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Valley of Deception
Valley of Deception
Valley of Deception
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Valley of Deception

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When two deputy U.S. Marshal are gunned down executing a warrant, Jake Mathews, as supervisor on the arrest is devastated. Fleeing to his farm, in Northeast Iowa, he wants nothing more than a little peace, quiet and time to think things over. No drama, no suspense and especially no violence. We don't always get what we want.

Tucked away in the woods of northeast Iowa, Zebadiah Caldwell's family has led a community of followers for the past 100 years. Their communal way of life has led to many stories and much speculation over the years. However, Marshal Mathews has stumbled onto a secret that could destroy their way of life. How far is Zebadiah willing to go to preserve his community.

When their two worlds collide something has to give. Each fights for what he believes in, but will either make it out of this adventure alive when a tormented local sheriff gets thrown into the mix. The first in a series of U.S. Marshal Jake Mathews adventures.

Reminiscent of Raylan Given on the hit TV show "Justified", Jake Mathews will bend, twist, and break the rules to survive. In a style similar to James Patterson this book will have you turning the pages well into the night.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherT.H. Michael
Release dateApr 20, 2013
ISBN9781301629589
Valley of Deception
Author

T.H. Michael

As a child, growing up in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, I always knew that I wanted to be a cop from a very young age. While in college, majoring in Political Science and Law Enforcement, I was asked if I wanted to take the test to be a Deputy U.S. Marshal. (Most of us hired had never heard of the Marshal's, except on television's Gun Smoke. A common joke at the academy was, 'I didn't know how to spell it, now I is one.' It's funny because most of us spelled Marshal, as Marshall, until hired. And yes, the grammatical error is on purpose) I was hired, to be a Deputy U.S. Marshal, in June of 1984 and was posted to my home town of Cedar Rapids, Iowa (extremely unusual and rare. A deputy had just been fired days before I was to be hired). During my 27 years I have hauled hundreds, if not thousands, of prisoners to penal institutions. I have seized everything from race horse to million dollar farms and jets. I have protected Judges at every level, including Supreme Court Justices. I have protect some of the most famous and notorious witnesses in the U.S., all without incident. And, finally, have arrested hundreds of fugitives over the course of my career. The idea for the main character came to me one day as I was walking into the local county jail to pick a prisoner up. The name, Jake Mathews, popped into my head and stayed there for twenty years, until I finally wrote it down on paper, and created this Novel. I've had a blast with this first novel and hope to write many more in this series. Thanks for stopping by and taking a look.

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    Valley of Deception - T.H. Michael

    Valley of Deception

    A Jake Mathews series

    By:

    T.H. Michael

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of

    the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, products, places, events or locales is coincidental.

    This book may not be reproduced in whole or part without the permission of the author. All rights reserved.

    Valley of Deception

    By T.H. Michael

    Copyright 2013

    Smashwords Edition

    Chapter 1

    Sirens wailed from every direction. It was too late now for law enforcement, but ambulances were needed, as many as they could send. Twenty minutes earlier, life had been drastically different and a lot less bloody.

    ***

    The black SUV, with heavily tinted windows, pulled into the local police parking lot. The vehicle bore no markings but everything about it screamed law enforcement. United States Marshal Jake Mathews pulled his 6’4" body out of the driver’s seat and arched his back; the three hour trip had been long and hard and the muscles in his back were tighter than a pair of jeans fresh out of the dryer.

    He was getting old, he thought, as he took a step away from the car and bent at the waist. He let his arms hang free trying to touch his black paramilitary boots. His khaki pants rode up exposing the knife strapped to his leg. His handcuffs and keys jingled as he bounced trying to stretch those last few inches, never quite making it. Standing straight again, his back felt a little better. His partners, Chris and Bill, pulled into the lot in an identical vehicle.

    Jake and his partners were there to arrest a pretrial release violator. Something they did most days of the week. Lora, Jake’s wife, had once asked if he ever grew bored with it, if it ever became routine. He’d told her that it never did. The thrill of the arrest was still as exciting and new as the first time. However, he’d promised her—if the nerves and thrill ever left, he would quit. Because that lack of excitement meant he was getting complacent and, as every cop knows, complacency kills.

