Chapter 4

8:45 am, Saturday, September 24, 2022:

Ryan had just returned from Sally’s shop with his morning coffee and walked into his office after gathering the overnight reports. He usually would not have come in over the weekend. Still, the Dupont case was far too important, and he expected Director Smith to arrive. Because of that, he also asked Ray and Deputy Sanders to come in. He hated messing with their weekend, but it couldn’t be helped.

Beverly surprised him when she agreed to have Azalea over for dinner sometime soon. She was still steamed at the French-Canadian woman for coming on to her husband but felt better knowing that Ryan had turned her down. He was reading the reports when there was a knock on his door.

“Enter,” he called out.

“Sheriff, Deputy Director Smith from the FBI is here to see you,” Elaine announced, trying to act as if she routinely announced such visitors everyday ... and almost succeeding.

“Send him in, please,” Ryan said. “Have Detective Hale and Deputy Sanders come to my office, if you would.”

“Of course, Sheriff,” she replied, stepping back to let Smith in. Ryan stood and offered his hand with a smile.

“I see married life is agreeing with you, Ryan,” Smith said with a smile. “You look like you’ve put on a pound or two since I saw you last.”

“Beverly keeps me well-fed,” Ryan replied with a chuckle.

“Bet that’s not all she does,” Smith joked, prompting Ryan to chuckle.

“So, how long are you gonna be in town?” Ryan asked.

“Not sure. Probably a day or two, depending on how everything goes,” Smith said.

“Beverly would kick my ass if I didn’t offer to let you stay with us,” Ryan replied. “You know we have a couple of spare rooms, and you’re welcome to one of them. Hell, I’d even let you take one with its own bathroom.”

“I appreciate that, Ryan. I may take you up on that. Promise me you won’t keep me awake all night, though.”

“No promises, but I can give you a pair of ear plugs if it’ll help,” Ryan joked. Just then, Ray Hale and Deputy Sanders showed up, and Ryan made the introductions. “Have a seat, please. Coffee?”

“Sure,” Ray replied. Sanders echoed the sentiment, as did Smith. Ryan poured each a cup from his Keurig and prepared himself for what would come.

“So, what’s so secret you couldn’t tell us over the phone yesterday?” Ryan asked Smith.

“This whole situation with Worldwide Imports and Exports,” Smith said as he opened his briefcase. “By the way, Ryan. I spoke with my contact at the French Consulate in Washington on my way here this morning. It seems someone passed on a copy of their dossier on you.”

“Dossier? On me?” Ryan asked, only mildly surprised.

“Yes. I hope you’re not planning on visiting the Louvre any time soon. You’re officially persona non grata in France.”

“Well, it hasn’t exactly made it to my bucket list. I don’t speak French and can’t stand snails,” Ryan replied sarcastically.

“Don’t knock ‘em till you’ve tried ‘em,” Smith said half-jokingly.

“So, what have we stumbled into, Director?” Ray asked to get the meeting back on track.

“Right to business, I see. Good,” Smith said. “Worldwide Imports and Exports has been the target of an investigation involving multiple agencies from at least four countries for the last five years. That includes Interpol, the Surete du Quebec, the RCMP, the FBI, and others. We’ve gathered evidence on many crimes, including human trafficking, drugs, guns, and murder.

“Things have heated up considerably over the last two years. Thanks in large part to Mrs. Dupont, we gathered enough to move in on one of their remote facilities. We didn’t shut them down completely, but they were hurt. Then her husband left, supposedly visiting customers south of the border.”

“Wait, are you saying she was working with you?” Ryan asked.

“Yes,” Smith replied.

“I thought she was no longer with the Surete,” Ryan said, shocked.

“That’s what we wanted everyone to think,” Smith said. “We gave her a cover we thought would pass inspection. She’s still with the Surete, but as far as anyone is concerned, she’s no longer on active duty. She’s been quietly feeding us information. I suspect Worldwide Imports caught wind of it, and that’s why he was killed.”

“So she’s been holding out on us,” Ryan hissed. “Dammit! I’ve spoken with her more than once. Why wouldn’t she say anything about that?”

“She had to keep it quiet, Ryan,” Smith insisted defensively. “She’s undercover. You know the ramifications of that. If she had told you the truth, it could’ve put her own life in even more danger than it already is. Which is probably considerable, at this point,” he added.

