"Yes, you searched the house, didn't you?" Carlson said, voice still tremulous.
"Which way did they go, and when?"
"After dinner. They didn't even eat with us. I think they went north, but I dunno. I've had other things on my mind today than watching them leave. You should leave us alone and go after them; they probably put her up to it."
A rattling came from above. "I got them leg irons, Sarge. Should we link 'em up now?"
"Yeah. Pillow, go out to the car and radio that we got the Carlsons in custody. Also put out a general call to pick up two men on horseback. One's got a bum hand. You other two get busy with those shackles."
Valentine touched Gonzalez on the shoulder in the darkness, and they felt for the door. They cut across the shadowed basement, listening to the rattle of chains as the patrollers fixed the family into the leg irons. Valentine led the way up the basement steps, keeping to the edges to lessen the sound of boards creaking. They padded through the kitchen barefoot, Valentine with his repeater to his shoulder and Gonzalez with his held against his hip. Valentine paused for just a second to listen at the corner between the kitchen and the front living room, attempting to place the occupants by sound. All he could hear was a frightened crying from young Mary Carlson and the sounds of shackles being clicked closed and chains passed through steel eyes. He gestured to Gonzalez, who moved to the kitchen door of the house.
With a quick sidestep Valentine rounded the corner, gun tight to his shoulder, a shotgun-wielding man already in his sights. "Nobody move," he said, in a low tone. "You with the shotgun, put it on the floor, holding it by the barrel. You two with the chains, facedown on the floor!"
As he spoke, Gonzalez opened the back door, holding the rifle in his armpit, and disappeared into the darkness.
The patrollers, conditioned by years of practice in using their guns to bully unarmed farmers and townspeople, complied with alacrity. The Carlsons, dressed in their bedclothes, kicked the weapons away from the uniformed Quislings.
"Okay, you with the stripes, facedown, too. Good. Spread eagle, gentlemen. I've got eight shots in this repeater; the man who moves gets the first one. Frat, get the guns away from them, before they get any ideas."
Frat began collecting pistols and shotguns. "This'll cut it, Carlson," Sergeant Toland said, speaking into the floor. "Before, you were just wanted for questioning. This means you're all dead within a day or two. Not an easy death, either, if the Reapers-"
A pistol thrust into the sergeant's mouth cut off the imprecations. "Shut up, Sarge. When I want any of your lip, I'll blow it off," Frat said, cocking the revolver.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, start putting the shackles on them, hands and feet, please," Valentine said.
The screen door swung open, and the fourth patroller entered, his fingers laced behind his head and the muzzle of Gonzalez's gun pressing him behind the ear.
"Pillow here just reported the situation as being under control," Gonzalez said. "Is it, sir?"
"Seems to be. Where are the Breitlings?"
"They hadn't gotten around to them, yet," Mr. Carlson said. "They're probably still asleep."
"Mrs. Carlson, after you've finished, do you think you could go get them?" Valentine asked.
"Could I get some more clothes on first?"
"Of course." The patrollers were now securely shackled and handcuffed. They're scared, Valentine thought, looking at the sweat stains on the blue uniforms. He was also pretty sure that the one named Pillow had pissed himself. Scared people confuse easily.
"Boy, that major is fucking things up, Carlson," Valentine said, winking at his benefactor. "Hey, Sarge. Do you know what you've stumbled into?"
"You're a corpse, boy. You're a corpse that happens to be walking and talking for a few more hours."
"Don't think so, Sarge. Look at this," he said, thrusting his rifle butt under Toland's nose. "You've just busted in on a Twisted Cross double-secret blind operation."
"What the fuck is the Twisted Cross? "Double secret' bullshit!" Sergeant Toland said, unimpressed.
"You wouldn't know, would you? We wanted Touchet dead, but we couldn't get at him in Illinois, because he's bought off so many of the people around him. But why am I telling you this? He was trying to spy out the operation at Blue Mounds."
"Bullshit," the sergeant responded. "Bangin' the Carlson girl ain't going to accomplish that, nor giving speeches, neither."
"Sarge, you don't have to believe me. But let me give you two facts. One is that you're still alive, and the other is that all this is way over your head. Something's gone wrong with our operation, or you wouldn't have gotten those orders to bring these folks in. I suggest that in the future you have Madison confirm everything before doing what Major Flanagan says. Gonzalez?"
"Yes, sir," his scout replied.
"We're switching to plan Red Charlie."
"Er... you're in charge, sir," Gonzalez said. Valentine hoped the patrollers would interpret Gonzalez's confusion for reluctance.