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  “I asked him how this outreach business might work for the private churches who seem to be at the forefront of the trend, and he just cackled. He’s always been complimentary of my curiosity, and he assured me that even in his day there were similar situations that came under his scrutiny.

  “I can assure you, my friend,” He said in what might have been a combination impression of the retired CPA and Jack’s own lecture voice. His combination mimicked his friend’s tone and diction to a tee. “I can assure you that there are many, many, consulting expenses among the variety of write-offs decorating the tax returns by those for-profit enterprises.”

  I caught on. “Co-mingling?”

  “It’ll be much more difficult as a result of some ideas floating around the new tax plan being argued of late. One of the targets being considered for realignment is the pass-through businesses and their ability to write off expenses, but as yet there’s been no talk of taxing church income even as they discuss lifting the prohibition on pulpit politicking.”

  “You mean they might want the soup kitchen for a place to write off against for-profit operations?”

  “And, they may open a great for-profit recreational opportunity for the good people with discretionary funds who support the kitchen, and make even more money available for their primary purpose, whatever that might be...”

  “Holy...”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter 47

  I hadn’t been much company after my return from Jack’s, and that didn’t raise any concern in our house where expanded times of quiet were the norm.

  But when I was clearly not involved with dinner and followed that up with distracted attention to helping with the clean-up, Jan finally had had enough.

  “What’s with you, Jim?”

  I gave her a recap of my call with Shore and my meeting with Jack. When I was finished we sat across from each other at the kitchen counter. I had listened to my report, trying to make sense of it, and she was obviously doing the same. Our shared silence stretched out like the shadows cast across the kitchen floor.

  “What will you tell Elmo?”

  “I guess I’ll tell him the whole story and see what he thinks.”

  “You think he’ll be excited by the opportunity to cash out of The Table and walk away?”

  “I doubt it on one hand, and don’t on the other. Like he told me, they buy and sell things; it’s what they do. Why not this?”

  She patted the back of my hands I’d left sprawled on the counter, “Does that disappoint you in some way?”

  I hadn’t considered reacting to what Elmo and Grace might choose, and the thought caught me by surprise. “I don’t know what I might have expected, really. I guess I would expect they would react in some fashion true to their beliefs, their calling... You know?”

  “Great expectations?” She was smiling at me in a winning way.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  She let her voice change just so, and purred, “A girl can have great expectations herself, you know? This girl is taking herself to bed. So, good night?” She patted my hands again, and got up.

  I watched her stroll through the house, shutting down lights and working her way to the stairs where she tossed me a wave with her hand. I let Judy out, double checked the doors, and made sure our security system was armed. When I came back, Judy was sitting patiently at the door. I let her in and she bounced up the stairs and out of sight.

  I maybe didn’t bounce, but I made good time, after all, a guy can’t chance disappointing a girl’s great expectations...

  In the middle of the night, the chime on my e-mail sounded again and again, as if someone were peppering my In-box with spam. I dragged myself out of the cozy covers to take a look at the computer in the workroom.

  My spammer was Ray Jensen.

  My In-box showed some 48 new messages. I ignored the most recent and went to the first message, that had arrived about 12:30 a.m. “Jim, need immediate phone call. Have urgent news on Morgan Shore.”

  “Why didn’t he call?” Jan said from behind me.

  I was startled by Jan’s comment. She had followed me out of bed and was reading over my shoulder. I was scrolling the other messages and they were all one-word: Jim.

  “I don’t know.”

  I went to my dresser in the bedroom and found my phone. I opened it, and there was no dial tone. The battery was fine, but I had no service indicated. I was confused, we’d never had service interruptions before.

  I checked Jan’s phone and found the same – No bars.

  I returned to the computer and replied to Ray: “Have no phone service; very weird. Nearest landline at Nelson’s; will call in a few.”

  Knocking on Jack’s door brought on lights all over the building, and in seconds he was at the door. He stood back as it opened, and I knew the hand I couldn’t see was holding a Taurus Tack Driver identical to the one in my waist band.

  “What in hell are you folks doing?”

  “Need to use your land line,” I said as we entered.

  “Help yourself... what’s the matter with your cells?”

  “Check your phone; we show no service.”

  I was at his kitchen phone, dialing Jensen when I heard the wonder in Jack’s voice, “Oh! That’s right. I remember reading that notice on the last bill, our tower was scheduled to be down for two days for maintenance and service could be spotty... These must be the days.”

  Jensen answered in a rush, “Jim, I just learned that Morgan Shore and his sect are planning an experiment in class warfare using a small soup kitchen.”

  “You heard what? Where?”

  “Never mind where. That offer they made for the Table? The plan is to use the soup kitchen to spread a drug that in extended exposure could result in death.”

  “I’m not tracking I guess, but you picked up on a rumor...”

  “This is not a rumor, pardner; this is inside dope. It’s real, and they’ve picked Table of Grace for their experiment. That’s the word I heard and was telling you about – not an example, but an experiment!”

  “Ray, you need to calm down. It’s the middle of the night, what’s the rush?”

