Tip of the Spear Pt. 05

"Like I said, an explanation," Ryan said. Thomas laughed.

"What, you think we can raise people from the dead or something?" Thomas asked.

"With all the crap I've seen and heard these last few weeks, nothing would surprise me," Ryan said. "Those three aren't going to cause me any trouble in the future, are they?" Thomas laughed again.

"Careful now, Sheriff. You're starting to get into some serious Alex Jones territory here," Thomas said.

"Answer my question, Thomas," Ryan said.

"The answer is no, Ryan. They're dead. D-E-A-D. As a doornail," Thomas said. "They'll never trouble you again."

"You'd better not be yanking my chain, Thomas," Ryan said.

"Not a problem, Sheriff," Thomas said. "By the way, it was a distinct pleasure working with you. Maybe our paths will cross again. Look, I have to get going. Talk to ya later. Bye." With that, the connection ended. Ryan looked at the phone, then shook his head and got into his truck.

...

Thomas put his phone back into his pocket and looked at the technician who just finished what he was doing.

"You about ready with that? We're almost out of time," he told the tech.

"Yup, ready. All I have to do is inject this into their IV," the tech said.

"Get to it, then," Thomas said. He watched as the tech injected a needle into the plastic tubing. The tech repeated the procedure for the two others. After a few minutes, the tech checked the three bodies with his stethoscope and got their blood pressure.

"Pulse is rising. Blood pressure increasing," the tech said. One by one, the three people in the body bags started coughing. Thomas and the tech helped them sit up and gave them something to drink.

"Not too fast, now," the tech said. Thomas sat back down and looked at the three confused convicts in front of him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he told them. Trudy, Ginger and Jeremy looked at each other, wondering what just happened. "Just so you know, you've been given a little reprieve from your death sentence."

"What?" Trudy asked.

"Yes, the three of you are officially dead," Thomas said. "We even have signed and notarized death certificates."

"Then, what are we doing here?" Ginger asked.

"Simple. Remember I once told you if you cooperated, there was a slight chance you would live?"

"Yeah, I remember that," Ginger said.

"Well, because you cooperated with us, here's your chance. Make it a count," Thomas said.

"You're letting us go free?" Jeremy asked. Thomas laughed.

"Not hardly," Thomas said. "Like I said, you've been given a reprieve, not a pardon. As long as you cooperate with us without hesitation, you'll live. Maybe you'll even live long enough to collect Social Security. By the way, we've given you new identities. You'll also be housed and well-cared for. That is, so long as you cooperate. If you fuck up, though, even a tiny bit, the reprieve is off and your death sentence becomes permanent. Get my drift?"

"Yeah, we got it," Ginger said.

"So, here are your new identities," Thomas said, handing them each a small packet. "Trudy, you are now Denise Hall. Ginger and Jeremy, you are now Rhonda and Mark Bradshaw. And no, you're not brother and sister anymore."

"Then what are we?" Jeremy asked.

"The people I work for say the two of you are married," Thomas said. They looked at each other, shocked. "Congratulations. I even have rings for you. Don't get me wrong. We don't condone your lifestyle. But we're not stupid, either. Follow the rules, and you'll do just fine. That's for your safety and security."

"Um, could you do us a little favor, though? Please?" Ginger asked. "It's not for us. It's for our father."

"What's that?" Thomas asked. He listened as Ginger explained what she wanted to do. He mulled it over for a few moments before responding.

"Well, that's highly irregular, but I'll talk to my superiors and see what we can do, okay?"

"Thank you," Ginger said. "That would mean so much to us."

...

Half a world away, Allison fired up her secure video message application. Soon, Victoria's blurred face appeared on the screen.

"It's done," Allison said. "They're dead."

"Good," Victoria said. "Now, it's time to get back to work."

"Yes, Mistress," Allison said. Victoria smiled as she cut off the connection. Just wait, Allison thought. Your time will come.

...

8:00 am, Friday, November 12, 2021

"Sheriff, there's a Regis Carlisle from Washington in your office," Elaine Bledsoe said as Ryan walked in. "Says he's with the DIA."

"Thank you, Elaine," Ryan said. He walked to his office wondering what the DIA would want with him. He walked in his office and saw a man with an eye patch and a scarred, clean shaven face that reminded him a bit of that actor who played Moses.

"You must be Carlisle," Ryan said as he walked in. "Sheriff Ryan Caldwell," he added as he extended a hand.

"Yes. Regis Carlisle. Director, Alpha Sector. Comes under the auspices of the DIA," Regis said, holding out a set of credentials. Ryan looked them over and handed them back.

Alpha Sector. Homefront Security Task Force," Ryan said, shaking his head. "Who comes up with all these names?" Regis laughed.

"Probably another agency that gets far too much taxpayer money," Regis said with a smile.

"So, what can I do for the director of Alpha Sector?" Ryan asked.

"I was just passing through your lovely little town and thought I'd stop in and say hello," Regis said. Ryan laughed as he fired up his Keurig.

"I may have been born at night, Director, but it wasn't last night," Ryan said. "No one just passes through Hard Rock, Texas. You want some coffee?"

"Of course," Regis said. "Black, if you have it."

"Coming up," Ryan said, grabbing a Styrofoam cup. Seriously, what ARE you doing in Hard Rock? Really?"

