Читать книгу When Dead Shadows Live - Don Boshard - Страница 4

The outside world is like a broadcast tower, anything that could be found out. Unbelievably happened in the bowels of the dam had gotten out. He had not left his confines inside the dam and news spread like a grass fire across the plains. Soon Braydon’s exploits were headlined all over the national and local news, praising the extraordinary heroics of the young man who did not qualify for the Rangers or the Seals but had thwarted the efforts of radical Islamic from destroying the Hoover Dam. The guards had let the other visitors out so there was no doubt about the leak and it was too late to plug the hole in the dike and who else but the enlistment personnel from one of the services would know about his embarrassment of rejection. The question was, how could the reporters have tracked him to the recruiting office so fast.

The only explanation of any of this was that one of the members of the tour group had text someone or called the news as soon as they left the elevator and past the throng of bloodletting press. A 911 call could accomplish the same, since they had no idea of what or who was taped into the cell phone towers and could be monitored from anywhere. That could explain the explosion of action at the dam. Fire and wind are a volatile combination but send a text and the world knows almost immediately. It had been a flash of time to him but soon everyone would recognize him. Just what the reclusive young man wanted, fame without fortune. It seemed to be his calling in life. Nothing went as he thought it should.

When the next news cast spilled on to the air the details of his life were given. His home, his family and what he did at the metropolis of Beaver Dam. How in the world they gathered all this information was beyond understanding; they must have had scroungers who dug in the annals of history to get all these facts or, guessed the facts.

The big man came back, “are you ready to leave this sweet place?”

“Am I ready to leave, I wish I never came.”

“You need to be ready for a crush of reporters.”

“Reporters, why?”

“You are all of a sudden famous and it’s not what we wanted.”

By the time the big man escorted him calmly from the depths of the concrete world he was facing buzzards of the press with hundreds of microphones and cameras crushing around him, slamming questions from every direction. It was a cacophony of noise and lunacy.

The big man and two other escorts pushed their way through the attacking press and into a waiting black SUV, there were two others in the vehicle, one in the back and one driver, ready to go, one of the escorts jumped into the front seat while the other tried to fend of the piranha surging about the SUV. Braydon had seen these things in movies and on television but he had never imagined being part of a spectacle like this, but such actions did not always bode well for the hero’s in the show.

He was feeling rather giddy with all the excitement spilling over him, after all the Rangers and Seals rejected him, now he had become a hero and saved his country from terrorists, someone would surely want him now. He knew they would be clamoring to get him to sign up. What greater honor could there be than to serve your country and to do it the way that you wanted. The black express spirited him off. He had no idea where he was headed.

“Wait a minute, what about George? I left him in the parking lot.”

“That has been taken care of.” The big man said flatly.

“I want to make certain George is taken care of. It’s not pretty but we have been together quite a while.”

“George?” he questioned him.

“Yes, that’s what I named it after George Washington. Don’t ask me how I related the two. So, where is George?”

“Don’t worry about it, everything is taken care of.” That’s all there was to that.

Aggressive reports tried to pry microphones into the window, forcing the guards to take ape like responses, shoving the cameras and microphones back into the faces of the reporters. It was unbelievable that they would run alongside the SVU until Braydon disappeared from the raptors and was swallowed up by the black windows of the SUV. The press was not satisfied with how their hero had left them, they wanted more. Braydon did not reappear for the trailing press and swiftly disappeared off the grid. There were unhappy reporters. They had no idea who had stolen their lead story.

The hungry reporters went out of their way to give every detailed account of what happened to the papers. Radio and television reports were launching a man hunt to find Braydon. They reported, as best they could, about the events and about Braydon. The information reached the terrorist group and inflamed their fears and hatred that rang through the clan. This should never have happened and was quite unexpected especially as well thought-out as the plan had been. They had thoroughly plotted and laid out everything perfectly until this, would be hero, messed it up. Now two of their members were being retained by cowardly government dogs! The grinding in the leaders gut was whether or not the captive’s associates would talk and reveal the entire plans to bring the government to its knees.

“Do you think they’ll talk?” he asked the man at the table with him.

“No. They would never give in to the government pigs.”

The hostility and desire for blood only enhanced their feelings to retaliate.

The leader wasn’t quite so optimistic of the strength of the detainees; he knew his people and they were tried and true. He felt that it would be hard to break them but not impossible. Throw the threat of terrorist treatment at them and it might happen.

He now had to prepare for eventualities. First they must let the people of America understand the plight they were in and that his group was the guardians of God giving them his support in this time of need. They also had strong financial backers from Europe which would heal America’s wounds. Anyone or thing that interfered with the ultimate goals would pay the devil’s price for their attempts. “Freedom is not free,” he muttered to himself.

“What did you say Sir?”

“Nothing: just thinking out loud about our next step.”

“Mr. Delany has to learn and learn fast, as does the rest of the world, a terrible lesson from God himself to remind those who oppose his will there is a penalty. After all, this was similar to a holy war, a jihad of you would; some innocent lives would be forfeited for the good of many. The cause would not collapse for any trivial thing like human life.” He was on his box preaching again. He loved to incite the troops.

