"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.
"Let's go outside and discuss it. Mr. Carlson, Frat, keep an eye on these four."
In the cool night air, Valentine patted Gonzalez on the back. "Good job with Pillow, Gonzo. You still haven't lost your touch, injury or no."
"Sir, what's our next move? Are we going to leave now?"
Valentine nodded and walked down the road toward the vehicles. A dirt-covered patrol car and a delivery-van-type truck stood in the blackness. The clouds had still not dispersed.
"Gonzo, I'm going to have to give you a lot of responsibility. Maybe it will take your mind off the pain in your arm. I want to get the Carlsons and the Breitlings out of Wisconsin. All the way to the Ozark Free Territory."
"We can do it."
"Maybe we could. But, Gonzo, it's not going to be a we. It's going to be a you. I'm going after Molly."
Gonzo's eyes bulged with surprise. "My friend," he said finally. "She's probably dead already."
"If she is, she's going to have some company. That asshole of an uncle, for one."
"What is more important, getting you and me and these people back safely, telling about what we saw behind all those skulls, or killing one Quisling? I hate to tell you your duty, but-"
"Fuck my duty," Valentine said. Just the words themselves could subject him to a court-martial and firing squad, but he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. "I've had too many people I care about die. Not this one, not this girl."
"I've already forgotten what you just said, sir. But you will still have to explain this if you get back. What am I supposed to do with these civilians? The prisoners? I'd have a tough time making it back to the Ozarks, just me and my horse, let alone all these people."
"Here's the plan..." Valentine said. Gonzalez listened as his lieutenant gave his final orders.
An hour later, everything was ready. The patrollers were locked in the feed shed, still shackled. The feed shed had the best lock and was the only all-cinder block construction on the farm. The delivery van waited with its ramp brought up and rear liftgate closed; horses were saddled and tied to the rear bumper. Inside the spacious interior, empty except for numerous eyebolts for fixing prisoners in position, were the Breitlings, Mrs. Carlson, and Mary Carlson, clutching a few blankets and some travel clothing, along with the family dog. Mr. Carlson was at the wheel, and Gonzalez rode shotgun. Both were dressed in blue patroller uniforms taken from the Quisling captives.