Cut to the Bone(94)
Branch stared at the television in the bunker.
“I murdered them all!” Danny thundered, full-metal preacher. “I, myself, and no one else! I was the motel janitor! I threw those hand grenades! I killed thirteen innocent men! And Wayne Covington, the governor of Illinois, was my partner in crime!”
“That’s our guy,” Branch radioed main-gate forces. “Get him out of there quick and quiet before the crowd decides to protect him.”
He turned to the white-faced ACLU lawyer. “You have no idea how much I’m gonna enjoy telling everyone you personally vouched for this cockroach.”
11:46 a.m.
“Mr. Governor,” CBS interrupted, jumping to her feet. “A man at the base of the mountain has just accused you of murder. He says on June 29, 1966, you killed an innocent-”
11:47 a.m.
“Ohhhhh, man,” Catfish groaned. He’d sat here nearly an hour and still wasn’t done. But high noon loomed, and he was a professional.
He emerged from the Porta-Potty, embarrassed to look at the next person in line. He unslung his M-4 and trotted toward the main gate, wondering what all the commotion was.
11:48 a.m.
“He said that?” Covington said, staring down the reporters. “How dare he! His brother committed that horrible crime and got exactly what he deserved. Just like Corey Trent will in twelve minutes.”
11:49 a.m.
The three official executioners marched into the anteroom, tugging black hoods to collarbones. In the death chamber, the electrician made sure the copper electrodes were welded tight to Trent’s head and left calf, then walked to the back and inserted a key in a wall plate. The center’s director inserted his own key on his side of the chamber. “Three, two, one . . .”
Twist.
The simultaneous move started both the generator and the fail-safe program that ensured the power wouldn’t stop even if the generator was subsequently destroyed.
The electrician left. The director pushed a button. The blue velvet curtains whirred apart, exposing the viewing window. Trent spit eye-acid at the witnesses. They stirred uncomfortably, glad the window was bulletproof.
The Executioner waited, each second exploding in his brain.
11:50 a.m.
“I’d like you at my side for this, Emily,” Covington said.
The governor’s offer was as welcome as it was surprising - she ached to see Corey Trent up close. See if breathing the same air could make her understand his unspeakable evilness. But she shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. My job is to guard the witnesses.”
He nodded at his bodyguards. “They’ll take care of your folks,” he said. “I need you in there with me.” He moved closer, dropped his voice. “We’re two of a kind, you and me. We know what it’s like when family dies. How it feels to lose half your soul. You deserve to be there.”
His bright eyes weren’t for show, she knew. He was thinking about his dead brother Andy. It made her think of those she’d lost. Of the murdered baby. Of Marty and his heartache.
“Equally important,” Covington said, louder now, spell broken, “Mr. Hill here asks for your armed presence. He’s afraid of big bad Trent.”
“Wayne’s the one who’s scared,” the Executioner parried. “I’m just his beard.”
Covington gave him an affectionate arm-pummel. “We’ll make our exit immediately after Leonard reads the death warrant. Please, Emily, say yes. We’ll be out before you know it.”
Emily glanced at her sergeant, who nodded.
“Deal,” she said.
11:51 a.m.
“You heard right - Danny claims Wayne killed an innocent man,” Cross told the chief justice as he floored his cruiser up the mountain. He could barely hear over the wall of sound. “The extraction team’s nearly to him, but the damage is already done. The crowd’s turning fast. Shut this circus down, Your Honor. Before I have to start shooting.”
11:52 a.m.
Danny thrust the grenade over his head. The already riled crowd recoiled in fright.
“This is one of the hand grenades I used to kill those innocent men,” he announced. “Don’t worry, this isn’t real. There’s no powder. It’s harmless as a tin can.” He pointed to his granddaughter, who stared up at him as if a deity. “I would never put this darling child, or my congregants, in harm’s way with something real. This is only a symbol.”
The extraction team pounced.
11:53 a.m.
Catfish burst through the front line, adrenaline scouring his brain, eyes darting everywhere, ears blasted by the frightened roar. “Grenade!” he screamed, swinging the M-4 onto the terrorist’s chest. “Everybody down!”