“Let me make a couple of calls.” Todd slid his cell from his pocket. He called some friends. A few minutes later, he returned the phone to his pocket. “Someone saw him at the gun range on Route 7.”
Todd drove out to the range and parked in the lot. Though it wasn’t the range where Matt typically practiced, he’d been here before. A concrete-block building housed the office and indoor range. Trees grew close on either side. An outdoor stall and an area for skeet shooting sat well behind the building. The rear of the property was lit up like a football stadium. The brightness in the distance made the surrounding woods seem darker.
The parking lot was semifull. Matt and Todd stepped out of the SUV. Matt opened the back door and lifted Brody down. The big dog might be useful. Brody was loved by all, even people who didn’t like Matt.
The outdoor range was far enough away that the sound of gunfire was muted by distance. Matt spotted Jim Rogers sitting on a split-rail fence in front of the building. His puppy sat at his feet, chewing on a hard rubber dog toy.
Matt and Todd approached him. The puppy abandoned its toy to yip at Brody.
“Leave it,” Rogers commanded. When the puppy turned toward him, he praised her. “Good girl.” Rogers commanded her to sit, then reached over to greet Brody. “How are you, big boy?”
The puppy jumped up and nipped at the hair around Brody’s neck. With a stoic turn of his head, Brody pointedly ignored the pup. He looked back at Matt as if to say, You want to get a handle on this?
Rogers shorted the leash.
“Hey, Jim, you OK?” Todd asked.
Rogers was pale and pouring sweat, despite the coolness of the evening. He shrugged and leaned down to scoop the puppy into his arms. Settling her in the crook of his elbow, he stroked her back. “Since I can’t shoot, I brought Goldie here to get her used to the sound of gunfire. I thought maybe listening to it at a distance would help me get conditioned to it too.” He snorted. “So far, I’m SOL there.” The puppy chewed on his sleeve. “Maybe she’ll have to be my emotional support dog instead of a retriever.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Todd reached forward and ruffled the puppy’s ears. “I miss having a dog, but I don’t have time to train a puppy.” Like Bree, Todd worked long hours.
Matt said, “Cady has a few older, fully housebroken rescues that would be happy to hold your couch in place while you went to work.”
Todd looked thoughtful. “Maybe.”
“You want me to ask Cady?” Matt asked.
“No.” Todd flushed. “I’ll call her.”
“Why are you here?” Rogers looked at Matt, then Todd. “This isn’t your club.”
“We’re looking for you,” Matt answered. Two men walked out of the building. He waited until they moved out of earshot before continuing in a low voice. “I wanted to ask you some follow-up questions about Brian Dylan.”
Rogers stiffened. “I already told you everything.”
Matt began. “What do you know about the Hudson Footmen—”
Glancing around, Rogers interrupted with a chop of his hand. More sweat darkened the armpits of his gray T-shirt. “It’s not smart to mention that name out here.”
Matt lowered his voice. “Are members here?”
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to find out.” Rogers continued to scan the parking area.
Matt saw no one except for the two men getting into a truck on the other side of the lot. They weren’t close enough to overhear, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Is Dylan in the club?”
“I don’t know,” Rogers nearly whispered.
“He believes some wild shit,” Todd said.
“He does,” Rogers agreed.
“What about Oscar?” Matt asked. “Did he follow any of those conspiracy theories?”
Rogers snorted. “Nah. Oscar didn’t believe in anything but Oscar.” He paused. “But I think even he was starting to get concerned about the increasing wackiness of Dylan’s theories.”
“Did this create conflict between them?”
“I really have no idea.” Rogers lifted a shoulder.
Matt remembered the female shadow in Dylan’s window. “Does Dylan have a girlfriend?”
“Dunno,” Rogers said.
Brody stood, the fur on the back of his neck rose, and he growled softly in the direction of the darkness. Matt saw no one but trusted his dog. Something—or someone—was out there. The puppy followed Brody’s focus. A baby growl rumbled in her throat.
Rogers frowned at his puppy and Brody. He slid off the fence. “I need to go home.” He started toward the parking lot. “Don’t follow me. I don’t have any more information for you.” He patted Brody on the head before carrying his puppy away.
Matt and Todd returned to the vehicle.
“He was fine until I mentioned the Footmen.” Matt glanced over the seat. Brody sat on the back seat, but his attention was still on the woods.
“Just the mention of the group made him nervous,” Todd agreed. “Brody OK?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe he smelled a coyote or something.”
“Or something,” Matt said. Had someone else been nearby, maybe listening?
“Rogers knows more than he’s saying.” Todd started the engine. “But we can’t prove it. What now?”
“I’m going to do more research on the Hudson Footmen.”
Todd dropped him and Brody off. Inside, Matt let Greta loose. Brody settled in his bed in the kitchen. Matt gave Greta an elk antler to chew while he worked.
He turned on his computer, then started up a browser using a VPN, or virtual private network. Given the Footmen’s apparent reputation, he wouldn’t want them to be able to track his IP address. In a common social media app, he opened a profile under a fake name. Using this profile, he found and followed some crazy-ass antigovernment sites. Then he searched the Hudson Footmen’s page and posts and found their private group. The group’s discussion feed was private, but the administrators were listed at the top of the page. He hovered over the names.
Joe Hunt and Bri Bri Dee.
A nickname for Brian Dylan?
The name Joe Hunt sounded kind of fake too.
Matt screenshotted their pages and copied the links to his notes.
Bri Bri Dee’s page was also private, and there was no photo available. Matt returned to the Hudson Footmen’s group page. He’d send the screenshots and links to Rory. No doubt the forensics lab would have the resources to get more information.
He clicked “Join.” While his admission was under review, he went to YouTube. The Hudson Footmen had their own channel. Most of their videos were posted by Joe Hunt and Bri Bri Dee, both of whom had their own individual accounts as well. Matt clicked on the first video and watched a totally weird video of a man in a white coat “demonstrating” that a recent hurricane never happened, that the government had fabricated the event in order to manipulate currency. Matt felt his eyes rolling at the ludicrousness. This “scientist” used radar maps and what he claimed was historical weather data. Matt stopped the video and double-checked the numbers with actual historical data from an international weather site. None of the numbers matched.
All bullshit.
But to some, probably very convincing bullshit.
The next video depicted a well-known politician admitting that the space shuttle Challenger explosion had been faked in a TV studio. The man’s mouth looked distorted. The movement of his lips did not quite match the cadence of his speech. Also, he didn’t blink throughout the one-minute clip. The video was a deepfake. Matt reached for the mouse to click the “Stop” button. He’d seen enough. Before he could click, the screen shifted to scrolling text that proclaimed, YOUR GOVERNMENT IS DECEIVING YOU. A website address appeared next. DO YOU WANT TO BE PREPARED? JOIN US. SAVE YOURSELF AND YOUR LOVED ONES. ANARCHY IS COMING.
Now it all made sense. They were recruitment videos.
Matt copied the website address: jointhefootmen.com.