Stonewalled

By Todd Howard

Phillip “Stonewall” Jackson a former college football star has seen his life become a series of disappointments. First, football was taken away by an injury and then his family died in a mysterious car wreck. Unable to withstand the memories, he runs.

On the road his dead wife’s GPS fixates on a particular location. In an attempt to reset the machine Stonewall follows the direction, and finds himself in the parking lot of a biker bar. Happenstance introduces him to the mother of a kidnapped girl. At first he has no desire to help, but guilt and the urgings of the stubborn GPS change his mind.

Stonewall uses his fame to approach the bikers, and soon his life spirals out of control. He is pulled deeper into the lifestyle and in a fit of rage commits murder.

Earning their trust, Stonewall is informed of their alliance with al-Qaeda. Knowing their plans there is only one course of action. He is soon on foreign soil fighting for an innocent girl, four captive soldiers and millions of lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Todd Howard
• Release date: Jul 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983606802

Book preview

Chapter 1

Friday, August 30 — Maryville, TN

Morgan Jackson’s infectious giggle filled the Range Rover each time they took one of the hairpin curves. She threw herself back and forth in her car seat exaggerating the movement. Her mother couldn’t help but smile.

Go faster mommy.

Not on this road, not in this rain baby. You want to sing? Anna asked, trying to distract her.

Yeah, you sing with me. Anna reached over and punched on her I-Pod. They both sang. London Bridge is falling…

Attached to the windshield of the Range Rover power flowed through the circuits of the Magellan GPS. Its antennae repeatedly sent signals to four orbiting satellites. Their response was used to identify its location within a meter. It constantly calculated exact longitude and latitude. The unit tracked the SUV’s speed and knew the layout of the narrow mountain road ahead.

In the midst of computing complex mathematical formulas, the machine detected vibrations on its outer hull. It knew human speech produced these irregularities. At this moment the woman and small girl were singing. London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. The sound waves were pleasant, and all functions were normal.

You must be crazy. Anna said out loud checking her rear view mirror. A red truck pulled up into the other lane to pass.

On this road you have got to be kidding.

She could hear the hum of the big engine as it gained on them. Then it seemed to slow. Anna looked over and locked eyes with the trucks driver. He gave her a smile and picked up his speed.

For some reason Anna shivered a little at the look the man had given her. It wasn’t what she would call a friendly smile. More like something the wolf gave Little Red Ridding Hood. This thought was still rattling in her brain when the truck cut right in front of her, almost taking off her front bumper.

The GPS tracked each meter they progressed up the side of the step hill. In an instant it knew their position had shifted to the right. This didn’t match with its internal map. Another swerve to the left and they were back on course. Their speed slowed and the speech vibrations became harsh.

Mommy!

Its okay Morgan, Anna Jackson said, trying to reassure her four-year daughter, but she could hear the quiver in her own voice. Her heart pounded and the increased blood pressure caused a ringing in her ears. She was afraid to bring the car to a complete stop in this fog and rain. Scared that someone might rear-end her.

Realizing her words did little to comfort Morgan, Anna twisted in her seat to lay a hand on her daughter’s leg. Hang on we’ll be home in another five minutes. Anna drew in a deep breath and pushed on the gas pedal.

If I ever get my hands on the idiot I’ll strangle him. Passing us in this rain, and then cutting us off, he was probably drunk.

The GPS continued to track their movement. They were a hundred feet from the summit when their speed returned to normal. Ten feet, four, three, they cleared the peak. The GPS detected a sudden deceleration, and their course veered to the right.

Nooo! The woman shouted, instinctively jerking the steering wheel. The red truck had stopped just over the crest of the hill.

The machine calculated that if the current course held, they would be off the side of the mountain in a matter of seconds. They shot left, and more harsh speech vibrations exploded on its hull. The GPS tried to reformulate their position, but the changes were coming too fast. They would be on one side of the road, an instant later on the other.

Without warning the machine’s components experienced a new sensation, one of not being tethered to the windshield. It slammed into a door and with a crunch, a corner of its hull dented. The ride was no longer smooth. The SUV’s passenger side ground into the pavement.

The GPS continued to formulate their position. The machine precisely calculated the moment they left the road and flew into the gorge. One moment the GPS was on the roof, the next the floor. Then a hideous crunch brought them to a stop. There were no vibrations to detect, only silence. Slowly the machine felt its power source fading. One last gasp from Morgan and both humans were gone.

The GPS surged back to life with a beep…beep…beep!

Phillip Stonewall Jackson stripped off the clothes he had been wearing the last three days. He eHestepped into the shower and adjusted the nozzle. His wife had been the last person to use it and at 5’ 9" she was a good eight inches shorter. The water pelted his body, and he leaned against the wall in exhaustion.

