ngel was in a safe room of the Clinton Foundation Headquarters.  She had been in contact with Hillary who advised her to stay there until she could get a team in to rescue her.

Angel wasn't buying it.  She had watched the Benghazi episode all the while knowing what Hillary was doing while the American Embassy there was set upon by moslems.  She also knew that four men needlessly died that night because Hillary would not allow our troops to rescue those men fighting for their lives.

Angel had been privy to the connections authorized by obama to supply arms to the ISIS insurgents wreaking havoc in the middle east.  She also knew the links by Chris Stevens and that Chris knew a whole lot about Hillary.  The Ambassador, Chris Stevens, was captured and tortured to death because of that knowledge.

That was the period in which over four hundred shoulder fired missle to air weapons disappeared.

Angel also knew the reason why she had left them without solution, as well as the sitting numbskull, obama.  Suddenly, Angel was afraid for her life.  For she had seen the results of those who failed Hillary or Bill if they had significant sensitive information of them.  And Angel knew an awful lot.

At least in the safe-room she would be protected.  There were guards everywhere in the building, and none of them had codes with which to access that protective place.  Only Hillary's most trusted bodyguards had that information.

Coming out of the restroom after showering, she heard something in what was called the cot room where her suitcases were.  That was the 'bedroom' of the safe house.  In her pocket of her bath robe was the little derringer she cherished so much.  She grasped it firmly in the pocket of her bathrobe, pulling back the hammer.

She heard the noise again and peeked around the corner.  Someone was going through her suitcases.  She cleared her throat to get the man's attention.  He stopped what he was doing, stood up straight, then turned around to face her.  It was Lebo, one of Hillary's most vicious cut-throat bodyguards!

She pulled the derringer out of her pocket very quickly aiming it at Lebo.  The derringer was very loud and her bullet struck home.  Suddenly she stiffened, a strained cry emitting from her throat as she fell to the floor not ten feet away from Lebo.

Angel had committed suicide like many of the others.  She had shot herself in the back with a twelve-gauge shotgun from eight feet away.

It was less than ten minutes later Jesse and Beau stormed the safe house and found Angel with her chest blown to pieces by the huge shotgun blast from the back.  Beau reached down, took the derringer and noticed what looked like the point of a star or a badge in her pocket.  Giving way to curiosity, he pulled it out.  He recognized it immediately having learned the story of it just a week ago.

This Badge with a hole in it once belonged to US Marshall Lloyd Franks.  He was taken by concealed ambush in the mountains above Strawberry.  The derringer was given by him to his daughter Sarah.  It now belonged to William Travis, blood descendant of US Marshall Lloyd Franks.

Jesse gave the order for his men clear to out and return to the Bunker.  When he returned to where Beau was, Beau showed him the badge and the derringer.  Also, he'd found a little packet of papers marked 'Travis' on them amongst the stuff scattered on the bed.  He stuffed all these items into his pocket, took a glance around seeing nothing else of interest, and headed out the door to return to the Bunker.

On the outside of the packet of papers was an envelope with an address on it.  There were two family trees drawn, each showing descendent lines of two separate people.  On the side in which Angel was listed was a man by the name of Axle Rod Lyons.  "Who names their child that?" he asked Jesse.

Jesse shrugged but said, let's go check this place out.  The place turned out to be Angels own home which they found had been trashed as well.  In the basement was an old trunk.  Being simply nosey, Beau rifled through some of the stuff on top being business ledgers and the like.  But he did recognize two of the names.  Axle Rod and William B. Travis.  That large chest was the only thing they took.

Although weak, William dove into the contents of the large trunk within two weeks.  He'd fidgeted about it and perusing the contents since the first moment Jesse had informed him of it.

Going through that chest was a wonderful succession of stories of his ancestors, and, the 'colleague' or arch enemy or nemesis would be more like it, was all the way up to a man by the name of Lever.  In it was the story of Yancey and Sara (Franks) Gale.  It was as if he was watching a movie of his ancestors.  That was the night of the Awakening.

In it also was the complete biography of Tobe Ornotobe, his hanging of a man named Ramsey, who, it turned out was Lyons blood kin.  In it were files of a city called Smile.  Extremely interesting.  He sat late into the night reading, but his mind kept going back to Tobe.  He could relate to the mans story, because he had personally witnessed the conversation with the aged ancestors around the fire in Valhalla.

It placed in him a hunger to see LOST - Land Of the Stolen Tomahawk.  Someday he would go find that place, to stand where his ancestors stood, to camp where they camped.  To see the things they saw, to feel their presence at his side as he explored where they lived, died and were buried.  In his mind he had awakened to whom he really was, what his mission in life was.

Someday, he would climb that mountain.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning as day broke the Eastern sky, Ginger took her place in the middle of the firing squad.  She was handed her rifle which had been previously loaded with two shots.  The detail was then marched out to within fifty paces of the two men shackled to posts.  "Detail halt" barked Beau.

The men had black cloth hoods drawn down over their heads to prevent them from watching the detail.  It was preferred they not be able to look the executioners in the eye.  "Right face."  The detail were military perfect in their execution of each command.

"Present arms."  The rifles were removed from the shoulders and held at a forty-five degree angle, right hand around stock near the trigger, left hand under barrel.

"Ready."  The five rifles were raised to the shoulder.  All five safety's clicked off.

"Aim."  All five of the detail drew a bead on the jump-suit of the first man about the level of the third button down.

"Fire!"  All five rifles barked in unison sounding as one.  All five rifles as one, pulled the bolt and pushed in another round.

The man slumped forward held in place by his restraints to the post.

"Atten hut!"  The rifles were shouldered

"Left face."  All five of the detail as one turned briskly to the left spinning on their heel, then stood waiting for the next order.

"Forward, march."  In step, the detail marched forward the fifteen feet or so to stand directly in front of the man still standing.

"Detail halt."

"Right face."

"Present arms."

"Ready."

"Aim."

"Fire!"

"Atten hut!"

"Right face."  All five of the detail turned briskly to the right spinning on their heel, then stood waiting for the next order.

"Forward, march."  In step, the detail marched forward to the open hangar door.

"Detail halt."

The Provhost General watched as the rifles were collected, cleared and stored.

Beau barked "Detail dismissed."

The two men were removed from the firing range, their bodies cremated, their ashes dumped into the woods.

The Hermie case was closed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"The death penalty," proclaimed General Sherman, "is nothing more than sending a defective product back to the manufacturer . . .  Let Him fix it."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Chapter XVIII