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After returning to base, Colonel Harris was confident that the plan to capture Lieutenant Jenkins had been a success. From the demeanor of the men as they unloaded their gear from the vehicles, it was obvious that they were upset over the death of Lieutenant Jenkins, regardless of whether they had liked the man or not or even known him for that matter. He was still a fellow soldier. Unlike their previous plan, only six men other than Bruce and Sammy knew the truth. Lieutenant Jenkins had been moved to the basement of a house just outside of town and been chained securely to the wall. It was a temporary situation until a better and more humane solution could be established.
Bruce found Sammy in his office, where he related to him the information they had received from Tionesta's mayor and the events that had taken place involving Lieutenant Jenkins.
"What are you going to do with him?" Sammy asked.
"I don't know, Sammy," Bruce answered somberly.
"By keeping him alive, you're taking a huge risk...for all of us. If one of the men yaps or Jenkins escapes, we're dead men," Sammy murmured.
"I know that, Sammy!" Bruce said, kicking a chair out of his way and stalking to the nearest window. He leaned heavily against the sill, peering out onto the bleak world where nothing would ever be the same, and feeling the full weight of it. He continued quietly, "I have killed men before on the battlefield, but I am not a killer. I don't know how I feel right now. I hate that man worse than anything; he is evil, and I’ve wished him dead so many times I can't count. But now, I just don't know."
The Major stayed at his desk, but turned to face Bruce’s back. "We have been friends for a long time, Bruce, and I've always told you the truth.... I just want to be upfront with you: I told Shifty to kill the LT if he got the chance...," Major Samuelsson paused to let his confession sink in. "I wanted to spare you the moral dilemma I knew you would have over what needs to happen next."
"He definitely tried," Bruce responded as he turned around slowly and squeezed his temples with one hand. "He damn near caved Jenkin’s head in with a wrench."
"Well, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you beforehand, but I knew you'd try and stop him. Bruce, we can't keep the lieutenant chained up in a basement...he's not a hamster. We have to keep him guarded, fed, and watered by sneaking someone outside the perimeter each day, someone who's also going to be responsible for emptying his feces bucket. It's not fair to the men who agreed to be part of this. They're soldiers, not hospice workers. And can you imagine what would happen if he escaped? We'd be in the same boat as the Rangers...."
Bruce looked up then, straight into Sammy’s eyes. "Do you know what's not fair to the soldiers? Asking them to kill a fellow soldier...," Bruce said with growing intensity.
"He's not a fellow soldier, Bruce!" Sammy cut him off. "He's a fraud and a spook: CIA, NSA, whatever. Don't lose sight of the fact that he is actively trying to 'kill' our fellow soldiers! He is working for people who are willing to bomb an entire town to take out one man, all because of politics! C'mon, Bruce. If there has ever been an enemy to this nation, it's him and the men he works for. You need to sort this out in your head and come to terms with it. It has to happen, and sooner rather than later."
"I know," Bruce said quietly, followed by a deep sigh. "Give me the night to sleep on it." He glanced at his friend and caught a wary look. In three long strides he was nose to nose with Major Samuelsson. "Seriously, Sammy. I'm not joking here. Nobody is to lay a hand on that man ‘til I give the go ahead, and that's an order. Do you understand me?" Bruce asked him firmly while aiming his finger at Sammy’s chest angrily. Sammy still wasn't happy, but nodded his head in understanding. "I want to speak to him first," Bruce finished as he backed off. He moved slowly around the desk, moving the chair back into place and lowering himself it. Its loud, protesting creak was the perfect punctuation for his mood.
"Oh, and you really think that's going to help?" Sammy asked, irritated. Bruce just shrugged his shoulders, staring down at his clasped hands. Sammy sighed and came around the desk to sit beside his closest friend.
