CCrroossss KKeeyyss DDaavvee MMccCClluurree Cross Keys © Copyright 2012, Dave McClure First publication March, 2012 ISBN-13: 987-1467901802 ISBN-10: 1467901806 With the exception of certain historical figures, all persons presented in this work are fictional, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. Two Tough Men Jack MacLeod and Doc Gray are back, fighting to crack a conspiracy that should have died with the Confederacy. Hidden since the end of the Civil War, the Knights of the Golden Circle survived to quietly infest the highest levels of government and business. Now the KGC is making its move, using deceit and violence in a bid to dramatically expand the borders of the United States. And the only thing standing in their way are one battered fraud investigator and his friend, the ex-Navy SEAL Doc Gray. With a little help from the FBI and Special Agent in Charge Andrew McCoy, Jack and Doc will weave their way from the battleground at Cross Keys to the mountains of western Virginia to stop the KGC and its plans. The Knights have money, power and weapons, but they’ve made one small mistake. They’ve shot him, beaten him, tortured him, killed a friend and taken his money and his honor. For the Knights of the Golden Circle, it’s just about business and profits. For MacLeod, it’s about getting even. AAcckknnoowwlleeddggmmeennttss No one creates a book by themselves. For all of the passion, the long hours, the frustration and the joy of writing, a book is the work of many hands and hearts. This book owes much to other people. To the literary agents who bedeviled with their praise and criticisms. To the many friends who looked at the manuscript and made suggestions for improvements. To the people of the Shenandoah Valley who contributed bits of history and lore. I owe a special thanks to Phil Dovel, who was kind enough to contribute some of the real-life history of his family in the Valley. And the tale of the Goshen Inn, once owned by a distant relative. Another thanks to Dyanna Lam, who contributed her proof-reading skills to the final edit. And always, thanks and my love to Dena Jane, my muse, my editor, and my ultimate expert on life in the Valley. Without her inspiration and support, there never would have been a book. CChhaapptteerr 11 RRaannssoomm They were dead in the moonlight. The two of them sat in the black SUV on that warm August night, holding hands like lovers staring up across the field of grass where the pasture rolled gently from the road. It was a spectacular, starry night, the moon just a sliver but bright over the mountains, shining down across the field and reflecting off of the small pond where their vehicle sat, lights and engine off. Both were almost good looking in death, the woman a blonde of about thirty, with nice features if you discounted the slash across her throat and the bloody front of her blouse. It was one of those mega-big SUVs, an Expedition or something like it, blackened windows so the back seats were obscured. But the light through the windshield was enough to show them both clearly, along with an empty back seat. Walked slowly, trying to get my nerves under control. Cross Keys 2 Death had been here, may still be here. The man was in his forties, with close- cropped hair and beard. Sitting behind the steering wheel, his head cocked as though listening to music on the radio. His eyes were closed and there was a smile on his face, but it was the rictus of death rather than a real smile, because his throat was cut the same way as hers. How do you make two people sit still while their throats are cut? You might surprise one, but not two at once. So how was it done? Curiouser and curiouser. Quick look. There was blood all over the interior, including the dash and the windows, so this had been a nasty piece of work, and suddenly my survival instinct kicked in telling me to get out of here, run, look around, you are going to… Reached into my pocket for the little .380 Colt Mustang. The note had been specific – no cops, no guns. But Mrs. MacLeod didn’t raise any stupid boys, and I don’t ever walk into an iffy situation without a weapon. Because of nights like this. Dropped the bag with the ransom money, $100,000 in cash, near the front tire. Thumb down to snick off the safety, hands together in front of me, breathing slowly and emptying my mind so I could hear the sound of the night and the little whisper of the grass as he came up off of the ground a dozen feet away. Cross Keys 3 Medium sized man, dark clothes, no hat, reaching out with a pistol in his right hand. You have to make a call. Some people actually believe what they see on television, and think a gun is like a club that you wave around and threaten people with. On the other hand, there are also people would just as soon kill you as look at you. No way to know which, so I put two shots into his chest. You don’t threaten. You don’t argue, or point, or converse. You just put two rounds into the middle of the assailant’s chest. Double tap. Pretty good shooting, from my point of view, from ten feet away using an automatic with a two-inch barrel. When he kept coming, put another two in for good measure and he dropped to his knees, snorting and trying to raise his arm to use his own weapon. Moved to my left, because it is harder for a right-handed person to aim reliably in that direction. Would have put two more into him, but he was down now and the little Mustang only holds six rounds in its clip. Wanted to leave two just in case… The roar of the shotgun registered, concussive rush, as I got punched in the back and thrown across the field. Rolled over, blood pounding in my head and my ears ringing as I tried to sit up. Right arm numb and I flopped it Cross Keys 4 over my legs to shift the gun from the right hand to the left. He came up slowly, holding the shotgun, a double-barrel model. Held my right hand in plain sight, my left pressed against my left leg, covering the gun. Saw his face, large and pale, shock of unkempt beard, missing some teeth in the front, his mouth making noises that I couldn’t make into words. Then he smiled, a kind of laughing sneer. Lurched toward me. Shotgun weaving around as he tried to look from me to the man on the other side of me. Laid on my back, the breath knocked out of me, as he lurched toward me again, and as he looked away from me for a fraction of a second I got the Colt into play and put two shots in his direction. It scared him and he pulled the trigger, the shotgun blast stinging but most of the shot going wide. He leaned over to grab the bag with the money, then staggered out of my vision. Tried to stay with it. Tried to see where he was. Tried not to feel the blood seeping out of me, breathing and trying to stay awake, focusing on the moon and the stars. Couldn’t. Felt myself slipping away, the moon blurry, tired. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t sit up. Vision turning red at the edges, red moving inward, turning to gray. Then black. Dead in the moonlight. Cross Keys 5 * * * A bright light beckoning toward me, and didn’t want the damned white light, would not go toward it, because I was not done yet, wanted to find the little sonuvabitch who shot me and wipe that stupid grin off of his face. Pain. Hard, cold, bruising pain in my back and my upper right chest, had been shot there, and I tried to reach up to touch the wounds but my hands would not move, tied down, and I jerked against the restraints in an effort to pull free. Red lights flashing around me now. “One, two, three, lift.” The voice sounded far away. Tried to talk, to tell him about the man with the shotgun. “He’s back with us. Hold his arms down for a minute, lemme get him on a saline drip. That’s a lot of blood. Ok, hold his arm down so I can find the vein.” Darkness again. Then awake, could not tell how much later, the quiet drone of television news on a set in the background. I was in a bed with side rails, in a small room brightened by sunlight from the window. Smell of disinfectant, crisp sheets around me, hands still restrained. A nurse hovered over me, and it took a moment before I recognized Catherine Gray. “God Dammit.” Cross Keys 6 “Don’t try to talk, Jack. You’re out of surgery, and you are going to survive.” Tried to turn my head, but couldn’t. some kind of brace thing held me in place, and my hands seemed to be tethered as well. “Lie still, Jack, or you’ll pull out all those lovely stitches the surgeons gave you.” Rang the buzzer for the day nurse, and arranged for a valium for me.