    A uniformed local police officer came out of the station and approached Chris and Bill.

    Marshal Mathews? he asked, approaching the deputy closest to him.

    Hey, I don’t even know you and you’re insulting me. Bill was the oldest deputy, and many people assumed he was in charge.

    I di…I didn’t mean.

    Bill laughed and extended his hand. Just a little early morning humor, officer. The guy you’re looking for is that tall, kind of sleepy looking one standin’ over there. He pointed to Jake, who was struggling to pull his bullet resistant vest on.

    Sorry about that, said Jake adjusting the straps on his vest. We keep trying to leave him behind, but he always shows up, like a lost puppy. He extended his hand. Jake Mathews, with the marshals.

    Nice to meet you. Tommy Samuels. The chief told me I’d be joining you this morning. He wasn’t sure if they were making fun of him or not. He’d heard plenty of stories about working with the Feds, but the marshals were supposed to be okay.

    Using his peripheral vision, Jake looked Tommy over. He stood rigid, his hands fidgeted in and out of his pants pockets. Jake was accustomed to this; small town cops didn’t work with the feds very often. When they did they usually reacted in one of two ways: either overly anxious, ready to please, to do anything to show they are just as good as the Feds; or the opposite—acting cool, reserved and unimpressed like it was a chore or punishment to be assigned. Tommy fell into the first category; Jake would have to keep an eye on him.

    Well, we’re happy to have you, Tommy. Always nice to have someone who knows the area. Why don't you pull your squad car over and gear up. We’ll brief in five minutes. Jake thought he saw the start of a salute as Tommy half jogged, half walked over to his squad car.

    Jake smiled to himself. It was nice to see the next generation come up. It didn’t seem all that long ago that he had been a new officer like Tommy, but it had been almost twenty-seven years now. He shook his head thinking back to the start of his career; the travel, the weeks away from the family, the late nights and weekends. Would he do it again, knowing what he knew now? He wasn’t sure. He had no regrets about the path his life had taken, but would he do it all over again?

    Tommy pulled in; low visibility emergency lights sat atop his car. The logo on the side showed a picture of a badge with the motto To serve and protect. This vehicle happened to be brown. Jake always wondered how each department chose their colors. As far as he could tell there was no pattern. He’d seen white, brown, black, even some reds and blues in varying shades. Not like the county sheriff cars which were all uniform throughout the state; white with a green stripe running the length of the car on each side.

    Tommy’s excitement, as he opened the trunk, was obvious by the way he was trying to hide it, looking anywhere but at the marshals. The team could spot little things like that. The deputies glanced at each other and hid a smile. Most of them had been in Tommy's shoes at some point, starting off in small departments and working their way up to the Feds. They weren't laughing at him; they were remembering.

    Listen up, Jake said, addressing Chris and Bill. This is officer Tommy Samuels. He's going to be joining us today.

    Tommy nodded to the deputies; Chris and Bill nodded back as they continued to put their gear on. Generally speaking they didn't like locals coming with them. It was nothing personal; they just felt more comfortable with the people they'd trained with. They didn't like any unknown quantity.

    We are here today because we have an arrest warrant for Jared Bettner. Mr. Bettner was arrested by the Drug Enforcement Agency on charges of manufacturing methamphetamine. He managed to stay out of trouble for a full three weeks, before he dropped a positive urinalysis. His probation officer filed a report with the courts last week, and first thing Monday morning we got the warrant. This information wasn’t new to his deputies, but Jake wanted to make sure Tommy was on the same page, for safety’s sake.

    Mr. Bettner lives a couple miles from here, in the country, on a small rented acreage. Tommy here was in on the original arrest with the DEA. He knows the lay-out, so I'm going to turn it over to him.

    Tommy stepped forward, looking at his shoes, running his fingers through his hair. He had been on the original arrest team; that part was true. What Jake had not mentioned is he'd been assigned to traffic, making sure no one came down the road to the house until the site was under control. But he did know the lay-out of the acreage; he'd driven by it almost every night since the arrest. After all there was little else to do in town, except hassle the kids when they stayed out too late at night.

