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Chapter Four
Observe and report. Rylee took her chief’s directive to heart as she set off the next morning, the first Tuesday of September, to observe the next group on the watch list. The survivalists headed by Stanley Coopersmith. The group’s rhetoric centered around surviving the apocalypse triggered by foreign terrorists. Ironic, as that scenario might turn out much more plausible than anyone in federal law enforcement had thought until a few months ago and the very reason she was here today.
It was hard to believe that such a group might aid foreign terrorists until you recalled your history and cult leader Charles Manson’s attempts to begin a race war by murdering innocent affluent white victims, including Sharon Tate. It was terrifying, the lengths individuals might go to bring about their worldview.
At 7:00 a.m., Rylee left her car on the shoulder and hiked through the woods to a place where she could observe the central compound. Even though she was dressed all in earth colors for camouflage and was wearing a forest green wool sweater and a brown leather jacket atop her gray jeans and brown work boots with thick socks, she had underestimated the chill in the morning air. She had plenty of time to think about her inadequate wardrobe, among other things, as she lay on her belly in the pale green ferns. A cool September breeze shook the leaves overhead, sending down a cascade of yellow leaves through the fog.
“Should have worn a wool cap,” she muttered to herself.
Maple leaves fluttered through the shafts of sunlight, giving hope that the fog would lift, as she watched the compound through binoculars. From this position, she had a clear line of sight to a large crumbling former dairy barn that might have once been yellow, two new prefab outbuildings with metal exteriors and roofs and a weathered farmhouse, looking patchy with the graying wood peeking out beneath flaking white paint.
One of the newer structures was a dock with a covered large boathouse on the St. Regis River that flowed into the St. Lawrence. That structure meant that it was reasonable to assume that the survivalists did leave their land. Did they use their boats to traffic in illegal drugs or human beings? Operations needed funding and she had yet to discover theirs. They were no longer farmers. That much was certain.
Had Stanley Coopersmith headed to court to defend his son?
Her reports on this group said that their leader never left the facility and his younger brothers, Joseph and Daniel, both married with children, rarely left their land. Stanley, who was married to Judy Coopersmith, had two grown boys—Edward, who they called “Eddie,” and Morris, whom she had met on the night of her arrival.
She shivered with the cold as she counted occupants, noted physical descriptions into a digital recorder and snapped shots through her telephoto lens. As the morning stretched on and the sunlight finally reached her, she daydreamed about making a major arrest. Was it possible her runner had left Mohawk land? The Mohawk reservation land ended at the St. Regis River, just a short distance from Coopersmith’s property. Had this been the runner’s destination? The journey along would have been easy overland, or on the St. Lawrence River, with an escort of survivalists.
If she intercepted the shipment from Siming’s Army, her boss would have to promote her. Then Rylee might ask for an assignment in New York City. What would her father think of that?
She sighed. Would he be proud?
The sound of a trigger’s click dropped her from her daydreams like an acorn from an oak and made her stiffen. Her skin flushed hot and her fingers tingled. She held the binoculars; making a grab for her weapon seemed like suicide. Why hadn’t she placed her weapon nearer to hand?
“Lace your fingers behind your head,” came the order from a male voice behind her. The smell of the earth beneath her now turned her stomach and the ground seemed to churn as if heaved by an earthquake.
“Roll over,” ordered her captor.
“I’m a federal agent. Homeland Security.” For once, her voice did not shake.
There was a pause and then the command to roll over again.
She pushed off and rolled, coming to her seat. The man holding a rifle was the brother of the family’s leader—Daniel Coopersmith. She recognized him by his ginger beard and the scar across the bridge of his nose. He held the rifle stock pressed to his cheek and the barrel aimed at her chest.
“Stand up.”
She released her laced fingers as she did so. The blood pounding through her veins made her skin itch. This might be her only chance to reach her weapon. Her only chance to avoid capture.
“Don’t,” he advised.
The roar in her ears nearly deafened her.
