Along Came A Spider Ch. 02

The chronological order of my stories is now listed in WifeWatchman's biography.

Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

Part 9 - Waylaid

Friday morning, June 10th. The woman walked rapidly down the sidewalk on the southern side of Courthouse Square, which was College Street. She looked around, scanning for any elderly people, whom she knew to be her enemy. She saw none; most of them were at the Kiwanis Clubhouse, which the Club was allowing the elderly to use. The elderly were refusing to use the space allocated for them at the Civic Center.

As she walked by two men sitting at one of the bistros, having a late-morning coffee and talking, she dropped her purse. As one of the men reached over to hand it to her, she surreptitiously handed him a note, which he pocketed. A moment later he read it as his companion was looking the other way.

The note read: "IC not at work today."

The woman continued down the street, stopping at a dress shop. Then she headed up and around Courthouse Square to the Federal Building, where the Post Office was located. She saw no one following her, so after a few minutes she walked back towards her place of work, thinking she had not been observed. She had been careful, and she had not seen anyone following her...

... which is what one may expect to see when being followed by Phyllis Troy. She had photographed the note exchange...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Detective Timothy Geiger knocked on the door to Lt. Teresa Croyle's office. She called out "Come in!" and he entered the small office.

"Hello, Geiger." Teresa said. "What's up?"

"Ma'am," said Geiger, "Here's the information on the C.I. tips on the Painkiller Gang's activities." He handed her a file.

"All right." Teresa said. "We'll be developing our interdiction plan soon, so make sure I can find you. You can go."

"Yes ma'am." he said, turning as to leave. He then turned back and said casually, "Ma'am, do you know where Commander Troy is? He wasn't at the coffee klatch this morning..."

"Uh," said Teresa, "I think he's at the Federal Building, working with the FBI on something. Why?"

"Uh, I wanted to ask him about getting more training for going on raids." said Geiger.

"We've been working on that." said Teresa. "With the students out for the summer, things calm down here a lot. So probably in the next couple of months. I'll bring it up again with Captain Ross."

"Thank you, ma'am." said Geiger. He made his way out of the office and back to the Vice Room.

"He's apparently at the Federal Building." said Geiger, upon returning to the Vice Room. "Working with the FBI on something." The other Detectives in the room nodded, and went back to their duties. They did not see Lt. Croyle come into the hallway and to the next suite of offices... where Captain Ross was doing paperwork...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Wow, Geiger." said Cindy. "So he's the one that asked about Commander Troy, eh?"

"Yes ma'am." said Teresa, sitting on the loveseat sofa in front of the desk. "So he's the mole?"

Cindy replied, her eyes looking at the ceiling as she thought about it, "Don said that if someone asked about his whereabouts, to take note of it. Geiger was always close with Ikea. Yeah, he could be passing info to Ikea in the SBI now."

Just then there was a knock on the door. Auxiliary Policewoman Phyllis Troy came in. "Ah, good morning, ladies." she said. "I couldn't help hearing what you said about Detective Geiger as I came to the door. I do have some new information in connection with that."

"If this is 'Widow Athena Jones'-related," Cindy said, "I don't want to know. I am so close to being fired over that as it is."

"Oh no, I promised Don I would not do that again." said Phyllis. Cindy did not fail to see the twinkle in the older woman's eyes...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday, June 10th, 2:30pm. Hamilton Phillips, Esq., deposited his very large satchel of papers into the passenger seat of his luxury Mercedes sedan, then strapped himself into the driver's seat. Pulling out of the parking lot of the office of Grove & Partners, P.C., he sped down the Apple Grove - Rome Highway, passing the Sheriff's Office and County Jail along the way. He did not stop.

Getting to Rome, he took the main highway north. The airport was some miles north, and he had a private plane waiting for him there. As he sped along the highway, he noticed an old car with gleaming dark green pain coming up behind him. The outer headlights looked like they had green glass over them. What the hell? he thought to himself.

And 'what the hell?' again when the car put itself on his tail. As he crossed the county line, he sped up, knowing the powerful motor of his car could outrun any half-century-old car.