They’re not coming back, I know that.

In fact, he had known the minute they died. He hadn’t told anyone, but he had always had a sixth sense. Sometimes things just popped in his head. He found these moments of clairvoyance were always right.

Out of habit, he reached up and turned on the waterproof radio. He immediately regretted it. There was a newsbreak and the leading story was about his missing family. Before he could hit the off button, the announcer reported he was still a person of interest.

How in the hell could they ever think I would hurt my family? What was wrong with these people? They know me better than that.

The muscles in his jaws tightened in anger, and he slammed his fist into the tile on the shower wall. Every muscle in his body shuddered with despair. The sound of the doorbell stopped him from putting a hole in the wall. He reached down and grabbed a pair of gym shorts, not bothering to dry off. His long stride ate up the distance to the entrance, hands balled into first.

God help him if it’s another reporter.

Stonewall jerked open the door, and found himself staring at his best friend, Detective Jimmy Cox. They locked eyes and some of the tension fell away from Stonewall’s shoulders. Behind them reporters yelled questions, backed up by cameramen shooting video. Jimmy slipped in and closed the door. Without a word, they headed for the living room the anger instantly draining from Stonewall’s body. All he was left with was desperation and cold.

A good look at his friend told Stonewall that the last three days had taken its toll. His normally round face was gaunt and it was obvious he hadn’t slept. Stonewall opened his mouth to speak but then their eyes met. Jimmy had been crying. Stonewall instantly knew what was coming and he had to swallow to keep from spilling the contents of his stomach.

We… They’re both… We found the car at the bottom of a ravine not five minutes from here. Anna used that little shortcut from town and in the rain it looks like she lost control. There’s nothing left of the car, but we’ve already concluded it was an accident Stonewall. A single car accident.

Stonewall fell onto the couch, tears running down his face. Jimmy sat next to him, his arm around his shoulders. Together they cried. After all, these men were like brothers, godparents to each other’s children.

An hour later the announcement was made. The letters of sympathy and support were almost immediate. Stonewall appreciated them, but had to wonder where all these people were when his character was being questioned. He would deal with this the only way he knew how: Alone.

Chapter 2

May 29 — Maryville, TN

I don’t act like a hero. Why does everyone think I’m hero? All they cared about was how fast I could run or how hard I could hit. Now I can’t even jog a mile without my leg killing me.

Stonewall limped up the steps of his home and threw open the front door.

He collapsed into his favorite chair. What would screw up next? Today it was his worthless truck. Anna had always told him to get rid of that piece of junk.

You win, baby doll, he said out loud, knowing his wife wouldn’t answer. She had been dead for nine months, three days and 4 hours. The hurt never stopped.

Stonewall wanted so badly to talk to her. Wanted to know what he was doing wrong. Why had everything fallen apart? He swatted a crystal bowl on the end table and watched it flip and shatter on the hardwood floor. Peeking from the shards of glass were the diamond earrings he had given his wife on their second anniversary.

The memories of the last time Anna had worn them flooded his brain. She was standing in their bedroom in a black evening gown. The way it clung to her hips drove him crazy. Then the images of her broken body on a morgue table intruded on his memory. Lying next to her was the crumpled figure of their four- year old daughter. In an instant, rage took over and the coffee table went flying out the picture window. Followed closely by the sectional sofas, pictures, and anything else that reminded him of his family.

The simple act of doing something about his pent-up frustrations fueled his fury. When he finished the living room, he started on the bedroom, then the closest. Soon there was a huge disjointed stack of furnishings and clothing in the backyard. Stonewall stopped, gazing at his work and headed for the garage and a tank of gasoline. Before long there was a raging bonfire and Stonewall headed back in to finish what he had started. That was when he reached the closed door to his daughter’s room. When he opened it, the madness faded.

What the hell am I doing? I’ve finally lost it. I have to get out here. If I stay I’m going to end up in a padded room.

Stonewall quickly retreated into the master bedroom to pack. He realized all of his clothes were steadily burning in the backyard. Stonewall turned to leave, and caught his reflection in a mirror attached to the back of the bedroom door. His sweat soaked shirt was smeared with dirt and smut. The tail halfway torn off, hung down one hip. His brown hair stood on end with grease and grim. His face showed streaks where the sweat had tried to wash away some of the nastiness. The feature that stood out most was his eyes. The intensity was gone. They were black and empty. For the first time in months Stonewall recognized himself. The outside finally matched the inside.

