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A rapid search of the house revealed a fully equipped gunsmith operation in the basement, empty crates of ammunition, empty cardboard boxes for AR-rifle components, and the empty gun racks of a formidable arsenal.
Outside, in the building wind and rain, we figured out how they’d escaped. Whitaker’s fishing boat was still up on its lift when we went down by the dock, but in the barn we found large, empty raft trailers and empty ten-gallon gasoline cans.
“They went to the waiting rafts the second they got here,” I said.
Sampson nodded. “And they trolled out of here, probably by quiet electric motor and then by heavy outboard. They were probably out on the Chesapeake before the Coast Guard was even notified.”
“Where the hell do they think they’re going?” Mahoney said. “I mean, we’ll have Whitaker’s face everywhere within hours. He will be spotted. They can’t escape.”
“Maybe they don’t mean to escape,” I said. “Maybe we should take the colonel at his word: A fight to the death is how all slave rebellions begin.”
“Then why didn’t he stand his ground here?” Mahoney asked.
“He wants the fight to be somewhere else,” I said.
“What I don’t get is why,” Sampson said. “What did Whitaker say on the phone, Alex? About John Brown?”
“That they had the same goals.”
“Freeing slaves?” Mahoney said.
I thought about that and then did a quick Google search on my phone. After scanning the site that came up first, I said, “Brown was an abolitionist, a radical one who believed the slaves could be freed only through armed insurrection. He attacked a U.S. military arsenal in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, trying to steal thousands of guns he planned to give to the slaves so they could start the rebellion.”
“So, what,” Sampson said. “Was Whitaker telling you he’s going to attack a military installation, steal guns, and give them away?”
“They already built enough guns for a small army,” Mahoney said.
“Any rebellion can use more,” I said. “So if that’s what their intent is, what’s the target?”
“Not Harpers Ferry,” Mahoney said. “There’s no arsenal there anymore.”
“The Naval Academy?” Sampson said. “The Coast Guard base? Or down to Norfolk? It’s not that far south, and a big Zodiac boat with the right engines could handle the waves.”
“Especially if there were ex–Special Forces operators driving,” I said. “Those guys are like ninjas. And we can’t go looking for them from helicopters with searchlights in an area as big as the Chesapeake.”
“We’ll have to wait for them to make a move,” Mahoney said. “At least until dawn. I’ll notify the Pentagon to beef up security at all military posts within five hundred miles.”
“Can’t they activate one of those surveillance blimps that got away the other day?” Sampson asked.
“All the blimps were grounded after that one got loose,” Mahoney said, dialing his cell.
In my mind I saw that image of the bearded Amish man in his buggy looking up at the sky and the pale runaway blimp. And then it hit me.
“Ned,” I said, feeling queasy.
“Hold on,” he said. “The Pentagon duty officer is coming back with—”
I pulled his hand and phone away from his ear and said, “What do you know about that army blimp that got free?”
Annoyed, Mahoney said, “The cable snapped in a high wind. Big embarrassment. Went way up north into Pennsylvania, took out electricity for three hundred thousand people before the army shot it down over a big field.”
“What if it was cut intentionally, Ned?” I said. “What if Whitaker or one of his followers did it so they could land on Aberdeen Proving Ground without being detected?”
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