He wasn’t taking her. That much she knew, because she was not creating a hostage situation on her first assignment. As she came upright, she swept her leg behind his and knocked him from his feet. As his arms jerked outward in reflex, she seized the barrel of the rifle and yanked. By the time Daniel recovered enough to scramble backward, she had his rifle pointed at him.
“It ain’t loaded,” he said.
She felt the weight of the firearm and gave him a look of disappointment.
“Daniel, have you had any visitors, other than me, recently?”
“What kind of visitors?”
“Smugglers.”
“Anyone crosses our land we know it. Got cameras everywhere. How we spotted you.”
“Your family likes their privacy?”
“We don’t assist illegals if that’s what you mean.”
“Why is that?”
“They’re carriers. Part of the scourge to come.”
She knew the dogma.
“You know your nephew is in court this morning?” she asked.
Daniel curled his fingers around his beard and tugged.
“I knew he run off again. He get arrested?”
“Shoplifting.”
“Comics again?”
She shrugged.
“Stan is gonna tan his hide.”
“Not if he’s in prison. Second offense.”
Daniel seemed to forget she was pointing his rifle at him as he turned to go.
“I gotta go tell Judy.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You best git. Leave my rifle on the road by your vehicle. That is if Stan don’t already got your car.”
“Stop.” She had her weapon out and it was loaded.
He stopped and glanced back at her.
“You threatened a federal agent,” she said to her retreating would-be opponent.
“I threatened a trespasser who’s also an agent. We got constitutional rights. Illegal search. Illegal surveillance. Just cause. Illegal seizure.” He continued speaking about rights and threats as he wound through the trees and out of sight.
She watched him go.
As it happened, when she reached her vehicle, she found Stanley Coopersmith waiting with his wife, Judy. Coopersmith was a man in his sixties, silver-haired, slim and muscular with a mustache that would have made any rodeo cowboy proud. His wife’s hair was short and streaked with silver. She had the body of a woman accustomed to physical work and the lined face of a smoker.
Coopersmith did not move the rifle he held resting over his shoulder at her approach. She kept her personal weapon drawn but lowered.
“You holding my boy?”
“Sir, I’m Homeland Security—”
“We know who you are,” said Judy Coopersmith, her chin now aimed at Rylee like a knife. “You holding my boy?”
“No, ma’am. Morris was arrested for shoplifting by local law enforcement. He has a hearing scheduled for this morning.”
“You come here to tell us this?” said Coopersmith.
“No. I’m here investigating a case.”
“You here to shut us down?”
Visions of Waco, Texas, flared like a dumpster fire in her mind.
“I am not. My job is to secure our borders.”
“Well, we can assure you that this border is secure. Nobody sneaks through this patch of ground without us knowing. Yourself included.”
“That’s reassuring,” said Rylee. “Has anyone tried recently?”
The two exchanged a look but did not reply. No answer is still an answer, she thought.
She took a leap of faith that their mutual threat made her, if not an ally, at least not an enemy. “We have intelligence that indicates something dangerous might be coming over from Canada. I’d ask you to be extra vigilant and hope that you will alert me if there is anything that threatens our national security.”
Another long look blazed between the two.
“Why do you think we’re up here?” asked Coopersmith. “Just a bunch of crazies playing war games in the woods? We know what’s coming.”
“And you do not think the federal government is capable of stopping threats from foreigners.”
“If I did, why would I build a bunker?”
Rylee glanced toward her vehicle. “I’d best get back.”
It was a long, long walk...to her vehicle. She did not draw an easy breath until she was safely behind the wheel. However, when she pressed the starter, her vehicle gave only an impotent click. The engine did not turn over on any of her next three attempts. There was no motor sound. In fact, the only sound was the thumping drumbeat of her heart.