“Alright, I’ll grant you that,” Ryan allowed, a bit grudgingly.

“She’s got two former mercenaries in her house right now, Director,” Ray stated. “Are they part of this ... operation?”

“You mean Roland Waters and Bill Matthews,” Smith stated. “Yes, they’re part of this. We had to keep up appearances and have SOME kind of plausible deniability, so we enlisted their help. In exchange, they receive monetary compensation, and their records were expunged.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ryan hissed.

“What about that aircraft we have locked up at the airport? I checked, and it’s registered to RW Enterprises,” Sanders added. Smith nodded his head with a slight smile.

“That was a nice touch. Technically, that’s a ‘company’ jet, if you know what I mean,” Smith replied, using air quotes on the word “company.”

“CIA?” Ryan asked as if his hopes for a quiet law enforcement career and early retirement were going up in smoke as he spoke.

“They weren’t using it at the time,” Smith shrugged. “And the pilot you have on ‘house arrest’ is a ‘company’ man as well. He’s not complaining, though. He’s enjoying his little vacation, knowing that it’s on your dime and he won’t have to suffer through the federal expense report crap.”

“I’ll bet he is,” Ryan snorted. “Azalea – Mrs. Dupont – told me yesterday that some of the people involved with Worldwide are protected by diplomatic immunity.” Ryan shot him a heated look. “What’s being done about that?”

“Mrs. Dupont was in the process of identifying those individuals. She’s given us the names of at least 15 people she confirmed are involved. The State Department is working with the French government to have their immunity revoked. It’s not an easy process,” Smith said wearily.

“Can’t we just waive their immunity if they’re involved in a crime?” Sanders asked, shock on his face.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Smith responded, shaking his head. “Immunity can only be revoked by the diplomat’s home government. Friendly governments often cooperate if the crimes are serious enough; and the evidence compelling enough. Even if they don’t cooperate, we can have the individual expelled and hope the home country’s government pursues prosecution.” He glanced at Ryan. “It happens, sometimes,” he added without much conviction.

“What do you suggest we do?” Ryan asked. “I have three bodies in my morgue, a town on edge, and a family torn up with grief.”

“Nothing, at least for the moment. Let your medical examiner do what’s necessary, then release the bodies. I’d appreciate copies of the autopsies and your case files for our records. I think it would be a good idea to chat with Mrs. Dupont and her associates, but not here,” Smith said, considering the options. “Perhaps in a more relaxed and less obvious setting. Like dinner, at your place. The sooner, the better.” He managed a half smile. “Not that I’m trying to be forward or anything. Old friends and all that.”

“Maybe tonight, then?” Ryan asked, mentally bracing himself to sprint THAT on Beverly.

“Works for me,” Smith said.

“Have you ever ... met ... Mrs. Dupont?” Ryan asked Smith.

“No, I haven’t, but I’ve heard ... things. Why?” Smith responded suspiciously.

“Let’s just say she’s a bit ... different,” Ryan said.

“You can say that again,” Ray chimed in.

“I’d better make some calls, then,” Ryan said, reaching for the phone.

...

10:15 am September 24, 2022

“What’s going on?” Roland asked after Azalea hung up her phone.

“We have been invited to dinner at Sheriff Caldwell’s house tonight,” Azalea answered absently.

“We? As in ... all three of us?” Roland replied, confused.

“Yes. All three of us. He expects us there at 6:30 pm.” Her tone was not completely bland; there was a vague curiosity about her.

“Did he say why?” Bill asked.

“No. He did not give a reason,” Azalea told him. “But it is what I might do if I knew more than I was letting on.”

“What the hell? I could go for a home-cooked meal,” Roland said. “No offense, Azalea, but I’m a little tired of take-out.”

“No offense taken. Okay,” Azalea sighed. “I suppose I could eat some good food as well.”

...

“Damn!” Jean-Pierre shouted as he slammed the phone down. “Damn. Damn. DAMN!”

“What is the problem?” Thierry asked, shocked at Jean-Pierre’s outburst.

“I haven’t been able to enlist anyone,” Jean-Pierre grumbled. “They all seem to know about this Sheriff Caldwell, and none of them are willing to go against him. Even after I offered to double their pay.”

“How is that possible?” Thierry practically spit. “How is it they know about him, but your planners did not?”