They sat in silence for a few moments before Sammy continued. "You know me, Bruce. I'm not a killer, either, but that's not what this is. This is justice, self-preservation, a preventative strike to save the lives of those Rangers, whatever you want to call it. I know I didn't say anything the day we walked into that farmhouse a few weeks ago and saw that dead woman and small boy, but I am saying it now. I agree with you and I'll follow you wherever this path leads. We can't just sit on the sidelines any longer and blindly follow orders: 'consequences be damned!' remember? Well, these tough choices are part of the consequences. This is an active battlefield and for all intents and purposes, you have every right to sentence that man to death. But you're right; this isn't something that Shifty or I can take care of for you, or it turns into something that it shouldn't be. This is your decision to make, Colonel, and I just pray you make the right choice...for all our sakes."
Bruce didn't reply. He just continued to stare out the window across the room, noticing that the color of the sky was changing and resenting the beauty. Sammy stood up and squeezed his shoulder compassionately, then turned to leave Bruce to his thoughts. "I'll see you in the morning, Colonel," he said as he quietly shut the door behind him.
Bruce tossed and turned all night, wrestling with the decision he had to make. He finally gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed, feeling his age. He grabbed a chair and lit a few candles on the dresser. He tried to spend some quiet time reading his favorite childhood book, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but after about an hour, he set the book down on the box next to his cot. There was just no escape. He waited until around four in the morning then got dressed and went down the hall to knock on Sammy's door.
Bruce had to knock a second time before the door slowly opened and a sleepy Major Samuelsson leaned his head outside, shielding his eyes from Bruce's candle with his left hand. "What's up?" Sammy asked, stifling a yawn.
Bruce lowered the candle so it wasn't in Sammy's face. "Get dressed."
“Yeah...I was afraid you were going to say that...,” the major’s words faded behind the closing door.
IT WAS STILL DARK AS Bruce and Sammy entered the vacant farmhouse just outside of town. Sergeant Timms came out front to greet them when he heard the Humvee pull up the long gravel drive. "He's down here," Sergeant Timms said as he led them through the foyer of the house and to the basement door, handing them his lantern. Bruce slowly walked down the steps into the pitch black basement followed by Sammy. Colonel Harris wondered in what kind of condition he would find the lieutenant. The old farmhouse's basement was damp and the smell of mold permeated Bruce's nostrils. As he stepped off the last creaky wooden step, Bruce held the lantern high to spread the light. Off to his right, he spotted Lieutenant Jenkins sitting in an old wooden chair with his legs crossed like he was expecting them for a meeting. His face had been wiped off and cleaned, but the blood on the front of his uniform was still obvious. There was a small mattress in the corner and a smelly bucket next to his chair. Other than that, half of the basement’s contents had been piled haphazardly off to the colonel's left. The lieutenant had one chain tight around his stomach and a second one around his ankle. Both had been bolted securely to the floor with enough lead to allow him to use the empty half of the basement.
"Good morning, Colonel!" the lieutenant called out in an unusually chipper tone.
Bruce ignored him for the time being and scavenged around the pile of junk to his right until he found another wooden chair near the bottom of the pile. With a jerk he pulled it free, causing an old metal box trap on the top of the pile to crash to the floor. That produced a flurry of heavy footsteps upstairs and in three bounds Sergeant Timms made it to the bottom of the steps, pistol drawn.
"We're okay, Sergeant.... Thank you," Sammy said to calm down the anxious Sergeant Timms. Sammy motioned for him to go back upstairs. Sergeant Timms nodded, re-holstered his side arm, and slowly climbed the steps, shutting the basement door behind him. Bruce never even acknowledged the sergeant's presence and continued staring at Lieutenant Jenkins without emotion. In return, Lieutenant Jenkins stared back at the colonel in defiance with those icy blue eyes and small grin. Bruce slid the heavy wooden chair across the concrete with a screech until he estimated he was just outside the reach of the lieutenant’s chains.
Colonel Harris took a seat slowly and set the lantern on the floor to his left. He didn't say anything for a few moments and just held the lieutenant’s gaze. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Actually, I think I'll just call you Jenkins from now on." Jenkins facial expression didn't change at Bruce's words and he continued sitting there with the same sly grin. "So which agency do you work for? CIA? NSA?" Bruce asked calmly. Jenkins still didn't respond, so Bruce continued. "C'mon, let's not play games here. We know for certain that you aren't a lieutenant in the United States Army. So just be honest with me, who do you work for?"