  “They know who you are. You called Morgan Shore today. You thought you pumped him pretty good, but he knew exactly who you were, and he’s put a contract out on you.”

  “He’d already done that, Ray; Truman told me. He’s pissed off about the way I had his kid arrested...”

  He interrupted me, “No; this is a new contract. He’s frantic that if you talk to Elmo and Grace you’ll queer his whole plan. He wants you dead before dawn!”

  “Ray, where are you getting this?”

  “Not your business; you just need to know this is real; no bullshit, mister. I’ll rally Pete Boyd’s troops. You need to take care of yourselves until I can protect you.”

  “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Stop. Let me have a second...” I knew the Nelsons and Jan were watching me, and I could almost hear Jensen’s anxiety on the phone, but then it all fell into place. “Ray, stand down. You have a highly placed source in Morgan Shore’s organization, and I bet I know who that is. Shore’s people will have boots on the ground to check our behavior. If they see us running for cover, or if any word about an attack leaks out of the Table talks, they’ll have found their spy. They couldn’t know about our phone issue, and they probably started hours ago, we’ve got no time to waste.”

  “But...”

  “This isn’t about us, or the Table of Grace folks, Ray. This is about you and your undercover source. If we get settled down in time, I don’t think there’s any danger here to anyone but your agent.”

  Ray’s silence lasted what seemed like full five minutes but by the clock on the Nelson’s mantel it was less than two. “Take care of yourselves, Jim,” and he hung up.

  I hung the phone and grabbed Jan by the hand, “We’re going home. You guys lock up tight and have your weapons ready. Hopefully we’ll
look as if we hadn’t heard a thing by the time anyone can arrive to check on us.”

  Jack ushered us to the door without a word. His lights were out by the time we reached the road.

  We ran home, and found Judy bouncing inside the front door. We buttoned up and had all the room lights out just fifteen minutes before a single vehicle, running without lights, trolled down the road, stopping halfway between our house and the Nelsons. The driver executed a quiet u-turn and drove slowly out of sight towards the highway.

  “Whew!” Jan expressed her relief from the sectional hidden in the deep shadow of our living room. “We didn’t have much time to spare.”

  We were silent long enough that she started to wonder, “Did you fall asleep?”

  “I don’t think I can tonight, but you can try.”

  “I’m hungry; want some popcorn?”

  “Not tonight, Jan. No lights, just the look of peaceful dreaming.”

  “You think they’re watching us right now?”

  “Nope, I don’t think the watcher will make it back here for another 15 or 20 minutes. It’s a pretty fair hike in the dark.”

  “You sure...? Of course, that’s how you’d do it, right?”

  It was a long night.

  Chapter 48

  We arrived at the Table of Grace just after 10 a.m. and while the doors were unlocked, neither Grace nor Elmo were on hand. Two church women who I knew volunteered regularly showed up a few minutes later, and together we all started preparing for business as usual.

  Grace came in the back door a few minutes later, loaded down with groceries. Elmo, similarly loaded with bags, arrived right behind her. “Jim!” Elmo greeted me with a big smile.

  He shed his load on the counter, spoke softly to the other volunteers, and then with a nod of his head at the back door, he led us outside. We stood around the hood of his vehicle in the shade. “What’s the news?” He asked.

  I briefed him on my interview with Morgan Shore.

  “You think he’s legitimate?”

  “I do.”

  “You think of a number to throw at him?”

  “I’d think of something bordering on outrageous... half a mil?”

  Elmo’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped, “You serious?”

  “I am. I don’t think he’ll go for that, and I even wonder if he’ll counter.”

  “He’ll have to counter if he wants the Table, that’s for certain.”

  “He may not really want the kitchen, Elmo. He may have gotten everything he needed from my call, but if you’re game, I’ll call him back.”

  “Let’s see what he says,” Elmo said and then chuckled. “Wait ’til Grace hears about this.”

  “This is Shore,” the voice answered the phone. I had speaker volume high enough Elmo could hear both sides of the conversation.

  “Mr. Shore, Jim Stanton here, sir.”

  “Mr. Stanton, have Mr. Williams and Ms. Morton arrived at a price?”

  “Yes, sir. They would consider moving on for $500,000.”

  “I’m sure they would, sir. Is that a serious response?”

  “It is.”

  “And they have authorized you to quote such a ridiculous offer?”

  My voice went very soft and solemn, “I assure you they have, sir.” Elmo was covering his mouth, his eyes were squinted shut, and it was all he could do to keep from guffawing.

  “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to look elsewhere. Thank them for me, please.” And he disconnected.

  “Sorry, Elmo, no deal.”

  “That was terrific! Wait ’til I tell Grace.” He gasped the words amid his howling laughter, and soon tears had joined the party.

  At that moment, my phone buzzed, and I took it outside to answer, “Stanton.”

  “Jim,” Ray was calling. “You had it pegged last night, but there’s more trouble today.”

  “What now?”

  “Seems an old friend of yours has just learned of the passing of Randy Mason. Came as quite a shock, and, it seems, he’s seeking revenge. Do you think he knows where you live?”