“I do not know. But they have all been informed somehow. It looks like we may have to rely on in-house resources. I wanted to avoid that. I can only hope they are up to the task.”

“Of course they are. They have been trained by the best. You know that,” Thierry reassured him.

“Perhaps. But I’m not sure about they are prepared to go against Caldwell. Have you looked at this man’s dossier?”

“No, I have not. You have the full dossier?”

“Yes. You should read it. This Caldwell character is not someone we can subject to intimidation.”

“Then perhaps we should target someone close to him. His wife, perhaps. Or his children. We’ve done it before with marked success,” Thierry suggested darkly.

“According to the dossier, that was tried ... once. It hasn’t been corroborated, and it isn’t generally well-known, but our intelligence services believe Caldwell responded by destroying the entire board of directors of Knight Petroleum in a raid that lasted only minutes.”

“Destroyed? You mean...”

“Yes, killed,” Jean-Pierre growled. “Or as these colonials say, ‘Terminated with extreme prejudice’; including all of their security and support staff. While leaving NO significant evidence behind.”

“And their FBI did nothing?” Thierry exclaimed, astonished.

“Their FBI claimed the raid was carried out by a drug cartel from south of the border,” Jean-Pierre said. “And that subsequent investigation led nowhere.”

“But you don’t believe that, do you?” Thierry asked.

“No. And neither does the DGSE,” Jean-Pierre replied, referring to the French foreign intelligence service, equivalent to the British MI6 and the American CIA. “I have seen photos of the damage to the Knight compound. If he is willing and capable of mounting a raid like that inside his own country, right under the nose of local law enforcement, imagine what he could do to us.” He paused for effect before continuing. “And there’s more.”

“More?”

“Yes. Azalea Dupont has enlisted the aid of two mercenaries, and they are staying with her.”

“Who?” Thierry asked.

“Roland Waters, and his planner, Bill Matthews.”

“The Thompson Gunner,” Thierry sighed quietly. He knew about Waters, having prepared a dossier on the man himself. Roland was not only proficient with the .45 caliber weapon, but he was also known for his brutality. “Damn. Perhaps we should back down for a while. Let things cool off.”

“NO! We proceed. We will have to be careful, though. The dossier on Caldwell says he is married to a chicken farmer named Beverly. She delivers eggs from her farm every morning. We will shadow her, and when the time is right...”

“We strike,” Thierry said.

“Yes, but we will not harm her. We will only use her to secure Caldwell’s cooperation,” Jean-Pierre said with an evil grin. “I will get what we need to ensure her ... compliance, if you know what I mean.”

Listening to Jean-Pierre, Thierry was becoming concerned about Jean-Pierre’s obsessive drive for vengeance and wondered if it was clouding his judgment and taking his mind off the company’s interests. Yes, the Dupont woman had shot Jean-Pierre’s brother in the line of duty, but it was in self-defense, and the man was involved in a brazen criminal act.

“Very well, but we must be extremely careful. I have heard that the Americans have opened negotiations to have diplomatic immunity revoked from several Consular employees,” Thierry said.

“For what reason?”

“I have heard rumors but I do not have any details.”

“Are you one of them?” Jean-Pierre asked.

“I do not know. I have not seen the list.”

“We cannot let rumors slow us down. The job must be finished. Concentrate.”

“Yes, of course,” Thierry said quietly, unconvinced Jean-Pierre was taking the proper action. He would have backed off until the situation cooled down if it were up to him. But Jean-Pierre was known for quick, often times brash action.

“Good. Find out this woman’s routine. Get back to me by the middle of the week.”

“As you wish, monsieur,” Thierry said before leaving the office. When the door closed, Jean-Pierre turned to look out the window, a grim smile on his face. He would have his vengeance, and if everything worked out, he would have his way with Azalea – and Caldwell’s wife.

...

6:30 pm, Saturday, September 24, 2022

“Come on in,” Ryan said as he opened the door to his house, inviting his three guests inside.

“That smells wonderful,” Roland said. “What is it?”

“Pork chops,” Ryan said. “With all the trimmings. Beverly’s own recipe. It’s so secret, I don’t even know what she puts in them. All I know is they’re delicious. Oh, I’d like to introduce you to Darrel Smith, Deputy Director of the FBI,” he added.

“Mrs. Dupont, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Smith said, extending a hand. Azalea looked at the extended hand, her face turning pale. Smith’s initial smile faded when he realized she wouldn’t accept his greeting.

