Lord of Order by Brett Riley (the reading list book TXT) 📕

Troublers sometimes used on their raids. Normally, he would have shot anyone carrying one. Now he had to wear it. Shit. How did we not notice things had gotten this bad in Washington? Rook must have been goin insane for years, but we all yes sir-ed right along. Now we’re starin mass murder in the face. Crusaders had been taught from birth to think of the Purge as a sacrosanct ur-moment all citizens should honor, but Tetweiller had never been comfortable with slaughter on that level, no matter who wielded the weapon. It was much easier to glorify death if you had not tromped through the bone and gristle of it most of your life.

Light footfalls on the broken concrete behind him, the click of claws. You ain’t comin, child, he said without turning. Ain’t no way to disguise you, unless you can climb stairs on stilts.

McClure and Bandit appeared beside him. The dog sat near the girl’s feet and bit at fleas on his hind legs. She knelt and scratched between his ears. Don’t aim to come, the kid said. Just watch.

Then why bring that cannon under your shirt?

The girl’s expression was inscrutable. She patted the lump beneath her left arm. Figure if one of you gets hit, I can cover.

If we get killed, we get killed. But Gabe will need you. You can go places we can’t.

McClure said nothing. In the end, she would do what she wanted. The dog blended with the night. Somewhere nearby, a fish broke water with a flat clapping sound. The evening’s warmth curled around them like a snug blanket.

Hard to breathe already, and we still gotta put them goddam masks on.

Long arrived dressed in black, her leather jerkin buttoned over a long-sleeved shirt. She wore wool pants, gloves, hair pinned tight against her skull. She carried a shotgun and a satchel, likely full of ammo and explosives paraphernalia. Protocol stated that all nearby guards and patrols, plus an official representative of the lord’s office, had to investigate any attack within the Temple’s general vicinity. That would leave a skeleton crew on high alert within the Temple proper, plus Jerold Babb, who would be in Troy’s office or his home in the presbytère. Once Long’s diversion began, the trick would be to get inside the Temple before the crew locked the place up like the fortress it was. Tetweiller and Ford would have only seconds. It was a risky plan, but better than assaulting a fully guarded Temple.

Ford emerged from the shadows wearing tight, dark clothing. His dreadlocks had been tucked into his shirt. He had been assigned the most difficult tasks of the evening—dealing with the guards and Jack Hobbes. Tetweiller could not read his face in the gloom.

They stood in a circle, four people and one dog. Tetweiller silently prayed for everyone’s safety. The others were likely doing the same, except for the girl, who never prayed, and the dog, who was eating something she had given him.

Tetweiller took a deep breath. His heart was pounding, his mouth dry. It’s about that time. If you want out, nobody will think less of you. What we’re about to do can’t be undone.

Long slung the satchel over her shoulder. Just remember what I said.

Tetweiller turned to the child. Go with LaShanda. Stay outta sight and follow her lead. Don’t get shot. Don’t even get seen.

They said their goodbyes, and Long and the girl walked away, the dog following. Ford wore his guns slung low on his hips. A mask was tucked into his waistband. He and Tetweiller stood at the river’s edge and waited.

Later, on the shadowed steps of the Riverwalk across from the square, they pulled on their masks. The streetlamps near the closed gates spotlighted the two stationary guards. Others would be patrolling the perimeter in small groups, three clusters per street. To stay alert, they changed locations every hour. Because of the speed with which the Temple staff were likely to respond to the attack, Ford and Tetweiller needed to breach the square’s perimeter before Long’s diversion began; the trick would be to move during the rotation, hoping distance and dark and the laxity borne from years of unbroken security would prevent the guards on the front door from spotting them. Perhaps the Jesus statue would obscure some of what would happen. Still, even if the guards did not see and Dwyer did not pick the wrong moment to look out Troy’s window, Tetweiller and Ford would have only seconds to get inside once everything started.

Soon, down the street and near the fence line, the perimeter patrol moved west, heading for St. Peter Street. The easternmost group filed past the gates, passing under the lamps, nodding to the guards, fading into darkness. When the last of them vanished, the footsteps of the St. Ann guards heading toward their Decatur shift were already audible.

Ford elbowed Tetweiller in the ribs. They stood, raised their pistols, and dashed across the street.

By the time the streetlamps revealed them, it was too late. The gate guards started to raise their rifles, but Tetweiller, his voice an octave lower than normal, growled, Put em down and keep your mouths shut, or you’ll get to see what your guts look like.

The guards glanced at each other, looked for the foot patrols, saw no one close. They lowered their guns.

Tetweiller stepped up to the guard on the left, cocked his pistol, and put it to the boy’s temple. The kid, no older than twenty-five, glared at him. Ford drew his knife and held it to the other guard’s throat.

Troubler scum, Tetweiller’s guard spat.

Yeah, yeah, Tetweiller said. Open the gate. Be quick about it.

Sure. You devils ain’t never assaulted this place and lived to tell about it. It’s okay with me if you go get killed.

The kid unlocked the gate and pushed it open. Ford and Tetweiller shoved the guards inside and shut the gate behind them. Ford reached through the bars and rewrapped the chains through