    He began slowly: The house is a two-story, fairly old. There's a barn with a loft off to your right as you pull in. Bettner is doing most of his cooking there, we think. He really had no idea if that last part was true or not. His Chief had been talking on the phone earlier in the week and he was just repeating the information he'd overheard. There are always people hanging around out there but, technically, no one else is supposed to be living with Bettner. The activity usually doesn't pick up until later in the afternoon. As a matter of fact, they probably just went to sleep a few hours ago, if they follow their usual pattern.

    Tommy smiled. The Fed's were listening to him. Hell, half the time his own chief ignored him when he tried to report something. During the original raid, all of the weapons were taken out of the house. But, as you guys know, that means nothing. Tommy looked over at Jake. That's about it, unless you have some questions.

    Jake looked at the other deputies. They shook their heads, no.

    Alright, here are your assignments, Jake said. Chris, when we get there you cover the barn. Bill, you're with me. We go to the kitchen door. Tommy, you go around to the back of the house and make sure no one tries to escape that way. Any questions?

    Jake glanced around the circle that had formed. Hearing nothing, they were ready to move. I'll go in first, followed by Bill and Chris's car and Tommy will bring up the rear.

    He could see the disappointment on Tommy's face. Make sure your squad car is in plain view before you cover the back. We don't want Bettner claiming he didn't know it was us and thought he was being ripped off.

    The drive to Bettner’s house was a couple of miles from their location, about a mile outside of the city limits. The town was typical of most small towns in Iowa. A central road, aptly named Main Street, ran down the middle of it. A post office, several bars and a convenience store taking up a majority of the space. As they drove down Main Street the locals were already up and at the convenience store for their morning coffee. They stared and pointed at the small convoy. This was big news for a little town, and within minutes everyone would know. But Jake wasn't worried. Bettner's acreage was just a few blocks away and he would know soon enough.

    As they neared the house, all looked quiet. No one outside, no lights on in the house. Jake noticed the cars, parked haphazardly on the lawn, had frost on the windshields; they'd been there a while.

    The white house, at least he thought it was once white, was weather worn and in desperate need of a new coat of paint. It was funny the things a person noticed under stress.

    The barn was in similar disrepair. Doors were missing leaving gaping black holes while others were hanging askew, hinges. Several planks were gone and the ones that remained were starting to take on a rotted look. Several of the window panes were either missing or half broken out. The wind blew hard, an old curtain flapped at one of the barn’s broken windows.

    To the north of the barn were rusted out old cars that had vegetation growing up inside the frames. An old swing set, without any swings, sat next to the house. It looked as if it had seen many Iowa winters and was now just something to mow around. All looked quiet. Jake was happy.

    Still, Jake knew appearances could be deceiving and it was still best to go in hard. He accelerated into the driveway, his engine roared with the effort, the back tires spitting gravel, hitting the cars behind him. Fifty feet in he slammed on the brakes and came to a stop near the door he was to cover. He glanced at a window that, probably, opened into the kitchen and saw no activity. He was pleased. They had surprised him and that was half the battle.

    Jumping out of the car, Jake immediately ran to his assigned door, pressing his body flat against the siding. Bill was right behind him taking the opposite side. Tommy made his way to the back of the house. Chris, the youngest of the group--but maybe the best trained, having been through sniper training in the military and Special Operations Group for the Marshals--took up his position behind the front of his vehicle to cover the barn door.

    Jake looked at Bill, who nodded his readiness, and pounded on the door. United States Marshals, he announced. We have a warrant for your arrest, Bettner. Open up. The likelihood was that Bettner was lying in bed sleeping off a high, dead to the world. The law allowed law enforcement to enter a wanted person's house if there was reason to believe he or she was inside. The Marshals played fast and loose with that interpretation; all cops did. Jake pounded again, this time almost breaking the glass. He heard nothing from inside the house.

