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"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.
Valentine and Frat stood outside the passenger door. Valentine wore the best of the uniforms and carried the identity papers of the patroller who most resembled him, the pants-wetting Pillow.
"We meet south of the bridge outside Benton, okay, Frat?" Gonzalez asked, rolling Valentine's map back up and returning it to the tube. Frat nodded.
"Mr. Carlson, if I can't get your daughter, I'm going to leave one hell of a trail of dead Quislings," Valentine said. "They'll come after me with everything they've got. Should make it a little easier for you."
"No one's asking you to do this, son," Mr. Carlson said from the driver's seat. "Molly's probably already dead. Maybe she used the knife on herself after killing Touchet." Carlson's lips trembled as he spoke.
"I don't think she'd give up that easy, Alan. If she's alive, I'm going to get her back. I'm coming back with your daughter, or not at all." He turned to Gonzalez and shook his friend's good hand. "Gonzo, I know you can do this," Valentine said quietly. "You've got the brains and the skills. Just keep them moving. Eat the horses one by one if it helps. When you get back, tell them everything you remember, even if it doesn't seem important. They've also got to get a Cat or two up here to find out what's going on at Blue Mounds. One other thing: Get Frat into the Hunters, or at least have him posted as an Aspirant. He'll make a better Wolf than either of us, at least someday. Take every buckchit I've got and draw it to get the Carlsons started. I've got some friends in a little place called Weening."
Valentine racked his mind, searching for another suggestion to increase Gonzalez's chances. There was always one more order to give, one more contingency to consider.
"I will do it, all of it, sir. Vaya con Dios, jefe. And I'll be praying for you, sir. Every day."
"Back to praying, Gonzalez? I thought your mother was in charge of that."
"She's in charge of my soul. I'll take care of yours."
"You're going to have plenty to take care of in the next couple of weeks without my soul thrown in. But thank you anyway; I'm honored."
Carlson started up the truck, and Valentine hopped to the ground. Gonzalez gave a little salute from his perch. "Good luck, Lieutenant."
"Send my respects to the Zulus, Gonzo!"
The truck rolled off into the darkened west. Hours to go before daylight.
"Okay, Frat. You and me now. I wish I had learned how to drive better."
"It's okay, Lieutenant," Frat said, moving around to the driver's side. "I know the way, so it's just as well."
"You can call me David, bud. Drive slow and careful. Keep the headlights off."