“It is good to meet you as well, Deputy Director,” Azalea said uncomfortably.

“She doesn’t care much for human contact,” Roland said, taking Smith’s hand instead. “No offense.”

“Of course not,” Smith said. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he told Azalea.

“That is quite all right,” she said automatically in response.

“Mr. Matthews, it’s good to see you in the flesh, so to speak,” Smith said, shaking Bill’s hand.

“And you as well, Director,” Bill said.

“You didn’t say anything about meeting with an FBI director,” Azalea told Ryan, with just a trace of irritation in her otherwise flat voice.

“There’s a few things you didn’t tell me, either,” Ryan said evenly. “I reckon that makes us even. We’ll discuss it after dinner. Please, step into the dining room. I believe Beverly has everything ready to go.”

“Come on in, everyone,” Beverly said when they entered what Ryan called the “formal” dining room, a wood-paneled room off the kitchen with windows overlooking the backyard. “Please, have a seat.” Ryan introduced Beverly to everyone, then took his place at the head of the table, with Beverly sitting to his right.

“Dig in, everyone,” Ryan said, motioning to the food. “There’s plenty for everyone. Help yourselves. If you walk away hungry, it’s your fault,” he added, prompting laughter from all but Azalea.

“I really like what you’ve done with the place, Ryan,” Smith said. “Last time I was here, the walls were almost completely bare.”

“You can thank Beverly for that,” Ryan replied. “She’s turned this old house into a real home.” He noticed Azalea looking around nervously as though not knowing how to eat her pork chop. “Is everything okay?” he asked her. “Do you need anything?”

“Um ... Do you have any ... red sauce?” she asked quietly, not looking up from her plate.

“Tabasco? I think we have some. Hold on, let me go look,” Ryan said, getting up from the table. He returned a few moments later with an unopened jar of the hot red liquid, twisted the cap off, and handed it to her. Then he watched, shocked, as she practically drowned her meat in the sauce. She cut off a piece, ate it, and nodded her head.

“This is very good, Mrs. Caldwell,” she said between bites.

“Thank you,” Beverly responded, eyebrows raised, nearly adding, “I think...” They all stared as Azalea dug into her meal, not even taking a breath between bites. Watching Azalea inhale her food, Ryan was reminded of his time in the service. Somewhat embarrassed, they turned back to their meals.

“This is delicious, Beverly,” Smith said. “I can see why your husband has put on a couple of pounds,” he added, prompting laughter from everyone except Azalea, who had a brief look of puzzlement.

“Before we married, all he ate was raw hot dogs and frozen microwave dinners,” Beverly replied tartly. “Believe me, he was skinny as a rail. I told him he’d be better off eating the cardboard boxes those meals came in.”

“And now, I’m fat, dumb, and very happy,” Ryan joked.

“I hope everyone saved room for apple pie. I picked some up when I went to Piggly Wiggly today. Sorry I didn’t get something a little fancier, but Saturday is usually our date night, and I didn’t have anything thawed,” Beverly told everyone.

“Why do they call it ‘Piggly Wiggly?’ What kind of a name is that for a store?” Azalea asked indignantly as if the universe should be offended at such an illogical name. Having cleaned her plate in record time, she had just ... been sitting there, looking vaguely at the center of the table, like a robot waiting for the following command.

“I don’t know,” Ryan said responded mildly.

“It makes no sense,” Azalea declared quietly as the others exchanged worried glances. “I thought it was maybe a cultural thing.”

“No, that’s just what it’s always been called,” Beverly said as she cut each of them a piece of pie which they ate in silence. Each glanced at Azalea, dreading to see if she would bury this in hot sauce, too.

But thankfully, she did not, though she ate it quickly and mechanically, finishing first and continuing to stare at the center of the table. She said nothing about the pie as if one social comment per meal was her upper limit. When they had all finished, Ryan sat back and sipped his coffee.

“Why don’t we retire to the front room?” he asked. “We can talk there.” Everyone thanked Beverly for the meal as they stood, and Ryan helped Beverly carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen.

“Is she ... you know ... all there?” Beverly asked Ryan quietly in the kitchen, where no one else could hear.

“That’s just the way she is. Sorry,” Ryan said.

“I know you said she was socially awkward, but I never expected ... this,” Beverly responded. “I almost feel sorry for her.”