After calling a taxi, Stonewall decided to wait outside. He walked through the foyer and noticed his Mahogany cane in the umbrella stand. Lying on the table next to it was the GPS his wife had used on a daily basis. His hand hovered over the unit.

Do I really need this thing? Do I even want it? It’s only thing that survived the wreck. It might come in handy.

With that decided he quickly tucked the unit into his pocket and headed out the door. Stonewall looked back and the flames danced above the roof. He stood there waiting on the taxi and thought that the house might catch on fire.

So what if it did. Hell, it would be right in line with the rest of the disappointments I’ve endured. Everything has been screwed up since I was a sophomore in high school. If I touched it, it falls apart. I couldn’t even keep my family safe.

The images of his family being buried flooded his brain. Every muscle in his body went rigid and a cold chill ran up his spine. He was standing on the edge of the graves. The caskets were being lowered into the ground. He couldn’t believe they were gone. It really didn’t make sense. His wife was paranoid about cars. There was no way she would drive fast on that road in those conditions. It just didn’t add up.

Stonewall shook his head trying to break the memories grip. He had to get his mind off of it before he hurt more than the furniture. That was easier said than done.

If only I had someone to blame, at least then I would have hate. I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t be around anything that reminds me of them. I need to get lost. Go somewhere and start over.

Luckily the cab picked that moment to pull to the curb. Climbing in he laid his head back and the day’s events began running through his mind. His truck breaking down, the long jog, the earrings. Once again the anger inside him began to build. Without warning the images in his brain began to break up and his eyes popped open. He realized the taxi driver was saying something.

Excuse me? Stonewall asked.

I said we’re here. The driver answered, staring at him in the rear-view mirror. Using his cane to help extract himself, Stonewall gave the man a hundred dollar tip. His mind whirled in a million different directions.

So what if the house burned? I’m not ever coming back.

Stonewall glanced at the cabbie, and the look in his eyes said it all.

I guess there’s no need to fuel even more rumors. Enough will be said when they realize I’ve disappeared.

Leaning down Stonewall said, Help me out and call the fire department? But don’t tell’em where you dropped me okay.

Already did. You were asleep. The cabbie answered.

Stonewall turned to head for the hotel.

Yo, Stonewall, the man said, leaning toward the open window with an accomplice’s grin. I won’t tell them shit. Stonewall nodded his thanks. Sometimes being famous had its privileges.

In Stonewall's pocket the GPS powered to life. It instantly calculated their longitude and latitude. Currently they were 27.2946 miles from the home setting and 223.8973 miles from their destination. The machine began to formulate the route and in seconds it knew that the use of freeways would get them there the quickest. The screen continued to glow, highlighting a path west to Nashville.

Chapter 3

May 30 —Atlanta Ga.

The walls of the red brick high school emitted a buzz of summer energy. The large double doors burst open and four girls led their fellow students into a promised summer of fun. One of them ran backwards and yelled something that made the others explode into laughter. Sophie Mullins reached the blue BMW convertible first. By the time she had the key in the ignition, the other three girls were climbing aboard.

They had just finished their last day of school and were looking forward to a summer of singing, sunbathing, and boy chasing. None of the girls had steady boyfriends, but they all knew that cruising party after party would bring a string of dates. Sophie poured on the gas. The girls began to dance and move in their seats and the car was shaking in sync with their movements.

Yeah, like I’m kind of hungry. I could use a snack, Stacie replied.

The only snack you want is a bite of the guy behind the counter, Sophie said.

I didn’t say I was horny, I said I was hungry.

What’s the difference? Lilly Prescott chimed in, and all the girls giggled. The car pulled to a stop, and each girl swiped her hair out of her eyes. They headed in to watch Stacie flirt with Kevin. Stacie had memorized his schedule and was hoping he would take the hint and ask her out. After all, he was only a freshman in college and she was going to be a senior in high school, a match made in heaven to her way of thinking.

The girls laughed and giggled all the way back to the car throwing out comments about different parts of Kevin’s anatomy. Comments they wouldn’t want their parents to hear. In their high spirits the girls failed to notice the group of bikers.

Sophie stomped on the accelerator and threw the unsuspecting girls back against their seats. The little car fishtailed and left a black strip on the pavement. The girls whooped it up and screamed for Sophie to do it again.

The bikers watched the four giggling girls. None of them had to say a word. They had all seen the stunning redhead that was taller than her classmates. They all knew she would bring a huge price. Each man quickly fired up his ride and followed at a safe distance. When the right moment presented itself, they would take the redhead and her little car. The only question was which one of them would get to break her. The last time they marked a girl, it had turned into a brawl and they had ended up in jail. Worse, the gang had been run out of town due to the press it had brought them. Since then, they had to let Razor decide which one of them would get to add to their harem. The problem, Razor was going to want to keep this one for himself.