THE FOG HAD settled into a steady drizzle by midday. Axel reached the stretch of old timber bordering Coopersmith land. He’d received a tip from Hal Mondello, who knew how to spot a fed’s car if anyone alive did, that Rylee had headed past his place. Beyond Mondello land was the cult that called itself the Congregation of Eternal Wisdom. Beyond that was Hal Coopersmith’s spread and his survivalist family. He didn’t know which was a worse place for Rylee. For personal reasons, he decided to try Coopersmith’s first and backtrack if necessary.
Hal Mondello was not a friend, but he protected his self-interest. Having the sheriff rein in a fed nosing around would be to his benefit. Hence, the call.
Mondello called himself a farmer, but everything he raised went into his cash crop, moonshine. Hal supplied most of the entire region with hard liquor. His brew was popular for its potency and the fact that it was cheap, due to Hal’s complete avoidance of paying any federal tax. That made his moonshine a working man’s favorite. Thankfully, that sort of violation fell under the auspices of the ATF, who had found his operation too small to be bothered with.
Axel raced out to the Coopersmiths’ main gate, running silent, but exceeding the speed limit the entire way. He understood the Coopersmiths’ desire to live off the grid, be largely self-sufficient, but he didn’t understand living in a constant state of fear of some upcoming disaster from which only you and yours would survive. What kind of a world would that be, anyway? The thought of only Axel and his family surviving such a calamity gave him a shudder.
On the other hand, he did admire the Coopersmith family. Before they’d taken to their compound and ceased interacting with the outside world, Axel had been to their farm and respected the close-knit group. Anything could be taken too far. Religion came to his mind and he shuddered again.
He’d just be happy to have a family that didn’t scare him so much that he didn’t dare leave them out of his sight. And he owed Stanley Coopersmith for getting him out of his abysmal situation and helping him take his GED. Without him and Kurt Rogers, Axel didn’t know where he might be now.
Axel was pleased to find Stanley’s oldest son, Edward Coopersmith, minding the gate when he roared up. He and Eddie had enlisted in the army together and the two had been friends up until a year ago when his father had shut the family up on their land.
By the time Axel had left his sheriff’s unit, the dust he’d raised was falling about them in a fine mist, settling on his hat and the hood of his car. Here, beneath the cover of trees, the drizzle had not succeeded in reaching.
He and his former comrade stood on opposite sides of a closed metal gate.
“Where is she, Eddie?”
“Who?”
“The homeland security agent your family is detaining.”
Eddie could not meet his gaze.
“No concern of yours, I reckon.”
“Eddie!”
His friend gripped the shoulder strap of the rifle slung over his shoulder so tightly his knuckles went bloodless.
“She’s up at the farm,” Eddie admitted.
“Under duress?”
“Not that I could see. But they was armed. So was she, come to that.”
“Trespassing?”
“Well, she was.”
“Eddie, she’s a federal agent. You do not want her harmed.”
His friend offered no reassurance.
“Bring me up.”
“No outsiders.”
“I’m not an outsider. I’ve eaten at your table. Your ma taught me algebra.”
“Still...she ain’t your concern.”
Axel imagined the news crews and federal helicopters circling the compound. He had to stop this right now. Looking back, he didn’t know why he did it. Perhaps because it was the only idea that popped into his head.
“She’s my girl,” said Axel.
“She’s what now?” Eddie cocked his head.
Axel doubled down. “That’s why she’s up here, berry picking.”
“With binoculars?”
“She’s my fiancée and I won’t have her touched.”
“If she’s your girl, why she up here alone?”
“Rylee is deciding if she wants to live up this way. I imagine she got...confused. Turned around.”
“She was armed.”
“Everyone up here is armed. We got bear and moose and elk.” And survivalists with semi-automatic assault rifles, he finished silently.
Eddie released his grip on the rifle strap to scratch under his jaw at the coarse black beard. He looked so much different than from just a few years back when he was muscular and fit. Now his body looked undernourished and his face gaunt.
Axel watched Eddie as the man considered his options in silence.
After a long silent stretch, Axel had had about enough. “Open the gate or I’m ramming it.”
“You can’t do that.” Their eyes met.
“I’m getting my girl so open up or stand aside.”