    Bill, take a peek in that window! whispered Jake. As counter-intuitive as looking into a window may sound it had to be done. It was worth the risk to know what you were getting into. Bill was experienced; he knew how to do it. He peeked, quickly, around the edge of the window, letting his mind take a snapshot that he would let develop as he ducked back to safety. The picture was not a pretty one.

    Bill's eyes grew big and his mouth opened but it was too late. Rounds from an automatic rifle tore through the walls of the house, ripping into him. Most people believe a wall is protection from gunfire. That's not always the case. It was better than nothing, but bullets from a high-powered gun could rip through it like tissue paper.

    Chris turned to the house at the first shot. His first instinct was to return fire and pin down whoever was firing. But without knowing who else was in the house he couldn't. A high pitched laughter pierced the air.

    Fuck you, if you think I'm going back to prison, Bettner screamed, firing another salvo through the wall. You assholes shouldn't have stopped at the police station to get your gear on. Bettner's voice screeched like an infuriated eagle. He fired again, laughing as the outside wall splintered with each round that passed through.

    The door to the hayloft in the barn swung open. A man dressed in a Vietnam era green army jacket raised his rifle and fired. Chris, still paying attention to the scene in the house didn't see the man until it was too late. A bullet ripped through his left shoulder, spinning him around. The man in the barn fired two more shots but they were wild and wide of their mark. Chris rolled towards the back of his car, crawling behind the rear tire hugging it for cover. He cried out in pain.

    Jake didn't move for a moment when the first shots were fired. They say things move in slow motion when your life’s on the line. Jake wasn't sure it was slow motion as much as instinct and subconscious thought taking over. He grabbed Bill by his vest pulling him through the gravel to his car, keeping his weapon trained on the door of the farmhouse.

    When the shots from the barn thundered out he swung his weapon around and snapped off two quick shots. He knew he wouldn't hit anything, but he wanted the shooter to have something to think about. They were caught in a crossfire and he was in a no-win situation as far as cover went. Dragging Bill he moved to the back of the vehicle, making the angle as severe as he could for the two shooters. He called out to Chris.

    How you doing? Is it bad?

    My left shoulder is destroyed. Most of the bones are broken and I'm bleeding pretty bad. He screamed through clenched teeth. How's Bill? It was like Chris to wonder about his partner no matter how bad his own wounds were.

    He’s breathing, but unconscious. He's hit bad. I have to get him out of here, fast, and to a hospital.

    Get the motherfuckers, man! Bettner screamed to his partner. Shots sprayed the cars.

    Shoot the shit outta 'em, the man from the barn shouted in return as he pulled the trigger and emptied his gun. He let out a war whoop, like athletes do at a game when they are celebrating.

    Jake took a quick look over the roof of his SUV. He had to do something, they couldn't hold out long. He saw the man in the hayloft was fighting his gun, trying to reload. Jake drew his sidearm and took careful aim. It was a long shot with a handgun; hell, it was a long shot with a rifle, but he had to try. He started to squeeze the trigger and waited for the surprise of the bullet leaving the barrel--what every good marksman wanted.

    He jumped as shots rang out from his left. The shots had a slightly different sound to them than the ones fired moments earlier by Bettner. Was there a third shooter? He turned back to the man in the hayloft, but he was gone. Damn, he'd missed his chance. He slid back down behind the car.

    A voice reverberated throughout the farm yard. I got him! I got him, Marshal! It was Tommy. Jake had forgotten about him.

    What are you doing, Tommy? Stay behind cover! Jake yelled back, but it was too late. Tommy was in the middle of the yard for all to see.

    I got him, I got the guy in the hayloft! Tommy was staring at the body on the ground directly below the hayloft.

    I did it, I shot him, Tommy mumbled and dropped his weapon. I've killed a man.

    Tommy! Jake screamed, desperately. Take cover, for Christ’s sake! Bettner’s in the house. Turning slowly Tommy found Bettner standing in the doorway aiming his rifle at him.