Sophie dropped off two of the girls and only Stacie remained. They were headed to her house.

Why don’t you stay at my house and lets Twitter? Stacie asked.

I can’t. Mom has invited some people over from work, and she wants me there to play hostess.

Okay, but come over as soon you can, I want to show you a site I found.

I’ll try, talk to you tonight. Sophie said.

Fifteen minutes later, she walked through the front door of her house.

Mom, I’m home,

I’m in the kitchen, honey. Tracie Mullins answered. Sophie walked through the door glancing through the mail she had picked up off the table in the foyer.

It’s not in there, honey, I’ve already looked, her mom said, referring to the SAT scores her daughter expected to arrive any day. Sophie had taken the test for the first time six weeks earlier and thought she had done well. She hoped to be able to start filling out college applications in the near future and knew that if her scores were low she would have to retake the test during the summer.

I need you to run to the market and grab some milk and eggs.

Oh, mom, do I have to?

Yes, you know we’re having dinner guests.

I’ll make you a deal. Sophie said.

What do you have in mind? Her mom asked, trying to scratch her nose without smearing butter across her delicate features. She had her red hair back in a bun and wore an apron around her shapely hips. On more than one occasion, Tracie Mullins had been mistaken for her daughter’s older sister instead of her mom. She looked thirty instead of forty and knew how to dress to accentuate her better points. But right now, she was a mom, and she knew that whatever her daughter wanted, she would do her best to make it happen.

It had been that way since Jim died. Sophie had taken it hard, and her mom had treated her with kid gloves. She had given Sophie whatever she wanted to reassure her they would be okay. Jim’s life insurance policy had been enough to pay off the house and still leave some for a nest egg. Still, everyday Tracie watched for the signs she had read about in grief books.

If I go to the store for you. Sophie said. When I get back, you let me go over to Stacie’s. She finished it off with her biggest smile. Sophie immediately registered the disappointment on her mom’s face.

I don’t know, I really need you here.

Please, please, ple-ple-please. Sophie said, an exaggerated frown on her face.

How about this. You go to the store for me, and stay through dinner. After everyone has eaten, you can leave.

Sophie didn’t answer immediately, clearly contemplating if she had any more bargaining room. Okay, she finally said, but her mom doubted she had heard the last of the argument.

Sophie slid into her car and immediately jacked up the radio so it blared loud enough be heard three houses away. She pulled out of the driveway dancing against the restraints of her seatbelt. She never noticed or heard the roar of the motorcycles pulling out behind her.

Yo, she’s rollin. We’re headed north on Dover Street. Moose radioed. He had been a member of the gang or club for nearly ten years and was a trusted enforcer.

Yell back when she stops, Duck answered.

Sophie pulled into the parking lot at Kroger and couldn’t believe all of the spots were taken. She ended up parking on the side of the store next to the dumpster. She walked in still singing the latest Carrie Underwood hit.

We’ve stopped at the Kroger on Peachtree Avenue. Bring up the war wagon and have it parked so the side door of the van is toward her car, Moose ordered.

While Sophie was busy buying eggs and talking to one of her classmates, a gray Ford Econoline Van backed into the spot next to her car. It was large and bulky and completely blocked anyone’s view of the BMW. One of the bikers jumped out and leaned against the wall of the store. He went by the name Crooked because of the way his teeth looked. He weighed about 300 pounds and emitted a heavy, rank odor.

Crook hit the speakerphone button and stuck his cell in the front pocket of his shirt. He had almost finished a Camel when Moose’s voice came over the speaker. She’s out of the store. Everybody get ready.

Sophie walked out of the grocery, lost in her own world. She turned the corner and stopped in her tracks when she noticed the man leaning against the wall.

That’s one nasty looking dude. I’m not getting anywhere near him. I hope someone else is around. She took a quick look over her shoulder but saw no one.

Maybe I should just go back in. No screw that, I’m not going to be intimidated. It’s still daylight.

Sophie pulled her shoulders back and started walking. When she reached the passenger side of her car, the man’s body odor reached her. She quickly stepped off the sidewalk.

I’ll just get in on the passenger side and slide over. Man, dude’s gross. He could at least take a bath.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the cargo door sliding open on the van. She expected other shoppers but was horrified at the two bikers staring back at her.

They smiled, but it wasn’t a gesture of hello. It was a toothy grin, one that said we have you right where we want you. Sophie’s mind immediately registered the danger, and all she could think of was that they were going to rape her. She attempted to run but two sets of strong hands pulled her into the van.

