The Sheriff sat behind the antique walnut desk and stared into the darkness toward Asherton. The desk dated back to the seventeen hundreds, a gift from his late wife. He liked to imagine the founding fathers sitting at similar desks, drafting the words that made America free. He closed his eyes. What would they think of us now?
Everything was falling into place, more or less. He had been forced to make a few improvisations along the way, but his men were the best. They could adapt to any situation. Besides, he was confident that—despite anything Marcus might do—the end result would be the same. The only wild card left in the deck is Ackerman.
He turned to Lewis Foster, who sat a few feet in front of the desk in a chair of equal value. Foster awaited his instructions, the epitome of the obedient soldier. “Lewis,” he said, “I have a bad feeling that I can’t seem to shake. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Francis Ackerman.”
“Sir, we’re so close to the border that someone in Ackerman’s position would have to be completely insane not to just jump over to Mexico.”
He wanted to laugh, but Foster was serious. The young man didn’t see the irony in his choice of words when he said that Ackerman would have to be insane not to run. After all, Ackerman was insane, so the rules and logic of the sane world would never apply to him.
“When dealing with a lot of men, I would say that you’re right, but Ackerman is a beast the likes of which few have ever seen. He has no fear, and when he sets his sights on you, you either end up dead or wishing you were. And now, he has motive against us. I need you to go to Asherton and get Maggie out of there. I’d go myself, but I have to prepare for the final act of our little drama.”
Foster nodded in assent. He was a good soldier and would do as ordered. “I understand, sir. Don’t worry. I’ll bring her back.”
He smiled at Lewis with a wide, fatherly grin and tender eyes. Lewis had become like a son to him. Foster’s family had been brutally murdered when he was only a teenager. Afterward, the Sheriff had taken him in. In the moment when Lewis needed someone to take his hand and help lift the crushing weight of the world, he had been there.
Now, the roles had been reversed, and the Sheriff was the one feeling the crushing weight pressing down on him. He had just learned of a game Ackerman had played at a local farmhouse and couldn’t help feeling responsible for what had transpired. And this was only the first report. He knew that more would follow, and he felt helpless to stop it.
“Please, promise me that you’ll be careful. I don’t think that I can stand any more death this evening.” The Sheriff shook his head and continued in a low tone. “Damn it, Lewis, I’m beginning to wonder whether any of this is truly worth it. I should have known better than to allow a monster like Ackerman out of my sight in the first place. How many more people are going to die before this ends? What price must we pay? It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. No innocent people were supposed to get hurt.”
“Sir, things may not have gone down exactly the way that we planned, but we’ll find Ackerman. We’ll stop him. We’ll set things right. But we have to stick to the plan. You said it best yourself when you told me, ‘Sometimes, the only way to get a person to open their eyes is to slap them in the face.’ You were right, sir. And we will succeed in opening someone’s eyes tomorrow. I guarantee you that. There’s no way you could have known that any of this would happen the way that it did. What’s done is done, but are we going to let all who have fallen along the way die in vain, or are their deaths going to mean something?”
The Sheriff nodded and said, “I think my good sense must be rubbing off on you. What’s done is done. Right now, we have to stay focused. We have to stay the course. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
A humming filled the air, and the cell phone resting on the desk lit up. He reached out and picked up the phone. He checked the number and recognized it as coming from South Africa. At least, that’s where it appeared to originate. In actuality, the call had been bounced around the world to obscure its true origin—Washington D.C.
An image from long ago flashed in his mind as he took a second to ready himself for the call. He remembered sitting in his cell when the guards came and escorted him to an interrogation room. Then, a man entered and gave him a choice. Looking back, he supposed it wasn’t much of a decision. Go to prison for the rest of his life or accept the man’s offer. The path was clear. Whenever he thought back on it, though, he knew that he still would have chosen this path—even if a multitude of other options had been available to him.
The Sheriff flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear. “Hello … Yes, sir. Everything is proceeding according to schedule.”