"How did you ever find this place?" asked Special Agent Martha McElroy, braking as a hump in the road appeared. "What's that?"
"Just a bridge." Sam said. "There are quite a few of them on these roads. Lots of small creeks, irrigation canals. They're usually raised like this."
The bridge was smooth, made of heavy planks about a foot wide. She looked out the window as they passed over, saw a small stream flowing lazily beneath.
"When I was a kid we lived on the farm, in a place like this." Sam said. "We'd drive our trucks on these roads, usually there would be a long stretch where we could get up some speed, catch a little air as we crossed. Wouldn't be a good idea to to it if you didn't know the road - hit that bridge above eighty you wouldn't make that curve."
"You were going eighty on gravel roads?"
"Probably faster sometimes. For sure on paved highways, jumping railroad tracks like that. I've probably hit one or two at a hundred or better."
She glanced over at him. She wasn't sure how old he was, not having had time to check his background. All she knew, or had heard about him, was that he was something of a legend in the department, and that she probably wasn't the only one who did not know much about him. She wondered who, if anyone, did. He had to be in his fifties at least, though he didn't look it. He was tanned as if from frequent outdoor activity, his hands looked tough and strong, a couple of scars were visible, and a recent cut that might become another. Arriving at the office that morning she had been told to accompany him, that he would brief her on the way. Thus far it had been an hour and a half of driving through the middle of nowhere and very little briefing. None at all, in fact.
"How much further is it?" she asked.
"Two or three more bridges." he said. "Let me check."
He looked at a map on his phone, scrolled and tapped a couple of times.
"Turn right at the next crossroads." he said. "There should be a white post at the intersection."
The crossroads was apparently some distance away, and she was about to speak when she saw the white post. She turned onto another of stretch of road that looked much the same as all the others they had traversed. Sure enough there were two more bridges, another like the small one before, and later a much longer one. She slowed almost to a stop before driving onto it.
It was constructed like the others, of wide thick planks. Looking to her left she saw that they were crossing a wide and deep ditch that must have been fifty feet deep. She kept her eyes straight ahead after that. She suspected Sam was smiling but didn't dare look. Safely across she did look, and he was.
"It's quite safe." he said. "These roads and bridges are well maintained."
"I'll take your word for it. Presumably you don't want to get killed any more than I do.
"Just ahead is another side road." Sam said. "Go on past it, and the road will go downhill slightly."
It did, running between two wide ditches. Wider than the road, more like long ponds, with cattails and vegetation over much of the surface. They crossed three more bridges, over channels connecting the water on either side.
"Folks fish and hunt frogs around here." Sam said. "Lot of wildlife around. We're just about there."
The road went back uphill ahead she could see several buildings.
"Just stop in front of the house, on the edge of the road." he said.
She parked on the roadside, not having much choice as the road abruptly ended. To the left was a modest house, a couple of large buildings behind it. They were the type of metal buildings generally found on farms. Large trees stood around here and there, a group of them covering the house in their shade. The garage doors were closed, and no vehicles were outside.
"What now?" she asked.
Sam put his phone away and opened the door.
"Let's go." he said. "Follow my lead"
She checked the pocket that held her ID card and badge, adjusted the crossdraw holster holding her gun, zipped her jacket up about a third of the way. Sam did the same, and they walked toward the house. She saw that Sam had his binoculars, reached back into the car and got hers.
"Should I lock it?" she asked.
"No, no need. We might have to egress quickly." He grinned, and she hoped he was joking.
"Whatever you do," he said, "don't touch your weapon or reach inside your jacket. We're being watched, and as long as we don't alarm anyone we're in no danger."
He rang the doorbell. After a couple of minutes he rang again, waited.
"Either no one's home or they're ignoring us." Sam said. "They've had plenty of time to size us up, let's take a walk around. Casually."
Martha couldn't quite identify her feeling. Not fear, but certainly closer than she had ever been before. Her time outside the city had been limited to driving from one city to another, and on a few occasions when she had stopped in a small town some distance away she felt a little strange. She followed Sam as he walked around the house, then behind the two large buildings. There were a couple of pickup trucks, several tractors. Two of them were the very large ones of a type she had sometimes seen from the highway while driving through farmland. Two more were smaller, but still large enough to require climbing a small stair of several steps to reach the cab.
Behind the buildings the land was mostly open fields, here and there a patch of trees. Far off, perhaps a mile - she wasn't good at guessing distances in the open - was what looked like a forest. Sam walked out into the field, looked around.
"There." he said, pointing. He raised his binoculars, and she used hers to look in the same direction. Several hundred yards away a man was walking about the field. Shirtless, but wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He looked fit, stocky but with no fat. His shoulders were wide and his arms muscular, but not like a body-builder. Perhaps a construction worker. She had always found the shirtless, sunbrowned men she sometimes saw working outside more attractive than the ones with unsightly bulges created by obsessive gym workouts probably augmented with drugs.
"Don't get excited." Sam said. "He'll put his shirt on before he gets here."
"Is he coming?" she asked.
"Eventually." Sam said. "Patience, young grasshopper."
"What?"
Sam glanced over at her. Grinned.
"Never mind." he said. "Before your time, I guess. Almost before mine."
"Where'd he go?" she asked. He seemed to have disappeared when she had lowered her binoculars.
"He walked behind those trees." Sam said.
She looked at a small group of trees near where she had last seen him. It was one of several groves, perhaps a few hundred feet across, separated by wide open areas.
Sam took out a small cigar case and took out a small brown cigar, put it in the corner of his mouth and lit it.
Martha tried to remember if she had actually ever seen anyone smoke. She couldn't, and was surprised to see a colleague doing it. She wondered how old he was.
"If he's not going to be here anytime soon," she said, "could we get to the briefing they mentioned?"
"Sure. You got his name, Chris Duncan."
"Yeah. Nothing else. Except we want him. To do something, apparently."
"Correct. You could say he's a man of rare talents. We need him, you might say, urgently."
"Anything to do with the Dunham situation?"
"Everything. We wouldn't be out here for anything less serious. I suppose... looks like he's decided to notice us."
Martha looked back at the field. A small green tractor had emerged from one of the groves, or perhaps behind it. Seconds later they could hear its engine as it approached at little more than a walking pace. She involuntarily reached inside her jacket to adjust her holster.
"No need for that." Sam said. "If we needed weapons they wouldn't do us any good. Even out here there are several rifles on us."
"He seems to rate rather highly with someone." she said. "Who? Or do I need to know?"
"Sure. You probably already do. He's the de facto leader of the Mantis group. He'd probably prefer not to be, but they all look to him, and will do anything he suggests."
"Mantis? That's pretty heavy."
"Yeah."
As the tractor approached the driver turned in a wide circle, going around behind them and returning to stop a few yards away. Although it was not large, the engine sounded like a small jet aircraft at idle. The driver cut the engine and prepared to climb down. The smell of diesel exhaust drifted over them.
Balance of Power (2022)