    Tommy, you shouldn't have killed my friend. A man... A man has a right to do... To do what he wants to do...if he ain't harming nobody, tears ran down his cheeks. Bettner wiped them with his sleeve.

    These Marshals have no right being here. I was doing nothin’ but providin’ a service, givin’ people what they want! he screamed. Now look at this mess, Tommy. People dead, and for what? So I'll stop making somethin’ people will just get from the next guy down the road? He shook his head.

    Jesus, Tommy, this is all fucked up. It just doesn't make any sense. Bettner was sobbing now. The adrenaline was wearing off, along with the Methamphetamine. He was as unstable as Jake had ever seen anyone.

    Tommy, I've known you since grade school. Hell, we used to hang out when we was younger. A sob escaped. Because of that I'm not going to shoot you, but I want you to get out of here. I want you to get in your car and drive away. Will you do that, Tommy? He was pleading now.

    Tommy stared at him.

    It's enough that my friend and I are going to die; along with these Marshals. No reason for you to die too. He raised the gun again, taking aim. Now git! I mean it! Get in that car of yours and drive like you’ve never driven before! Snot seeped from his nose onto the gun; he wiped it away with the sleeve of his left arm.

    Tommy glanced at Bettner and then over at the cars concealing the Marshals. He wanted, with every fiber of his being, to take Bettner up on his offer and leave. To run as fast as he could and hide from the mess, the confusion, the danger. Would the Marshals survive if he did? He would call for help as soon as he was in the car. Hell, the neighbors had probably already called it in when the shooting started. But what would people say if he abandoned the Marshals? No one would ever talk to him again, much less work with him. He was paralyzed with indecision. What was he to do?

    If you let me take the wounded Marshals with me, I'll go, Jared.

    I don't think you're in any position to bargain, Tommy, now go! Bettner screamed, reaching into his pocket and taking out a baggie of white powder. He held it to his nose and breathed deeply.

    Bettner shivered. Ah, that's good! he mumbled. Jake could see the drug working its magic on him. Things are good now, Tommy! Now run! Cuz I'm fixin’ to end things right here, right now and I don't think you want to be around for that. He lowered the rifle, bringing it down to his waist. He leveled it at Tommy. Last chance.

    Bettner really didn't feel any pain, just a dullness as his body filled with endorphins, numbing the path the bullet had taken through his brain. He knew he was dead; he wasn't sure how, but he knew it. He could see his lifeless body below him. The left side of his face blown apart from the exiting bullet. Jared saw the marshal standing over his body with his gun in his hand a white puff of smoke still escaping from the end of the barrel. He must have sneaked up on him as he was talking to Tommy, but it didn't matter now, nothing did.

    He felt a peace and a love that he'd never known, urging him to go to the light. So all those people that had cheated death were right, he thought. He did as he was urged and walked into the light.

    Nice work, Tommy. Way to keep him occupied while I got into position.

    Good work? Hell, he hadn't even seen Jake sliding along the wall. He'd been so intent on how to get out of there alive that he'd blocked everything else out.

    But I…I just...

    Tommy, get us some medical help out here fast. My men need help. Jake knew what Tommy wanted to say, but it didn't matter. Enough had happened today. He just wanted to get his men to the hospital.

    Officer down; I repeat, officer down. I need back up and an ambulance, hell, all the ambulances you have, out to the Bettner place. We have dead all over, Tommy screamed into his mic. He knew it was unprofessional to talk in clear language but he didn't care. He just wanted this day to be over.

    Chapter 2

    Jake lay in bed listening to the last few birds who hadn't gone south yet. The sun was just rising over the treetops, the early morning rays not yet hitting the bedroom floor. He lay still, not wanting to wake Lora who needed her eight plus hours,. Not that she was lazy. Just the opposite. When she was awake she was moving, non-stop. By bedtime she was usually exhausted and needed a solid eight to recharge for the next day. Her constant energy was something that had taken Jake years to get used to.

    He was much more of a take-things-as-they-come type of guy. One of the few he knew who didn't mind surveillance. The long hours in a car, waiting and hoping for something to happen, drove most guys crazy, but not him. He had the

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