the gawns

The funeral procession was stopped and each car was searched, as was the hearse. It was Harvey Killebrew, devoted father, grandfather and husband, lying in there when they opened the casket.

Virtually all the mourners were elderly and obviously frightened by all the men with guns, and there didn't seem to be a kidnapper within the bunch, but still the agents directed all the cars and the hearse back to the funeral home.

Rent–a–Cop Simmons approached a Secret Service agent who was climbing into his sedan to lead the caravan back to the funeral home.

"What next, sir?"

"Okay, what I need is this road watched. Anyone trying to come out, you stop. Anyone coming in, you stop and check for appropriate credentials. We'll get you some relief as soon as we can. Until then, here is where you'll be. Got it?"

Simmons looked very nervous. "This is really big, isn't it?"

"Sonny, this is the biggest thing you'll ever have happen in your entire life. Let's just hope it turns out okay. But I kind of doubt that."

Another agent, Neal Richards, ran up and said, "I'll stay, Charlie. Probably not a good idea to leave him here all by himself."

Charlie glanced at his colleague and said, "Sure you don't want to come back and join the party, Neal?"

Richards smiled grimly and said, "I don't want to be within a mile of Michelle Maxwell right now.

I'll stay with the kid."

Richards climbed into the vehicle next to Simmons, who maneuvered his van so that it blocked the road. They watched as the caravan of agents and mourners passed out of sight, and scanned the countryside in all directions. There was no sign of anyone. Simmons kept his hand firmly on the butt of his gun, his black leather glove crinkling as he squeezed the pistol grip. He reached over and turned up the volume on his police scanner and then looked nervously at the veteran agent.

He said in a loud voice, "I know you probably can't tell me, but what the hell happened back there?"