Sophie’s felt herself lifted into the air, but instinct kept her legs pumping. In desperation she tried to turn the bag of groceries into a weapon. When she swung it, one of the men quickly knocked it out of her hand.

Sophie tried to scream, but a filthy rag was stuffed into her mouth. She tried to breathe but the smell coming from the material was overpowering and bile moved up into her mouth. Sophie coughed and gagged. The men laughed.

See I told you she’d never walk by Crook. Duck said.

You were right. I have to say you were right. Two Bit agreed. He dug into Sophie’s purse searching for her car keys. When he found them, he held them out the window, and Crook snatched them out of his hand. When the two vehicles left the parking lot, the only evidence they had been there was a dozen broken eggs and a dented gallon of milk.

Chapter 4

May 30 — Maryville Tn

Stonewall unfolded his legs and stepped out of the taxi. He had never done business with this Chevrolet dealership but had heard some good things. In front of him rows of cars stretched at least a couple of football fields in each direction.

Surely they’ll have what I want. I hate buying a car. Damn bunch of vultures. Alright stay cool I can do this.

A golf cart pulled to a stop in front of him. A small man with dyed black hair and a cheap brown sport coat jumped out, his hand extended.

What kind of car can I sell you today, sir? The salesman asked, giving Stonewall an appraising look.

Wait for it. In a minute he’ll figure out who I am.

As expected, recognition dawned on the man’s face. Hey, you’re Stonewall! Man, I followed your career from the time you played at Farragut High all through your time with the Vols. I remember the game against Alabama your freshman year. You had like twenty tackles and an interception for a touchdown to win the game, you were incredible. Man, wait till I tell everybody I sold you a car!

You haven’t sold me a car yet. Stonewall said, trying to get the guy back to the business at hand.

Yeah, yeah, right, okay. Well, what are you interested in?

"Go to your sales manager and tell him I will give him exactly 3% over the invoice on a fully loaded black Suburban with the biggest engine they make. Tell him if he doesn’t take the deal, I’ll walk over to the Lexus dealership and see if they like my cash.

I-I-I. don’t think he’ll go for that, Stonewall. These cars are hot.

We won’t know until you ask him. When the man left, Stonewall took a seat on the bumper of a car and it sank down a good foot. He rested his head in his hands and thought about what a mess he was making of his life. The more he contemplated his actions the more frustrated he became. It didn’t help that the sun was beating down on his back, and he was beginning to sweat. He was ready to leave when the man came loping across the parking lot.

I have good news, the salesman said, a huge grin on his face. At first my manager said no, but I went to bat for you and when I told him who you were, he agreed. But there is one little problem, you said fully loaded but this one doesn’t have a GPS in it.

Stonewalls’ first inclination was to say no, but then he glanced down at the bag lying at his feet.

It’s really not a big a deal. After all I have my wife’s GPS. I haven’t turned the thing on the on since the… Hell, I can’t even bring myself to think to the word, much less punch the power button. I have to stop this. It’s only a machine.

All right I’ll take it.

The salesman stood there with a stupid smile on his face. He acted like this meant they were blood brothers.

Who do I pay? Stonewall asked,

Come on in and I’ll introduce you to my sales manager. He’s dying to meet you, the salesman answered, oblivious to the irritation in Stonewalls’ voice.

I tell you, you’re just going to love this vehicle. The sales manager said looking over his shoulder, to make sure Stonewall was following him. They entered the typical sales manager’s office, and Stonewall took a seat in a chair that butted up against the glass. The man, whose name-plate read Sam Pender, fell into his cheap chair. The force of his big belly almost caused it to topple over. He began going through different files on his desk and finally found the one he needed.

So how much money are you going to be putting down and how much do you want to finance?

I’m not financing any of it. I’ll pay you in full. He then pulled his checkbook out of the back pocket of his jeans and signed his name. How much do I need to make this out for?

Let’s see, with taxes and all it will be $58,768.97, said Sam when the calculator quit buzzing. Stonewall never flinched and never looked up. He simply wrote the numbers in and laid it in front of the man.

Why don’t you go out and let Tommy go over the SUV with you, while I finish up the paperwork? Stonewall gave him a strange look and the man blurted out, You know the salesman. Stonewall just nodded in agreement and stood. He knew what ole Sam was up to, he was going to call the bank and be sure the check was good.

When Stonewall stepped out of the office and the salesman joined him and jiggled a set of keys.

Come on, I’ll show you where it’s parked and go over the features.

Stonewall tried to act interested while the man gave his spiel. In truth, his mind was on how happy his wife would have been with the Suburban. They