“Believe it or not, she has an exemplary record with the police in Quebec.”

“I don’t, but I’ll take your word for it. Go on into the front room. I’ll bring in the coffee,” she said.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Ryan said, emphasizing his gratitude with a kiss. “And thank you for a wonderful meal.”

“You can thank me later, cowboy,” Beverly said, bumping his hip playfully. Ryan smiled at the thought, then went into the front room, where everyone waited.

“That hit the spot,” Roland said with sincerity. “Thanks.” Bill echoed Roland’s statement.

“You’re welcome,” Ryan said before turning to Azalea. “I think you owe me an explanation, Azalea.” She looked at Smith before responding.

“You are correct, Sheriff,” she finally said. “In light of everything that has happened, I owe you an explanation.” She glanced again at Smith, who only nodded his head. She looked at Roland and Bill, then turned back to Ryan as she considered her words.

“A little more than five years ago, I was placed on a task force investigating a string of murders tied to various other crimes. Drugs, human trafficking, guns ... There was a lot of circumstantial evidence that suggested Worldwide Imports and Exports were involved, but nothing we could substantiate.

“We received a tip about a meth lab that supposedly included a cache of illegal weapons. We tracked it down and verified the lab was fully operational. We moved in to secure the facility, and that’s when an IED took me down.

“Between surgeries and physical therapy, I spent months in the hospital. I was placed on temporary disability during that time. After I was released, my commander approached me with a proposition. As far as anyone outside the Surete was concerned, I would be a private security consultant.

“In reality, I was still with the Surete, as part of a multi-national task force investigating Worldwide and their ties to criminal activity, including drugs, human trafficking, and the illegal movement of weapons. I was simply placed on light duty.”

“Light duty?” Ryan asked.

“Yes. Officers who make it past the probationary period are guaranteed a full salary for 25 years regardless of injury or health, provided they accept their assignment. It is part of a collective agreement between the Surete and the police officer’s association.

“It is a system that has has been in place since the 1960s and it has gone a long way toward attracting applicants and maintaining morale.

“I may not be able to run, or do the type of field operations I used to, but I can still work. And this assignment was far more interesting than sitting in a cubicle in Montreal or Ottawa pushing paper from one bin to another.”

“Interesting. Your husband worked for Worldwide, did he not?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, he did. I found no connection between him and the illegal activity, however. If I had, I would have turned him in. He was an account representative and nothing more.”

“Are you sure of that?” Smith asked.

“Yes, Director. I am absolutely certain. Worldwide did a good job of covering its illegal activities, but there was no evidence to suggest Phillipe was involved. His biggest failing was his inability to remain faithful.”

Ryan would have expected a bit more emotion at this statement, not the least because the admission was in front of strangers, maybe even embarrassment. He peered more closely. No, she might as well have been giving a deposition in a petty shoplifting case.

“So your job was primarily information-gathering. Is that right?” Ryan asked.

“Yes,” Azalea said quietly.

“How did you go about that?”

“We can’t get into that, Ryan,” Smith said before Azalea could answer. “OpSec. You understand, I’m sure.” Ryan noticed that Azalea’s expression had not flickered at the question or the interjection.

“Yeah, I understand. So, did you speak of this with your husband at any time?” Ryan asked Azalea.

“No. I only discussed my work in generic terms. As far as he knew, I was doing online security audits, nothing more.”

“Are you familiar with a Jean-Pierre Gagnon?” Ryan asked. Azalea’s eyes grew wide at the mention of Jean-Pierre.

“Yes. He heads security for Worldwide Imports and Exports, North America. He frequently travels between offices in Canada and the United States,” Azalea answered.

“Is he involved in these illegal activities?” Ryan asked.

“I believe so,” she said. “I have not been able to corroborate that, however. At least, not to the satisfaction of those charged with prosecuting such crimes,” she glared at Smith.

Smith shrugged off the glare. “Different countries have different standards of proof and different definitions of probable cause. I have to play the hand I have been dealt. And it’s not my agency’s job to prosecute.” He returned the look. “Can you think of any reason – any reason at all – why you, personally, might be a target? Have you been compromised? Have you said something, perhaps without realizing it, which might attract someone’s attention?”