Chapter Five
“Your girl, huh?” His old friend did little to hide his disappointment and Axel wondered if perhaps Eddie was attracted to Rylee. His answer came a moment later.
“She’s very pretty. Kind of prickly, though.”
“True on both accounts.”
He realized that here on the compound, Eddie had little opportunity to meet eligible women. Rylee was a beauty and smart and he was certain she would have zero interest in locking herself up on nine hundred acres to wait for disaster.
Rylee was here to stop that impending doom from arriving. He admired her for that.
“Eddie, I’m getting in my vehicle. That gate best be open before I get there.”
It wasn’t a bluff. He knew that his modest yearly budget did not include major damage to his vehicle, but he was getting up to the farm. By the time he had his unit in drive, Eddie was swinging back the gate.
Axel paused just inside to speak to Eddie. “Why don’t you come to my place for dinner one day?”
“Can’t.” Eddie made a face.
“Open invitation,” he said and headed off. Axel bounced along the twin groves that served as the access road to the compound, his windshield wipers screeching over the glass as he tried to clear the mist and mud.
RYLEE HAD BEEN stripped of her weapons and now accepted escort to one of the outbuildings. Judy Coopersmith had left her to see to her youngest son, Morris, who was heading to court today. Before leaving, she warned her husband, Stanley, that this little gal is a guest and is to be treated like one.
Stanley Coopersmith had his brother Joseph working on her car that had either a bad starter or a bad battery. Stanley thought Rylee should see something in his garage before leaving. She had time on her hands and so if Mr. Coopersmith wanted to give her a tour, she was happy to take it.
The garage turned out to be a huge prefab carport of aluminum, with a vertical roof that looked wide enough to park two tractor trailers in.
“We use it to repair our vehicles and construction. It’s right in here.”
The odor of motor oil, mildew and rust assaulted her before they’d cleared the single door that stood beside the huge twin garage doors. Inside, two pickup trucks stood end to end, one on blocks and the other with the hood open and a greasy tarp draped over one side.
Beside these casualties sat a backhoe with the bucket removed and showing one broken tooth. Along the back was a long tool bench. She picked her way past various replacement parts that littered the grease-stained concrete. On the cluttered surface of the tool bench sat one pristine device. It was a drone—white, approximately thirty-four inches with eight rotors, one of which had been damaged. She glanced at Coopersmith, who motioned her forward.
“Go on,” he said.
“Where did this come from?”
“Darned if I know, but I took that shot. It was carrying something, like a duffel bag. It dropped it across the river before I made that shot. Crashed out back and we scooped it up.”
“What’s across the river?” she asked.
He looked startled. “That’s the Mohawk Nation.”
“Do you believe that it is theirs?”
“No saying. I didn’t shoot it until it was over my place.”
“And its cargo?”
“Dropped on the Kowa side of the river.”
“Did they retrieve what the drone was carrying?”
“Can’t say. But I know someone has been trying to activate that drone remotely.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the damn thing keeps moving around the garage. It’s why I chained her down.”
Rylee used a cloth to lift the drone. “Heavy.”
“Thirty pounds and no serial number. No markings at all that I can see.”
“When did you find it?”
“Yesterday.”
Monday, she realized, and the same day that Border Patrol followed a small man dropped off on the Canadian side, who crossed the border through a wooded area and then fled onto Mohawk land carrying a duffel bag. Had their suspect had the drone to carry out the cargo or did he have outside help?
“Were you planning to report it?”
“No. I was planning to take it apart and keep it. But if you want it, I’ll accept offers.”
“Offers?” She did a poor job holding back her surprise. “How much?”
“Take five hundred for it.”
“Done.”
She reached for her wallet, zipped in her blazer.
“You carry that much?”
She nodded, opening the billfold.
“Should have asked for six,” he said.
“I’ll give you seven.” And she did.
Stanley accepted the cash.
“Has this happened before?”
“Trespassers? Sure. Just today, for instance.” He gave her a pointed look and she flushed as he continued on. “But drones. That’s a new one for me.”