"The truth? Well, the truth is, I came to see you," Regis said.

"Me?" Ryan asked.

"Yes. I've been following your career for quite some time now. Even thought about recruiting you and your fellow War Dogs once or twice." Ryan looked at him, surprised. "Oh, don't be so surprised. We know all about you. It's part of our job. I was quite impressed with the way you took out that Knight Petroleum compound up in New Mexico, by the way."

"So, you know about that?" Ryan asked.

"Know about it? Hell, son, I WATCHED it. In real time. Amazing what they can do with satellite imagery these days," Regis said.

"And you did nothing about it? That doesn't sound quite right to me," Ryan said.

"Well, if you hadn't acted when you did, I probably would have. Had a couple drones chock full of Hellfire missiles just over the horizon," Regis said. "You saved me the trouble and expense of using them. You know how much one of those missiles costs these days?"

"More than I make, I'm sure," Ryan said.

"No shit," Regis said. "Besides, I didn't want to deal with the collateral damage. Yes, I knew they had your daughter and grandson."

"You never really answered my question, Director," Ryan said. "Why ARE you here?"

"I'm quite impressed with the way you handled that whole Higgins thing," Regis said. "I spoke with Agent Jackson. He speaks very highly of you."

"I'm glad to hear that," Ryan said.

"You know, Sheriff. Not everything is as it seems," Regis said.

"I'm beginning to realize that," Ryan said. "Tell me something. Why would the federal government be interested in the remains of three executed felons?"

"Some questions are best left unanswered for now, Sheriff. You know, there's a real shitstorm brewing up over the horizon," Regis said. "What happened here was just a down draft compared to what's coming. And believe me, when the shit really hits the fan, a whole lotta people are gonna be hurt. And not just here in the good ol' USA."

"When is this shitstorm going to hit, Director?" Ryan asked.

"Hard to say," Regis said. "Could be five years. Ten. Maybe even 20 years down the road. But it IS coming. It's my job to make sure we're ready for it when it does. You should know that your little Ecuadorian friend has already proven herself to be quite helpful."

"I'm very glad to hear that," Ryan said. "What are you trying to tell me, Director?"

"Agencies like mine may be the seawall that keeps the high waters at bay. But you and others like you, Sheriff, are the tip of the spear. You understand what I'm saying?" Ryan looked at him.

"Yeah, I think so, Director," Ryan said. The two men shook hands and finished their coffee. Regis sat his empty cup down.

"Pleasure meeting you, Sheriff," he said. "I'll be in touch. Before I go back, though, I'm going down to get some of Sally's biscuits and gravy. You take care of yourself, you hear me?"

"I hear ya, Director," Ryan said with a smile. He watched as the man walked out of the office and left the building. What's next, he asked himself.

...

Epilogue:

Samuel Colt Rodgers had spent three days alternating between drinking beer and crying his eyes out. Three days ago, he got a visit from a sheriff's deputy. The deputy handed him an envelope that held two death certificates.

It was bad enough that his two children were executed by the state of Texas. But he was never given the chance to claim the bodies nor was he ever able to say goodbye to them. He had hoped to reconcile with the two of them, but that hope was now gone -- forever.

More than once he picked up his old.45 caliber semi-automatic pistol and held it to his head. But he just couldn't screw up enough courage to pull the trigger. He heard a knock at his door.

"Hang on, I'm coming," he growled. He staggered to the door, stepping on beer cans as he went. He opened the door and looked at the man on the other side.

"Whaddya want?" he asked.

"Samuel Colt Rodgers?" the man asked. Sam nodded his head. "I have a special delivery for you, sir," the man said. "I'll need you to sign for it."

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, taking the pen the man offered. He scribbled his signature on the paper and handed it back to the man.

"Thank you," the man said. "Have a good day." As Sam watched, the man walked back to his white unmarked van and drove away. He looked at the envelope and saw there was no stamp or postmark. There wasn't even an address. Just his name. That was odd, he thought. He opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

"Dad," the letter began. "Don't believe everything you hear. Doing okay. Can't say more than that. Just wanted to say we're really very sorry for everything. We love you and we miss you."

The letter was signed, "J/G." He recognized the handwriting as being Jeremy's. Under the signature was a note: "By the way, G turned out to be a better businesswoman that I thought. Here's a little something for you. Maybe you can buy a new tractor or put a new roof on the place. Or take that vacation you always wanted."

He looked in the envelope and saw something else. Pulling it out, he saw it was a bank draft for $2.5 million. Holy crap, he thought. He looked at the date on the draft and thought something was off. He compared it to the date on the death certificates and saw the draft was made two days after the certificates were signed.

His tears dried up and he began laughing. He looked up and said a silent prayer of thanks. That vacation to Hawaii sure sounded good right about now.

...

Fade to black...

Notes: For the strict perfectionists out there -- and you know who you are -- I exercised a bit of artistic license with the courtroom and the execution scenes. Of course, there is no such thing as the Enhanced Patriot Act, yet, and the town of Hard Rock does not exist. Please remember, this is my universe...

Regis Carlisle, a.k.a., "Alpha One," was first introduced in my "Houston" series. Allison Gatsby and Victoria reappear in my story, "Revenge In Advance: The New Way."