As shadows of the mountains crept across the valley of northern Arizona, concealing the moon behind the peaks, two figures belly crawled across the grimy desert toward a single house about 200 meters from the closest neighbor. There was no doubt about their military training, they were invisible to everything but the keen eyes of the owls and hawks that swirl above craning their necks to see what was going on.

The silence was deafening as the soldiers of God closed in on the house. The back packs they carried, rubbed against the sagebrush, and whispered past the attachment on their backs into the night wind.

After hours of silence the desert exploded into volcanic eruptions spewing spears of debit slicing through the air while flames lite the night as the two men evaporated in the desert, while debris was crashing into the desert, not obliged to warn of the direction it penetrated.

Soon the desert was alive with people rushing to see the inferno and wondering what had happened. A few sprinted forward, in vain, to see if they could rescue their friends and neighbors. There was nothing left to rescue, only pieces of wood and flesh, mangled together in an unrecognizable heap with fires flaming all around.

The Highway Patrol was there in minutes roping off the area with yellow crime scene tape. It took all they had because of the range of the debris. There was nothing to do now but to wait for the light of the sun and keep gawkers away. Interpreting the scene and looking for clues would be the job of professionals which they had sent for Las Vegas.

Daylight brought sorrow and pain for the little town. Nothing like this had ever happened in their memory and it would last in their hearts and minds forever. They had lost Mr. and Mrs. Delaney and their son Braydon. His thing was unrecognizable but had a rudimentary shape and was parked in the area of the house in which it was usually parked. The loss was almost too much for them they had been friends for so many years. People died on I-15 all the time in car accidents but they were strangers, these were neighbors and friends and they had known most of their lives and now they had evaporated in an unexplainable eruption fire of which they had no idea what happened; there was nothing left of them or their house. There was nothing to remember them by, only thoughts.

As the sun crept over the easterly mountains Highway Patrol from Utah and Nevada had shown up to support those already on the scene and began sifting the debris for clues. They did not touch anything that could be related to the explosion only things they could mark, photograph, and leave alone. They had also requested Las Vegas CSI for support along with arson investigators. By dawns light there was a herd of people craning their necks and taking pictures, wondering about what happened but more interested in the destruction and less in the lives lost.

It took a couple of hours for the Las Vegas CSI and Bomb squad to arrive. They didn’t come alone; they had six detectives and three members of the Las Vegas arson squad. That wouldn’t have been half bad, but in their wake a horde of reporters followed, buzzards on the loose looking for carrion.

The CSI and Arson squad took right over. “Sheriff we need to keep all the people back, we don’t want the crime scene contaminated. Your men haven’t touched anything have they?”

“No Sir, we just put number tags on what we could find and took some photos.”

“Thank you sheriff, you’ve done the right things. If it’s ok with you, we’ll take over now.” The detective offered.

“That’s why we called you. We are at your disposal.”

As the investigation preceded and they fought to keep the crowds away, traces of explosive material were found. There was enough residue from the material to determine it was C-4 in a large quantity and professionally prepared and placed. This was not an amateurish job. The only indication that anyone had been there was the smooth lines of two people who belly crawled for about two hundred yards, to the edge of what had been the foundation of the house. Then there were hand and knee prints that ran around the house and then back the same direction the snakes had slithered in from. The explosives had been placed in such a way as to insure complete destruction.

A detective from Las Vegas followed the tracks as they went from crawling to running and then until they disappeared in the rocks. He could still decipher foggy prints as they made it the next fifty yards to the road. There was no indication of direction after that. They could have taken Old Highway 91 back to I-15 or followed it over the pass ending up in St. George Utah, with a lot of options along the way. It was a blind trail.

“It looks like they left their vehicle here and ran back to it. There is no indication which way they went only the death they left in the wake.” He radioed the other detectives. “There is nothing to indicate what the vehicle was, not even tire tracks.”

All of this happened while Braydon was being held, not really being held but as a guest of whomever it was that had spirited him off to this uncertain location. It was not a prison or even a jail. He was utterly confused. The bed in the corner, more like a cot, did nothing to exit his confusion. No one had entered his room since being ensconced there and he had been left alone for a few hours. He knew nothing of events in Littlefield.

King Kong pushed through the door and sat beside Braydon. “I haven’t had time to give you a history of what is happening and what and who we are. First, I have to deliver” the big man hesitated; his eyes drooped to the floor. He was having a hard time facing Braydon. “Son, I don’t know how to approach this but head on. “Apparently the terrorists were able to track you to your home town. The damn press did you no favors when they dug into your history and published the information. It was a road map to your family in Littlefield.” Again he hesitated now looking Braydon in the eyes like an angel’s delivering bad news and expressing sympathy and love to a dying person. “I am truly sorry, they are both dead.” The air of pure non-believability was stronger than his fears. He couldn’t react.

“How could this happen?”

“This is a professional group and they wanted to make an example of you. Your parents felt nothing. The terrorists planted a large amount of C-4 under the house. It was over quickly.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better. How could let this happen, you should have known that there would be a retaliation attempt. You could have prevented it.” He yelled at the big man.

