Faith in the 4th #4
It was easy to see the man coming from the road and heading toward the bandstand.
Easier yet to see that he was armed, holding a gun in his hand close down by his side. He looked to be about thirty-five or forty, medium in height and build. Light hair and a decent face. But his expression . . .
And that was it, Jackson knew.
There was something in the bandstand.
He had to be careful; if the man had an accomplice in the base of the bandstand, then Angela could be in extreme danger.
He parked and left the car, hurrying toward the man. Daniel’s spirit was right behind him.
“I’ll get down there and find out what is going on,” Daniel told him.
“Great. Thank you,” Jackson said.
“In death I serve!” Daniel said lightly, and was gone.
“Hey!” Jackson called cheerfully, heading toward the man. “I guess you’re getting excited about the celebrations about to go on. Man, they did a great job, getting this all set up for the band to play!”
“Uh, yeah,” the fellow said, frowning, as if he was searching for his own options now that Jackson was standing there. “I guess you are.”
“And the mayor is going to be attending and speaking!” Jackson said, smiling.
And, of course, the man’s expression gave him away.
Yep. Cult. One that wanted to rid the area, the country, and the world of the mayor.
Daniel was already back next to Jackson and Terry Mayberry was heading that way as well.
“She’s in there, Cassie is in there, and Angela is angling around to get her own gun. Jackson, there’s also a ton of dynamite in there!” Daniel told them.
“Tell her that we’ve got it all taken care of out here—she must get an angle on whoever is holding her down there,” Jackson said.
“What?” the man demanded.
He hadn’t heard Daniel’s spirit, of course. He had heard Jackson’s answer.
“Drop it!” Terry told the man.
“Now!” Jackson added.
The man might have his gun in his hand but by then, Jackson and Terry both had their Glocks aimed at him.
He dropped his gun.
But as he did so, they heard an explosion from the bandshell.
Someone had fired their weapon within.
*
Angela
She’d had no choice.
Daniel had explained to her what was going on outside.
And her attacker was temporarily distracted, still trying to determine what the rustling in the grass was and then just what the muted conversations were suggesting.
The lump near her had the gun on here, but he or she was looking away.
And she had to act.
She slammed an arm down on the person’s wrist in a way that twisted the gun so that it fired toward the rear of the bandstand’s base; she prayed that the shot might bury itself into the wood and if it didn’t that no one was just beyond.
Their Glocks were powerful. The bullet would, she knew, make it through the wood, unless . . .
The shot had hit a joint where the heavy connecting pieces of wood were nailed together.
Her attacker screeched in fury, a horrible sound emitting through the voice changer, and he or she turned on Angela with a vengeance.
But she’d had plenty of training, excellent training in self-defense.
Not as easy in the confined space here, but . . .
In a minute, she’d managed a hard elbow to the side of her attacker’s head, knocking the person out. And as she did so, the weakened side of the bandstand’s base was ripped apart and she cried out, “Jackson! We need help. Emergency help! Cassie is alive, but out like a light and . . .”
She heard sirens. He’d already called for help and at that point . . .
Between Terry and Jackson, they had the base just about destroyed.
Her attacker had been a woman. A young redhead. And she was groggy as Terry Mayberry angled in and lifted her from the rubble.
“Amy Masterson, I’m assuming!” Jackson muttered, “Cultist, girl that our man, Jared Anderson, was seeing when things ended with Cassie, and maybe before. She’s part of a group of cultists who consider themselves the only people capable of the right opinion regarding just about anything!
” he told her, hurrying through the rubble that had once been the bandstand.
“And, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, they planed on blowing up the place.
” He finished, reaching her, drawing her to her feet, and then into his arms.
She smiled at him, gratitude filling her heart. Once again, they’d managed to survive together even when they’d been parted.
“And Cassie is on her way to the hospital. What happened with Jared Anderson?”
“Struggling to live; I’m pretty sure they had left him for dead.”
“So, how did you know—”
“A little help,” Jackson said, smiling.
The area was crowded now, police, squads to deal with dynamite, agents to bring the guilty in to be held and charged . . .
“A bit of chaos!” Angela murmured. “But there are our friends!”
The three spirits were standing off a bit, close to the road.
Most of the team members from the Krewe who had been on the jogging trails had already headed back or heading home, happy to be off with the night now all around them.
All were relieved, but as Bruce said walking on by them as well, “We were in the wrong place and Angela managed to be in the right place—that could have been the wrong place, but if anyone was going to handle it, well, Angela, that was you!”
“Thanks, Bruce. That’s the thing with investigations—we’re going to take a lot of turns that lead to nowhere,” Angela told him.
“True. And poor Cassie inadvertently became involved by . . . how?” Bruce wondered.
“She might have found a stick of dynamite that someone dropped. This cult . . . seemed they could be lethal, but they weren’t that experienced with the chaos and death they were seeking to cause,” Jackson said.
“Let’s pray she’s okay just because, by all accounts, she’s an amazing human being, but she might have saved dozens of lives by giving us this opportunity to come upon their plan,” Jackson said. “Anyway, Bruce—”
“I’m heading back to headquarters. Two days to the 4th of July. What do you think will happen here—”
“I think they’ll have one hell of a celebration,” Angela said. “The locals—neither the people nor the authorities—will bow to this. The celebration will go on. And you know what? Jackson, I want to be here with the kids! It’s a great place, and we have great friends here!”
Bruce smiled. “That will great. I’m already on for the 4th, Acting Supervisor in Charge!”
There was a lot more to go through that night.
First, Angela wanted to see Cassie Canady. So did Terry Mayberry.
Cassie was weak. And it proved to be true that Amy had thought that she killed both Cassie and Jared.
Both would survive.
And though he was now going to give them help in breaking up the cult and feed the federals tons of information, he’d still do some jail time. He’d been willing to plan a bombing—but to kill one person in cold blood had been beyond him.
Cassie’s injuries would keep her in the hospital for several weeks. But Terry promised her that he and Dickie would make sure that they’d spend time with her and get her anything that she needed. And take care of the dog.
A biggie, for Cassie. A woman as sweet and thankful as they’d heard.
But finally, work was done.
And the days rolled around and it was the 4th of July.
The band was great. And the mayor’s speech was wonderful.
They listened to him, and then, as the crowd broke to buy hot dogs or barbecue from the gathered food trucks, Angela found that Roderick, their Revolutionary War spirit, was next to them, still staring toward the podium and repaired bandstand.
“A great celebration!” he said, glancing at them. “And I’m so . . .”