She left the hotel twenty-four hours after she arrived, in the dark, headed north for the Rockies.
* * *
Letty and Kaiser remained in Texas for a week, being debriefed, making statements. They would later be required to return for trials, and were told they’d probably be there for several months. In a trip back to Pershing with prosecutors from the Texas attorney general’s office, they retraced their movements during the invasion day. That evening, Kaiser was taken to dinner at the pizza place by the city council and the council members’ spouses.
Letty’s father called her every day, and sometimes twice. He wanted all the details; and not just details, he wanted all of her thoughts, both at the time of the invasion and afterward.
When they had exhausted the what-ifs and how-to’s, he said, “You did well. I can’t think of anything anyone could have done better. You have a gift.”
* * *
Letty and Kaiser were minor stars around their respective departments for a week or two after they got back to Washington, but that went away quickly enough.
Colles was making a lot of television appearances without Letty or Kaiser, and regular life began to assert itself. Kaiser was sent to Chattanooga for a conference on TVA security. Letty found a rifle range in Virginia.
The brown-eyed political aide was no longer coming around to visit with her, though he left a note, hoping to see her on his trips back to the capital. He’d gone to Ohio to prepare for a congressional run, still two years away, but he said he needed to be there, on the ground. He would miss their chats.
* * *
One rainy day in October, Letty took a phone call in her closet/office. She said hello, and after a moment of silence, a woman asked, “Letty Davenport?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Jane Hawkes . . . Jael.”
Letty fumbled for something to say, and came up with “Where are you?”
“I’m in Washington State. Leaving Washington State, I should say. When I finish talking to you, I’m going to take the batteries out and throw this phone out the car window.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ve read about you. You should have been with us—you’re another version of me. White trash. You got lucky and got adopted by rich people, but you won’t escape it. Not in the long run. I had to try to make it on my own, and you know what? I never did. I kept getting pushed down. Kept getting dragged down. Tried to do something about it and you wrecked my Land Division.”
“You murdered nineteen people altogether, the last one died only a week ago,” Letty said. “Six of them were babies and small children.”
“That was Rand . . .”
“Bullshit. That was you,” Letty said. “You killed those people, Jane, you and your fucked-up militia.”
“I didn’t want to kill anyone—but I’ve been thinking about it, and I guess I’ll take it. My share of the responsibility. We’re mobilizing people in this country and they’re coming my way. Pershing will be a monument.”
“You’re deranged,” Letty said. “You’re nuts.”
“No, I’m not. I’m right. As for you . . . we’re coming for you,” Hawkes said.
Hawkes couldn’t see it, but Letty stood up and nodded, touched her pocket with the 938 nestled inside. “Do that, Jane,” she said. “Bring it on. Bring everything you fucking got.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Sandford is the pseudonym for the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist John Camp. He is the author of twenty-nine Prey novels; four Kidd novels; twelve Virgil Flowers novels; three YA novels coauthored with his wife, Michele Cook; and three other books.