To his stunned amazement, after an initial gap between them, the old car began catching back up, matching his speed. Phillips pressed on the gas and the Mercedes responded, now going well over 90 miles per hour. He looked in the rear-view mirror...

The 'Black Beauty' was still behind him. Matching his speed. Relentlessly following him.

He thought about turning around, going back to Fillmore County, calling for the Sheriff. But then a police car came up behind both cars at a high rate of speed. It looked like the cop was pulling the green car over.

Then the police car suddenly passed the slowing older car and pulled in right behind Phillips. Oh crap, he thought to himself.

He pulled over, the police car pulling in behind him. Then he was shocked to see two things happen: the old Chrysler Imperial Crown moved in front of his car, blocking him. And the men that got out of the police car behind him were not wearing police uniforms... but suits and ties.

"Step out of the car, Mr. Phillips." said the man cautiously approaching the driver-side door.

"Who are you?" Phillips demanded to know.

"FBI." said the man, showing a wallet with his FBI badge and I.D. card. "Step out of the car, please. Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them." Phillips got out of the car. He was frisked for weapons.

"What is this about?" Phillips demanded to know.

"This gentleman will tell you." said Special Agent in Charge Jack Muscone. Phillips looked over.. .and his heart turned to lead. The man that had exited the green car and was walking up to him was wearing black shirt and pants, a beige light trenchcoat/raincoat... and a full-brim Tilley Hat with Airborne wings attached. It was what was in the man's hand that made him unmistakeable: a red crowbar.

"Well, Mr. Phillips," I said as I approached. "I did offer to help you when I was last in Apple Grove. You did not avail yourself of my assistance. So now your chickens... are coming home... to rrrrrroost."

"What the hell is this about, Troy?" snarled Phillips. "You're way out of jurisdiction, here."

"Not really. We're not in Canada." said Jack Muscone, taking a document out of his inner jacket pocket. "Mr. Hamilton Phillips, I have a Federal warrant for your arrest, for RICO violations, money laundering, illegally wiring money across State lines, and a few other charges involving racial supremacy groups... and some dirty things the Oldeeds Organization has been doing behind their Flock's backs."

Phillips was handcuffed and taken to the 'police' car. Muscone was driving him to the airport, all right... where Phillips would be transported to a Federal facility near the City. The other FBI Special Agent would transport Phillips's car to the airport.

"Don, be careful." said Jack Muscone to me after the other man had driven off in Phillips's car. "By the way, we lost contact with Special Agent Julius Jefferson. He was in Providence Springs to organize them. Spaulding has Deputies crawling around all over the place. Using your cellphone will be dangerous. The bad guys are watching everywhere... but they're not the biggest problem. The FBI guys, including my boss, would be very unhappy if they saw you. "

"Oh, I fully expect to brighten their day when I see them." I said. "Thanks for your help, here, Jack. You just made the first arrest in what will be the takedown of the Consultant of Crime."

"Make sure you stay alive to make that happen." said Jack. "All right, I'll take this piece of shit on in. Good luck, Don." We shook hands and I watched his car pull out and head down the road. One down, the first of many. I hoped.

I pulled out, heading back south towards Rome. I would be meeting someone later tonight...

Part 10 - Shadows of the Night

As the sun set in the West, over Providence Springs from the Apple Grove point of view, Sheriff Spaulding sat in his office, not exactly eating his curds and whey. His choice of refreshment was bourbon.

"Ah, one more sunset after this." said his Deputy. "Providence Springs's last one."

"That right." said the Sheriff, working on his stick carving. It was taking an octagonal shape down its length. "So, how is the county?"

"Peaceful, but a bit tense." said the Deputy. "We've already begun cutting communications to Providence Springs. Their cellphones aren't working too well over there."

"That'll be county-wide tomorrow afternoon." said the Sheriff. "Get the word out on the local public access channel. Also say that the electricity grid is being worked on, that there are sunspots, and there could be intermittent outages tomorrow night. We'll cut the power when our people move out."

