| |
The path forward was one of simple alternatives. Monitor the news and their police radio scanner for a couple of days. If there were no signs of law enforcement picking up their scent, get rid of the incriminating handguns. They had spent hours on the nearby C & O Canal and, more important, the adjacent Potomac River. They had identified spots, some now littered with guns and other evidence from previous missions, where the river ran swift and deep. Their routine had become comfortable. Maple broke the guns down into component parts small enough to slide into the cavities of concrete blocks and cement in place. Tied to a length of rope, a block looked like a rudimentary anchor for the flat bottom boat and trailer they pulled behind a battered Ford pickup. They had all the gear to dress the part of fishermen looking for dinner, though Stickman remained a novice. Their preferred time to drive to the canal for a day’s end beer was dusk. Finding a deserted spot, Stickman acted as lookout while Maple slipped out of sight on a trail to the river. Within minutes he would return, sans concrete block.
But should the radio and scanner suggest danger, that the police search was moving their way, they were ready to run. They had weapons, camping equipment, food and plenty of cash and credit cards. In a week or so their appearances would noticeably change, more in line with their false IDs.
If no red flags surfaced, another scenario was to start looking for work in a few weeks. They would check jobs around Frederick, Maryland. Washington was certain to remain on high alert. There were too many ways a job application there could draw unwanted attention.
Should law enforcement suddenly, unexpectedly, show up on their doorstep, there was always the option of a fight, though they did not put much stock in martyrdom.