Jenkins sat quietly for a moment before answering. "If what you suspect is true, Colonel, then you can't really expect me to answer that question."
"Okay, fine. We'll just assume it's one of those two for now. Who does General Oates report to and who's behind this mission of yours?" Bruce asked.
Jenkins let out a chuckle. "If I didn't answer your last question, what makes you think I'll answer this one?"
"Because at noon today I'm going to have you executed for being a domestic enemy of the State and for treason to this country. I'll be truthful with you, Jenkins: it doesn't matter what you tell me or what you share with me, I'm going to have you executed either way. I'm just trying to find out the character of the man before me and give you a chance to do at least one good thing before you die." Bruce's voice never wavered; he wanted Jenkins to know he was serious and not just being theatrical.
"Oh, come off it, Colonel!" Jenkins rocked forward and laughed out loud. "You can't touch me and you know it! You'd be dead within a week and we'll put someone in your place who knows how to follow orders. Besides, I don't think you have the balls to kill me."
"What, you haven't heard the latest Fox News report? You're already dead," Bruce said with an ominous chuckle that took Jenkins off guard. "Yeah, that's right. The entire platoon saw gunfire coming from the hillside ambush on our trip home. You got shot in the face yesterday. The boys lit up those woods with 'fifty cal' bullets to provide cover for Shifty who heroically jumped out into a hail of looter's bullets to pull your dead lifeless body back into the vehicle. In fact, I've officially nominated Shifty for a medal." Bruce let that sink in for a moment. "Son..., like I said, 'you're already dead.' We are actually holding your funeral service this evening in the mess hall. All we need is a body to put in the box that’s being built. There is no one coming to rescue you, Son. You're already dead," Bruce finished slowly and sinisterly.
Jenkins didn't squirm, but Bruce could tell in the faint light that he was definitely growing uncomfortable. "I'm not dead yet," he responded.
"Yes, you are!" Bruce screamed, causing his words to echo off the sandstone walls of the basement. "I already told you that you died yesterday when we were 'attacked' by looters. Unofficially, you’re to be executed in about seven hours. That will provide us enough time to get your body to your own funeral." Bruce let his words sink in and literally sat silent for about three minutes just watching Jenkins. Jenkins didn’t say a word the entire time, but his gaze was not as steady as before and his left eye twitched nervously.
After letting Jenkins stew in his new reality, Colonel Harris continued softly. "I know you were sent up here to kill a political target: the ham radio operator known as 'Freedom America.' You are also here to cover your tracks from last month, when you botched the first operation to kill him.” Bruce studied Jenkins, but he didn’t respond to the revelation, so he continued. “The Rangers refused to carry out your orders and would rather desert than attack an entire town full of innocent people for one man. And then there’s you: a man who doesn't have the same moral compass as the rest of us and doesn't care about what's right and wrong. You know what? I'll tell you something else. You actually were face-to-face with your target last month. The mayor of Kane is 'Freedom America.' You actually shook hands with the man!" Bruce laughed out loud at Jenkins’ expense.
Jenkins left out a snort. "I figured as much," he muttered.
"Which explains why you were trying so hard to get back down there. I don't know who you work for, but I work for the American people. I swore an oath to protect this country from all enemies foreign and domestic and I intend to keep my honor, regardless of the consequences. I don't know what you honor or what you hold sacred, but you and the people behind you must be stopped. I am giving you an opportunity to do something noble and honorable before your death. Help me. Tell me who you work for?"
Jenkins just sat there silent, staring back at Bruce, but now dejected. Bruce gave him a minute to answer before sighing, "Very well. I guess I'll see you at noon." Colonel Harris grabbed the lantern, stood up, and dragged his chair back to the pile of rubbish slowly for effect.
He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Jenkins speak out softly. "Whose signature was on those orders I gave you the other day?"
Bruce stopped in his tracks and hustled back down the steps. "What did you say? Are you telling me the President actually knows about this mission?" Jenkins ignored him and slowly walked back to the dirty mattress in the corner and lay down. "Jenkins?" Bruce pleaded, but it was no use. Jenkins just adjusted the chain around his waist and turned over to face the wall.