,” Bascombe said.

“Or, maybe I will let Smalldog here take you out back. Or better yet, I’ll just put you out in front of us as a human shield when those Seven Trumpets folks arrive. I’ll give you odds they won’t hesitate a minute to cut you down to get to us.”

Bascombe thought it over quickly. “Is that a promise, that you’ll speak up for me if we get out of this alive?”

“I give you my word,” Cork replied solemnly.

“Okay. They got huge debts because of all those projects on Stump Island. The Citadel,” Bascombe said derisively. “They need the money from the bud Smalldog stole. But they know that, even if they have him in their hands, he won’t give them a thing. So Abigail wants the baby. She’ll be willing to skin that child alive if that’s what it takes to get Smalldog to talk.”

“She’ll never find him,” Rose said.

Bascombe swung his gaze to her, and everyone in the room could see the dismal truth even before he said a word.

“You told them,” Cork said. “You told them about Meloux.”

“That doesn’t matter, does it?” Anne threw in. “They don’t have the slightest idea how to get to Henry’s cabin. And nobody on the rez is going to tell them.”

Bascombe took a deep breath, the kind Cork had sometimes heard coming from the confessional in St. Agnes while he waited his turn.

“The ice chest I filled with bedding?” Bascombe finally said. “I cut a little chamber in the bottom and put in a long-range GPS tracker. Wherever that ice chest goes, they’ll follow. It’ll lead them right to the kid.”

For a long moment, it was as if they’d all become stone. No one spoke or moved or even breathed. Then Cork said, “How many?”

“Abigail and her two sons headed out in their boat last night.”

“The fast boat?” Cork asked.

“Yeah. You thought it was Smalldog. Christ, you think his is the only cigarette boat on this lake?”

Cork realized he’d been so narrowly focused on Smalldog that he’d never considered another possibility. He kicked himself for it, but what was done was done.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

“Two more took a boat to the Angle and drove to the south end of the big water to meet them.”

“Five,” Cork said. “Heavily armed, I’m sure.”

“You got that right,” Bascombe said.

“We have to get word to them,” Kretsch said. “Was that true, Seth, what you told us about your phone line being cut?”

Bascombe nodded.

“Use the radio on your boat to contact the mainland,” Cork suggested.

Kretsch gave Bascombe a killing look. “After he radioed Seven Trumpets, he smashed the unit.”

“Then we use the one on Seth’s boat.”

Bascombe shook his head. “I took the battery out of my boat this afternoon. Didn’t want anyone leaving the island. The Seven Trumpets people’ll be here before we get it back in and hooked up.”

“Then we have to get to the Angle,” Cork said.

“No time,” Bascombe said. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Kretsch said, “With the men and firepower they’ll bring, we won’t stand a chance. Maybe we could make it over to the Angle Inn Lodge.”

“That’s a good half mile away. And even if we made it there, these Seven Trumpets people are willing to kill all of us,” Cork said. “Do you think they’d hesitate to mow down your neighbors, too?”

“Overturf,” Smalldog said.

Cork shot him a questioning look.

“Jim Overturf,” Kretsch said, and it was clear he understood.

“Who’s this Overturf?”

“A mixed blood. Lives on Windigo Island,” Smalldog replied. “He has a floatplane he uses to take fishermen to remote sites. If you can get to him, he can fly you off the lake.”

“Heck, he could fly you all the way to this Henry Meloux you talk about,” Kretsch said.

“Okay,” Smalldog said. “This is how it goes. You all head out the back way and across the island and take the deputy’s boat. They won’t be looking for you there.”

“What about you?” Anne said.

“I’ll give the Seven Trumpets people plenty to think about here, keep them occupied while you make it to Windigo.”

“We can’t just leave you,” Rose said.

“I’m not staying alone,” Smalldog told her. He looked toward Bascombe. “This son of a bitch is staying with me.”

“Wait a minute,” Bascombe objected. “What do you need me for?”

“You’re going to go out on your dock and greet your Seven Trumpets friends and do whatever song and dance you can to delay them while these folks make it to the deputy’s boat.”

“Yeah, says who?”

Smalldog held out his hands to Cork. “Take these cuffs off me.”

Cork drew the key from his pocket and freed the Shinnob.

“Give me your rifle.”

Cork hesitated.

“You have to decide who’s on your side,” Smalldog told him. “And you don’t have much time.”

“Give it to him, Cork,” Rose said. “I believe him.”

“She’s right,” Mal said.

Cork handed the Marlin to Smalldog, who took the weapon and leveled the barrel at Bascombe. “Want to argue with me now?”

“Christ, they’ll shoot me down like a dog,” Bascombe said.

“Maybe they will and maybe they won’t. You’re pretty good at putting yourself in the middle of things. Let’s see how good you are at getting yourself out.”

“I’m staying, too,” Tom Kretsch said.

Smalldog shook his head. “Overturf knows you. You’ve got to convince him to help these folks.”

“They can go to Amos Powassin. He’ll help them.”

“I’m not leaving you men here,” Cork said. He hated the thought of deserting them. He was pretty sure that, if they stayed behind, there wasn’t much hope they’d come out of their encounter with Seven Trumpets in one piece.

“Go,” the deputy ordered, with all the authority of the law. “There’s no time to argue.”

“I can’t just run out on you,” Cork insisted.