A voice came from behind the pickup.
“Pop?”
“Back here.”
Edward Coopersmith appeared, red-faced and unable to make eye contact with her. Behind him came Sheriff Trace. He had no trouble making eye contact and the result was an instant acceleration of her heartbeat. The physical reaction to this man was getting bothersome. She scowled at the pair as they continued toward them.
“Axel, what a surprise.” Stanley offered his hand to Trace and cast a scowl at his son.
“I wouldn’t have brung him, but this here is his gal and he’s worried.”
Stanley looked from Axel, whose jaw was locked tight, to Rylee, whose mouth swung open.
“Interesting news, seeing she’s only been here a day and a half.”
Edward glared at Axel, who shrugged.
Stanley Coopersmith spoke again. “We aren’t detaining her, Axel. Fact, she’s leaving anytime. You want to give her a lift?”
“I’ll need my weapons,” said Rylee.
“’Fraid our policy is to confiscate the firearms of trespassers.”
“And my vehicle?”
“Also confiscated.”
“It was on a county road.”
“The road belongs to the county. The land is ours. You left the government land when you left the road.”
“Taking a federal vehicle might be a problem for you,” said Rylee.
Coopersmith did not blink. She looked to the damaged drone, itching to get it to her people. A glance at Trace told her he was worried. He motioned with his head toward the exit.
Rylee looked to Coopersmith. “What do you want for them?”
“Money is good.”
“What about shotgun shells? I have ten boxes in my trunk.”
“You don’t anymore.”
Here, Axel stepped in, looping an arm around her waist and cinching her tight. Her side pressed against his and even though their skin never touched, her body tingled with awareness and she temporarily lost the ability to speak. His scent enveloped her. He smelled of pine soap and leather.
“I appreciate you looking out for my girl, Mr. Coopersmith. And for all you did for me when I was a boy. I’d appreciate you allowing us safe passage through your land.”
“Very fact she’s up here shows I’m right. It’s coming. I feel it in my bones.”
Rylee glanced to Trace to see what it might be. His hand rested familiarly on her hip and she found it harder to think as her body pressed to his.
“What about two cases of MREs for your trouble?” he offered, referring to the military Meals Ready to Eat. The food staple stored for years and he thought might just appeal to a man ready to hide in a bunker.
“I’ll take six for the drone and safe passage off our lands.”
“And her vehicle, weapons and anything else you took from her car.”
“Done.”
Axel released her to shake on the deal. Rylee stepped away from both men and headed toward the door.
She resented being bargained for like a milk cow. But she said nothing. Safely clear of Axel’s embrace, her mind began functioning again. She retrieved the drone and carried it with her as they left the garage.
Edward hovered by her opposite side. “If things don’t work out for you two, you could give me a call.”
She blinked at the strange offer. “You have phones out here?”
“No, but Axel can get a message to me.”
Axel chose this moment to press a hand to her lower back. The gesture was intimate. “We best be on our way, sweetheart.”
The endearment sounded forced but made Edward flinch. Inexplicably, she felt a tightening in her throat and her breath came in tiny gasps. She forced her mouth closed and breathed through her nose all the way to her vehicle, parked before the main house.
There, she watched her weapons loaded back in her trunk. Everything went back in place except the shotgun shells. She placed the drone on top and accepted the keys from Stanley.
“You understand this is a one-time deal on account of my wife saying you was to be treated as a guest.”
“Do you always ransom your guest’s belongings?”
Stanley Coopersmith’s smile was wily. “Generally, I just keep them.”
“You will have to notify me if you apprehend or spot any more trespassers or see any unusual activity.”
“Actually, I don’t have to.” Stanley accepted her card.
Axel held open her door and cast her an impatient look. Those gray-blue eyes relayed messages that she could not decipher other than his impatience and a possible brewing storm.
Rylee allowed Axel to walk her alongside of the sedan and tuck her into her seat as if she were a child unable to successfully open or close a car door. Then she followed his vehicle off the property and out of a gate that was the only gap in a perimeter fence that stretched into the woods in either direction.