"Sheriff, are you going to be personally supervising this effort?" asked the Deputy.

Spaulding smiled cynically. "Yes and no. I'll be right here, manning our radios, overseeing everything, coordinating the pincer movements and the final assault. Once our guys lay waste to Providence Springs, they'll move on west and out of the county. We'll 'discover' the carnage Sunday morning."

"That'll be a great morning, Sheriff." said the Deputy. "Well, if you have nothing else for me, I'm going to go give the girlfriend a good 'pickle tickle'."

"You do that. Get her good and knocked up." said the Sheriff. "Oh, and get a good night's rest. We're going to be busy... very, very busy... tomorrow."

"Will do, Sheriff." said the Deputy. He left.

Spaulding continued his carving, putting in the flat edge on one end. The artwork was becoming the object of his obsession... a crowbar. He could not believe that there'd been no sight of the Iron Crowbar, that he was still down in that University Town when things were about to burn up here. Too bad, he thought to himself. I'll kill you some other time...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The green car came over the hill and through the farm fields as it neared the town of Springer, the powerful engine surprisingly quiet and efficient as it sped down the county farm road. Being an old car, it had no 'THEFT' light, which had a tracker connected to it; ergo, neither Spaulding nor the FBI would be tracing it, as they were both tracing every car in the county that had such devices. Amazing how little the American Sheeple know about the raw power of Government, I thought to myself.

The town was abnormally quiet. The streetlights were sparse, and seemed more dim than usual. Despite it being Friday night, there were no teens driving around, nobody hanging about.

I had spent the day watching the Sheriff's Office and the County Jail. Though careful not to have too many cars stop at the same time, a large number of cars had come in with four people and had left with only the driver. I also had what looked like a radio, but was actually a totally passive receiver, a gift from Myron Milton's father. I took note of which shortwave and other radio wavelengths were being used. There was quite a bit of radio traffic in this area, much of it emanating from the County Jail. It was a large jail for such a small, sparsely populated county.. easily as big as my County's facility, if not larger.

As I'd moved around the county, then spied on Sheriff Spaulding and his Deputies, and now his base of operations, I'd felt a thrill, an excitement. Doing all this reminded me of my military days, when we'd go on training operations in the field, doing recon missions at night. But my mission now was as dangerous as any combat operation in any theater of war. Maybe more so...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"You both are very quiet this evening." said Dr. P. Harvey Eckhart as he watched the fire in its pot on the patio deck behind his office. He, Cindy, and Teresa were sitting there, having watched the sun set.

"I won't deny it; I'm worried about Don." Cindy said.

"So am I, my dear." said Eckhart. "But he can take care of himself. He's probably enjoying himself, playing soldier behind enemy lines."

"I just wish he had some help." said Cindy. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Teresa's normally scowling face soften just a bit, as if it were a substitute for a smile.

"Well," said Eckhart, "my young friends here are taught the ways of peace, not of war. However... it might surprise you just how many friends I have... and where they might be at any time."

Cindy smiled. "I didn't go to Don's father's funeral. I got the short straw and had to stay at home and hold down the fort. I've always wondered what Apple Grove looked like. You think a small father-daughter sightseeing trip this weekend is in order, Father?"

"I think you have read my mind, my dear." said Eckhart. "What about you, young Teresa? Something is clouding your thoughts."

"I was just thinking about something you said earlier." said Teresa. "It's damn sad that the county Don grew up in is now considered 'enemy lines'. What has this country come to?"

"Yes, my dear," said Eckhart, "it's getting bad. Not as bad as Europe, at least not yet, but bad. But with good men like young Donald, perhaps this great nation can be saved..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What the hell?" asked the Army General in the darkened room. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"It's all right, General." said the DepDirector of the FBI, Jack's boss. "He's a friend."

"I know who he is." said the General. "But you are going to have to explain yourself, Colonel..."