“We didn’t have time to get our people there. The news had the location of your home were laid out in the first broadcast. Don’t ask me how they get all this information so fast, even the FBI doesn’t work that fast. Again, I am extremely saddened by your losses.”

That was of little consolation to Braydon and the big man’s doleful eyes strained him more. If he had his druthers; he would go into the desert and live with his friends the animals and die there and no one would have to worry about him again. He would be a shadow in the sand.

“I know you have a lot on you plate but we need to get a few things straightened out. First, what should I call you?”

That brought him around, he was confused and why did it matter what they called him. “Why does that matter?” My family is dead and I’m in jail.”

“You’re not in jail just protective custody until we figure this out. Why it matters is that I would like to call you something besides ‘hey you’”.

“My given name is Braydon but I don’t really like that, so many people made fun of me. So I just go by Butch! I need you to tell me how this could have happened and why?” he went on again.

“You know the how; the reporters gave every bit of your back ground to papers, radio and television. Your whole history was laid out for public perusal, which of course was the map for the terrorist. As to why, they wanted to let everyone know they would retaliate if anyone got in their way, simple as that. Butch I want to let you know we will leave no stone unturned until we find out who did this. We aren’t certain at this time who it was but we’ll find them. The FBI is on the scene along with some of our people, combing the area for clues. As of right now all we know is two people placed explosives around the house. Again, your folks did not know what hit them. The explosion was so violent it shook the whole area. It left nothing.” He stood up to leave Braydon to absorb the deadly information and as he closed the door he said. “I am so sorry for your loss; I’ll leave you for a few minutes. Again, I am sorry for your loss.” The repetition was becoming annoying and he wanted to hit someone, just anyone.

The silence seeped in like a sea fog, holding tightly to Braydon’s feelings. He had never let a tear creep into his eyes or his thoughts. Even when his beloved mutt had passed away and his mother had cried for days, he never let go. He took the dog and buried her in the desert where God and the spirits of the desert would watch over her, and then he pronounced a little prayer for his beloved friend. Braydon wasn’t a church going man but he loved and believed in God who he felt was with him every hour of every day.

Now the pain in his heart was ready to explode. His parents had been everything to him and now they were gone and it was his fault, the sins of the son fell on the parent’s heads. The lead ball in his stomach was crushing him. He wanted to be spirited away with them, but even God did not seem to recognize him in this deep abyss of pain. He wanted to cry but he was not going to give into the pains of this life and let anything control him, not even his emotions. He wanted to find the Thing and run home to where he had lived and his parents had died. There in the quiet of the hills he might be able to relieve this terrible ache.

Then again he didn’t know where he was. The frustrations of the unknown were pressing against his thoughts and confusing his feelings.

An hour later the door slid open and the big man appeared as if an apparition. Setting across from Braydon he reached out his hand “My name’s Jacob and I have a lot of explaining to do. First of all, the news reported that you died in the explosion with your parents and the investigators on-site found a few body parts of which making identification was impossible. Second, if you reveal yourself there is a very distinct possibility that the terrorists will come after you, since you were the one that got their people captured. They don’t really like people who do that.”

“I am not afraid of those people. No one is going to keep me away from my home and seeing to the burial of my parents. Besides that I want them to try. I would take great pleasure in helping them exit this life.”

“I admire your spunk. Two more things you should know. One, your parents and you have had a funeral and what could be found was placed in one casket and buried by your home. Second, because of the sensitive nature of what happened, you are under protective custody and can’t leave, even if you want to.”

Stunned disbelief clouded Braydon’s thoughts. How could they force him to stay when he wanted to be home and finalize his past? “What if I won’t stay? No one can keep me here, even you.”

The big man’s eyes flashed a glint of humor and feelings of understanding but also realizing the danger Braydon would be in if he left. He had no choice. “I’m afraid the die is cast. You will be hiding for the rest of your life. My heart goes out to you, but this is a matter of national security and you have no choice.”

Braydon stood up ready to take on Jacob but the man had him by sixty lbs. and was a good three inches taller. Bald and black as dark with muscles the God’s would envy, he just stood up and looked Braydon in the eyes. It would have been worth the try for Braydon but he was too confused to make a decision about his next step.

“How could my actions have anything to do with national security? I stopped a terrorist attack, so what. I should be a hero not a prisoner. What kind of freedom was this?” he yelled at the big man.

Silence clung to the room as both men tried to anticipate the next move. “Braydon I know that you are confused and lost and I will give you all the information you need. But, that has to wait until I cover the dust storm that is whirling around you. Until then you will be free to wander around the facility. You will be our guest even if you don’t feel like a guest, and you will be treated as a hero.”

“A quick question, why would anyone think I’m dead?”

“We took your Thing home for you and the driver reported in that your mother insisted he stay for dinner; I am certain dinner wasn’t over when the bomb went off, thus, the combination of body parts. We lost a good man and there was enough left of the Thing to indicate that you had been in the house at the time of the explosion.”

Braydon whispers to himself, “You lost a man; I lost my Mother and Father. If this is how a hero is honored, what would it be like if I was a terrorist, to me it feels the same.”