A chill now lifted the hairs on her arms and neck. Had Stanley actually been considering ransoming her? She was a federal agent and taking her hostage would have brought the FBI straight to his property line. There, federal authorities would have waited during negotiations that she realized might have stretched on and on. For the first time, her annoyance with Axel turned to the realization that she might just owe him her thanks. If that situation had escalated, the ramifications could have been disastrous for all parties.
Axel had gotten her out of a survivalist camp without bloodshed, quickly and with only the merest gesture of a bargain. Just the dashboard computer was worth far more than a few cases of prepackaged food and shotgun shells.
That was twice now he’d pulled her fanny from the fire. Rylee gripped the wheel as she followed Axel onto the highway and back toward Kinsley. Perhaps a collaboration with the locals was not just some empty gesture and words from her department. She might get farther with his help if she included him in her investigation and, perhaps, keep custody of her car.
Trouble was she didn’t trust him. All she really knew was that he was a local guy, generally liked, with an impressive military career that he had left to come here. His background information was general at best. But where had he been before he was fostered to Kurt Rogers at age thirteen? And what had happened to make him leave the army shortly after his fatal shooting of fellow servicemen?
As an army brat, she didn’t approve of his taking the early discharge option. Her father, sister and brothers were all career Marine Corp so she shared her father’s aversion for the army.
“One way to get to know someone is to speak to them,” she said to the car’s interior.
Rylee was not a joiner. An introvert by nature, she was comfortable only with her siblings, and some more than others. They were nearly back to Kinsley before her phone picked up cellular service. She used the vehicle’s communication system to call her boss.
Someone from the Glens Falls office would pick up the drone. Hopefully, they could glean some information from the navigation system. She’d seen her share of drones during professional training and recognized this one was not the garden-variety hobbyist craft. Too sophisticated and too expensive for the average operator.
By the time she reached her motel, she realized she had missed lunch and was starving. In the motel lot, the sheriff peeled off to park in the guest area. She checked the drone in the trunk. It was not in the spot she had placed it and there were scrape marks on the inner surface of the trunk. The blades began to whir, and she slammed the trunk closed.
This was a safer spot to hold the device than the motel room and she wasn’t sure she could get it in there without it getting away. She glanced around. You usually had to be within sight of a drone to effectively operate it. This sort might have a longer range and all sorts of navigational upgrades.
Axel was beside her car as she locked the vehicle.
“You know, I do have other things to do besides collect you from private property.”
She turned and met him with a bright smile. “And I appreciate your efforts and I’d like to take you out to lunch as a thank-you.”
It was as if she’d frozen him in some tractor beam. He stood with his mouth half open, a finger raised to continue his lecture, and now seemed unsure how to proceed.
She closed her hand around his extended index finger and lowered his hand to his waist. He frowned before drawing his hand back. She doubted he intended the action of gliding his digit from her closed palm to be sexual, but from the startled gaze and the drop of her stomach, the friction had done just that.
He stood speechless, and she was finding a lack of oxygen in this corner of the parking lot. Oh, no, she thought. Not this one. He’s overbearing and judgmental. He’s in a dead-end career at the top of the world. She had the impression he played fast and loose with the law and enforced only the regulations that fell under his auspices. But those blue-gray eyes. They reminded her of a winter sky. Axel lifted his hands and for a moment she thought he would hold her again. The little show for Coopersmith replayed in her mind with the firm feel of his fit body.
She stepped closer. He grasped her shoulders and for just a second he seemed unsure if he should push or pull. Rylee leaned toward him and he extended his arms, sending her back a step.
“Separate cars. You follow me,” he said and whirled away. His retreat came as close to a jog as a man could manage and still be walking. She’d never seen someone in such a hurry to be rid of her.
It only then occurred to her that the sheriff might be as hesitant of her as she was of him.
Her hands went to her hips. “We’ll see about that.”
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