The 'Black Beauty' had gone around to the northwest side of Springer, and we came to what looked like a complex of old warehouses, fenced in. My passenger's I.D. and my FBI consultant badge was adequate to get us inside. We'd simply walked through the rooms to the 'Plans' room, no one taking real notice, as my companion's military uniform was not out of place here.

He was the Commandant of my School's ROTC, the Colonel that had been on jump status for years until sidelined by injury. He'd agreed to meet me in Rome, and to take me into the FBI and National Guard's secret base of operations, right here under Sheriff Spaulding's nose.

"My explanation is simple, General." said the Colonel. "I want this operation to succeed as much as you do. And I brought along the very best help you can get."

"I don't see how Commander Troy is going to do better than me and my Staff." said the General. He probably meant no insult.

"Maybe not better, General," I said, "but I can help for two reasons: one, I grew up here. Unless someone else here is a local, I know this terrain better than all of you put together. And second, I know the mind of our Enemy, the Spider who has spun his web and who really planned all this out for Sheriff Spaulding. I'm here, so you might as well avail yourself of my help."

"General," said the FBI DepDirector, "you can do far worse than get the input of the Iron Crowbar."

"All right." said the General, a huge amount of sarcasm in his voice. "Here's the map, son. Show us."

I looked at the map. "As you know, there's a bit of a ridgeline from the north that curls around to the west, and essentially cuts off Springer from the rest of the county. There's a lesser ridge that runs south before petering out around Apple Grove, where it all becomes flat farmland. There are two main creeks: one on the east side of this ridge finger that serves Apple Grove's water needs, and one along the western side of the county, that goes to the county west of us, and is the creek that the Providence Springs spring feeds into from this tributary."

I continued: "The high ground is to the north of Apple Grove, on this hillside here." I pointed to a spot. "There's a cell tower there now. This spot is a good overlook of the road from Apple Grove to Providence Springs, if a bit distant. Some forward observers there with night vision devices can give you initial warning of the coming attack."

"We think they're going to come out of the west." said the General. "Over the county line. We're going to block the bridge over that western creek you mentioned. Sheriff Deputies have been parked there all week, preventing anyone from Providence Springs leaving by going west."

"They will have a contingent come from there." I said. "But look at it this way: they have to block all means of Providence Springs people escaping... west, north towards here, south over the farms, and even possibly east."

"The best way to do that," I said, "is to have a three-pronged attack. One from the west, which is going to be a holding operation. One from the south, over county Farm Road 1 over here. That's also to contain anyone trying to escape. The main thrust, though, will be a pincer movement out of Apple Grove. Once they cross the ridgeline, one branch will split north, the other is the main thrust into Providence Springs, to kill all the residents there."

"That's going to take a lot of people." said the General. "We don't think they have enough troops... er, people to do that."

"They've got dozens." I said. "I've been watching them bring people into the County Jail all day. And they don't think they're going to have opposition. Twelve to sixteen people from the south, which will advance and help the main force in the eradication, sixteen from the west, twelve going north to cut Providence Springs off from Springer... and I estimate about 32 coming in the main assault wave from the east."

"How many people do we have, General?" asked the DepDirector.

"Small company's worth." said the General. "About 70 armed Guardsmen. Three platoons."

"APCs?" I asked. That stood for 'armored personnel carrier'.

"No, too loud and too slow." said the Captain who'd been standing next to the General all evening. "Trucks. We're going to move out after dark, drive to Providence Springs, then deploy from there. We'll interdict them when they try to come in. We can move more rapidly from a central location."

"Only two problems with that." I said. "One, you're reacting to them. You're on defense from the get-go. Two, they get the high ground, and west of the creek to Apple Grove."

"So what would you do, Commander?" asked the Airborne Colonel.

"I would do what General Robert E. Lee's Confederates failed to do at Gettysburg: I'd get on the high ground." I said. "Get some forward people east of the creek, then when the perps cross the bridge come up behind them. Traps them between the creek and your much better position on the hillside."

"Then," I said, "you get whatever people you can to defend the bridge over the western creek. Don't let them cross. Then you have one platoon in reserve, to swing south if needed, or west if needed, or to back up your main force."