  I recalled the note in my mailbox and the masked man at Nelson’s house. “I’m pretty sure he does. Where was he when he heard the news?”

  “Is that important?”

  “Was he in your kitchen or the guest house, Ray?”

  “He wasn’t here; that wouldn’t be secure. He was in Coeur d’Alene. About six hours from you by car.”

  “Is he blown with this move?”

  Jensen let out a long sigh, “Probably. I’ll have troops in your neighborhood, but you must remember how he was back in your days together; he hasn’t changed much, just smoother.”

  “Thanks for the heads up; I have to move.”

  I dialed Jack’s number and he answered on the first ring, “Jim? What’s up?”

  “If you folks are alone and able, I’d like you to vacate now, don’t pack, just leave.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Don’t talk, Jack; move!”

  “Want me to take Judy with me?”

  “Nope, don’t stop or slow down until you’re safe. This could take a day or so, but don’t take time to pack.”

  “We’re out; good luck!”

  Elmo was watching me closely, but remained silent.

  I went inside the kitchen, beckoned Jan with a gesture, and in seconds we were in our truck and traveling. “Where are we going?”

  “The Dalles.”

  “What?” She started to object.

  I interrupted her, “I need you somewhere safe and unanticipated.” I called Pete Boyd as we cleared the ridge west of Pendleton, my speedometer was pegged at 85. “Stanton here, Pete. I’m clearing out of Dodge with Jan; headed for a safe house, traveling west at a high rate of speed if you can do anything to clear the path for about 120 miles.”

  “Emergency?”

  “Life and death.”

  “Keep it between the ditches.” And he cut off.

  We hit The Dalles 40 minutes later, and I drove directly to Norma’s house.

  “Well, what a nice surprise,” she said as she answered the door. “What brings you two here?”

  “We need some help,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Come in.”

  I gave her the briefest of background on our situation. It was the first Jan had heard any details; pushing 90 mph in a pickup truck isn’t conducive to chit chat.

  “Of course Jan may stay here. I’d love to have her for as long as it takes. Is there any danger for her or me here?”

  “I doubt it; it would take quite a leap to connect to you in this case, unless you’ve heard lately from Mark Gardner.”

  “No, that I haven’t. In fact I haven’t heard from anyone since Art’s funeral, and none of his Army buddies attended. I’m not sure they could have known about it, really.”

  Jan accompanied me back to the truck. “I’m not happy with this, but you’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “He was a very competent planner, soldier, and killer in his day. I have no idea what he’s cooked up, but I can almost guarantee you that if you meet him – or any stranger who might show up at your door – you better be ready to shoot from the start.”

  “Center mass?”

  I put my hand on her cheek lovingly, “It’s always the best plan.”

  I drove back to Pendleton well within the speed limit. The sun was still bullying a pure blue sky as I pulled into my driveway. I had taken a look at the overpass up the mountain where my hiking trails converged with the old highway, and found no parked cars there. I thought we were somewhat short of the window of travel time from Coeur d’Alene, but I expected company at any time.

  Judy had been left in her pen that morning, and she was still there. I freed her, and we took a quick look around the house as she patrolled and marked her territory. I let myself into the kitchen from the deck, and then inspected the house to make certain I was alone.

  I disarmed the security syst
em, and put the yard lights on motion alert. There were eight strategically placed lights around the property that would respond to movement. I knew from experience that I could see most of them in the daylight while the critter igniting them might not.

  I left the front door ajar, perked a pot of coffee, and took up a spot in the living room with one of my favorite books, “Sand County Almanac.”

  Gardner arrived just after 6 p.m. Judy’s low growl was my first clue; the light at the front corner of the garage came on and then I saw Gardner walk around the corner of the garage and up onto the porch. His hands were empty.

  “Come on in, Mark.”

  “Evening, Jim. We need to talk.”

  “I hope that’s all you’re here for.”

  “I’m in mourning for a dear friend and colleague, Jim. I’m here for an explanation.”

  I explained. I went as slowly and as carefully as I could, seeing each move even as I was describing it.

  “He was a great guy, a wonderful friend and a fierce fighter,” Gardner whispered after I finished. “I’m surprised you could take him.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “He really didn’t try to explain his presence?”

  “No. What he did say sounded as if he was here to hurt us. I had no idea he had been providing you protective cover for decades while you were underground with the Nations.”

  “How did you figure that out?”

  “Actually, I wasn’t the first person to think of you that way; my wife, Jan, mentioned it as a possibility, and I dismissed it; said Mike Rhodes would never have mentioned one of his secret agents to me no matter the context.”

  “Rhodes didn’t know. I have been very careful, but my string has run out.”

  “What happens now?”

  “You pour me a cup of that coffee I smell? Then, I think I need to go visit a foreign country. I’ve used up the old USA, I think.”

  “You need anything from me?”

  He thought about it for a long minute. “No, I think I’m okay with your explanation. Mason was a great guy, but not an effective communicator; I think that might have killed him.”

  I made fresh coffee, found some leftovers in the fridge and moved very carefully around my guest, wondering if his plan was as he outlined it or if he still harbored ill will for me.