“I ... cannot think of anyone,” Azalea replied, shaking her head. She suddenly stopped, and her brows went up. It was like watching a light bulb go on over her head. “Wait. It might not be anything, but there was an incident a couple of years before I lost my foot. It may not have anything to do with this, though.”

“Tell us about it,” Smith said, urging her on.

“It was an aggravated sexual assault. The perpetrator pulled a gun, so I pulled mine. I tried to get him to drop the weapon, but he refused. He had a hostage – a woman. He had the gun to her head, and I was concerned he might kill her. Suddenly, he let go of the woman and aimed his pistol at me. I fired twice, hitting him in the chest. He died instantly,” she said. She might have been discussing her laundry list for all the emotion that showed through.

“According to his identification, his name was Emile ... Gagnon. I was cleared in the shooting, and I thought that was the end of it. Gagnon is not an uncommon name in Quebec. Do you think there might be a connection between this Jean-Pierre and the man I shot?”

“It’s quite possible,” Bill stated. “According to Wikipedia, Gagnon was the second most popular surname in Quebec in 2006.”

“You know this for a fact?” Ryan asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Research is part of what I do. I collect little bits and pieces of data and store it up here,” Bill said, tapping his head with one finger. “Check it out yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“I’ll believe you. Do you think there’s a familial connection?” Ryan asked Smith.

“It’s possible,” Smith said with a shrug. “I’ll check into it first thing Monday.”

“Revenge is one of the best-known motivations for murder, Ryan,” Roland added. “I’m sure you know all about that.” Having personally dealt with the man ultimately responsible for destroying his first family, Ryan did. He exchanged a look with Roland, suspecting he knew all about that, but said nothing.

“Do you think this Jean-Pierre Gagnon is capable of murder?” Ryan asked Azalea.

“I am certain of it,” she replied, so matter-of-factly that even the former mercenaries took note. “He spent time in the Canadian Special Operations Forces. Specifically, JTF2, which is patterned after the British SAS. International assassinations are part of what they do. As deniable as possible, of course.”

“You think he’d be capable of cutting two people in pieces and staging a crime scene?” Ryan asked.

“Without question,” Azalea answered. Ryan and Smith both blinked at this quick and casual statement. They would have thought there would be more emotion since her husband was one of the dismembered bodies, but she had been more emotional about asking for the hot sauce.

“Ryan, a copy of the French intelligence service’s dossier on you was checked out,” Smith began.

“Which means Gagnon probably has it,” Ryan acknowledged. “Which means ... oh, fuck! Beverly!” he called out suddenly.

“Yes, dear?” Beverly asked as she walked in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

“You still have that .410 of yours handy?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Keep it close by,” Ryan said grimly.

“Ryan, if this guy is what Azalea says he is, you, your department, and Beverly’s .410 shotgun won’t stand a chance against him. He’ll be like some kinda criminal Rambo or something,” Roland said.

“Except Rambo had the element of surprise. Gagnon doesn’t. Not when we now know who and what he is,” Ryan said. “Helluva time for you to not have your trench broom.”

“Who says I don’t?” Roland asked with a wry smile. “Bill brought it with him. Now that we are on the other side, I even have all the appropriate paperwork.”

“And what if he recruits other hired guns to work for him?” Smith asked.

“Good luck with that,” Bill said, cracking his knuckles. “I put the word out. If anything, Ryan may have volunteers coming to his aid.”

“That’s all we need. A shooting war between Gagnon’s hired guns and yours, smack in the middle of heartland America,” Smith sighed. Bill chuckled.

“You know what they say, Director. Old mercs like us never die. They just go to Hell to regroup,” he quipped. Ryan, Roland, and Bill chuckled as Smith groaned, Beverly looked worried, and Azalea looked puzzled. “So, what’ll it be, Ryan? You want me to send the 911?”

Ryan knew if Bill sent that out, Hard Rock would be filled with enough men and armaments to take over a small country. He wouldn’t have thought twice about accepting such an offer a few years ago. While he felt grateful for the offer, things were much different now.

For starters, he was a well-liked and respected member of this community. The people here accepted him and looked up to him as their protector. On top of that, he had grown to love these people as an extended family. He could not put them in a deadly crossfire between two armed camps.

Moreover, he had taken an oath to uphold the law. There was a time – not that long ago – when he really didn’t care much for the law. But now, he was the face of the law in this town. He looked at the faces of the others and knew they could see the conflict going on in his mind.