by E B Corbin
They inspected the photo as she turned it over. It showed her and Henry in their SUV sitting in front of Nina’s house. The phony foreman guy was at Henry’s door with a gun in his hand, but there were no bullet holes in the SUV, so it was soon after they arrived.
Sam pushed her hair out of her eyes as she leaned over to get a closer look. “This was taken from across the street.”
Henry rested his knuckles on the table about an inch away from the picture. “So now we have a new person following us.”
“Unless he’s teamed up with someone.” Sam pointed at the man in the photo.
“Then why didn’t this person jump in to help when I attacked him?”
“I guess it doesn’t make sense if he’s working with whoever sent this.” Sam shrugged. “But what if it doesn’t have anything to do with my father? What if one of those skinheads happened to be in the neighborhood and called in his friends. Those guys who shot at us showed up after this picture was taken.”
“Possibly,” Henry said. “But we can’t rule out someone looking for the reward, either.”
“Hell!” Sam slammed her fist on the table. “What do we do with this?”
“We could give it to Matthews. See if they can pull any fingerprints.”
“What good will that do us? Whoever sent this is confident we won’t be able to track him or her down. Besides what can the cops do? It’s fairly vague for a threat.”
“It’s not a love letter, either.” Henry leaned closer to the photo. “Do you remember seeing anybody across the street that day?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I saw an elderly man walking a golden retriever, but I only noticed him because I love that breed of dog. There could have been somebody sitting in a parked car. I only caught the cars in my peripheral vision,” Sam said. “I don’t recall seeing anything important.”
“Me neither.”
“There was a blond woman in a car, but I do not think she looked threatening. And I did not see her holding a camera.” White Cloud cleared his throat as he scanned the open file on the laptop. “I do not wish to change the subject, but I do not think these withdrawals are large enough to pay for those missiles.”
Sam turned her attention away from the photo. “No single one, maybe, but taken together…”
“They only add up to around two million dollars, and there are many small withdrawals of twenty thousand to fifty thousand dollars—most taken at the end of the month. Why spread the withdrawals out so evenly?”
“I only located this account a few minutes before you returned. I haven’t had time to analyze them yet. How do you know it’s only two million?”
“I added them in my head.”
“In your head? There must be fifty or more withdrawals.”
“It is a special ability of mine.” White Cloud pushed the laptop away. “At any rate, I do not believe this is what you are looking for. Did you find any other accounts?”
“Several of them. Nothing in his personal accounts except his state salary and payments for bills. I only dug this one up by following a cash withdrawal of five thousand dollars from his personal account the first of every month. At first I thought he might have been paying a mistress or something, but she’d be a pretty cheap mistress.”
White Cloud grunted and repeated his statement: “I do not think this account is what you are looking for.”
Sam studied the Native American. “Do you know much about computers?”
White Cloud gave a brief shake of his head. “Nothing. I drive a cab and only use my GPS when absolutely necessary—which is not often because I know these streets.”
“But you can add over fifty numbers in your head,” Sam said.
“True, but it is of little use to anyone. The calculator on my phone can do the same thing.”
“I guess so.” Sam nodded at the photo. “And you don’t recall seeing anyone watching us, besides the blonde, when you came to pick us up at Nina’s that day?”
“There were several cars parked across the street—the woman sat in one of them. But I did not see her face. She was far away down the street.”
“Maybe that’s why no one came to his aid. She was too far to help.” Henry looked out the window and gave a quick shake of his head. “But why would he want someone there just to take a picture?”
“And we already know to be watching for him. Why would he need to warn us again? Why would he send us evidence? Including his picture, for heaven’s sake. We know what he looks like and now we have proof that he’s dangerous.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Henry said. “Why would anyone give you advance warning? Seems to me someone’s playing games.”
“If we believe the maid, a blonde was waiting for us today. I think there’s a good chance we have another one sent by Jules. He’s hedging his bets after those first two dimwits he worked with. And whoever this new person is, he or she is pretty damn confident.” Sam glanced around the room and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think we need to check for bugs.”
Henry nodded before he stepped into the hall and pulled her with him. “We need to be twice as alert and get some scanning equipment to check out the room. I’ll order some this afternoon. Meanwhile, we have to figure out how to stop a missile attack.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The Ford truck was white on top, orange on the bottom. Sam thought she never saw such an ugly pickup. The small cab was squared off, overlooking a long orange hood, with dual headlights on each side underneath rounded fenders. It had to be over fifty years old. The scuffed white sidewall tires fit with her age estimate.
The exterior gleamed with a new coat of wax; the clean interior looked worn. It should have been in a museum instead of sitting on the street.
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but this is the ugliest truck I’ve ever seen.” Sam walked over to White Cloud, who stood next to Henry.
White Cloud’s expression remained stoic. “It was Uncle’s. He gave it to me when he could no longer drive. I do not use it very much.”
“As long as it runs, I don’t care what it looks like.” Henry jumped into the cab. “I’ll follow you to the warehouse, then you two get lost.”
White Cloud nodded as Sam frowned. “We won’t be far.”
It was a silent trip until the taxi slowed near what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse and White Cloud signaled to Henry.
“This is it?” Sam watched Henry pull into a weed-covered parking area with a few clunkers parked randomly.
White Cloud nodded and kept moving along the road.
Henry parked behind the other cars.
A large black SUV sat closer to the door, with two tricked-out Harley hogs next to it. A few men stood at the door, gazing at Henry with suspicious eyes.
He jumped out and walked up to them with a confident stride. “This the meeting?”
One had a shaved head and a long, dirty beard threaded with some strands of gray. True to form, his muscled arms were covered in ink—most looked homemade. The second man was taller, thin, and clean-shaven with only a small symbol showing on the underside of his wrist. The others drifted inside as Henry approached.
The bearded man grunted and took his time looking Henry over before he stepped aside to allow admittance. “Nice truck.”
“I like it.” Henry kept moving into the building, hoping he wouldn’t be asked for ID or some secret password.
Inside, the warehouse held folding chairs facing a table lined on one side with a confederate flag and on the other with a flag Henry had never seen before—a solid red background with one large white star in the center. If the star had been yellow, he would have thought it signified the Republic of Vietnam. But what this flag had to do with this meeting, he could not fathom.
On the wall behind the table, a black drape hung crooked. He could not see what was behind it without walking up and pushing aside the folds. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to draw that kind of attention to himself.
; Around fifty or sixty men sat in chairs, talking among themselves. It looked remarkably like how Henry assumed a motorcycle-gang meeting would appear to an outsider—except there were only two bikes parked outside.
Henry saw no sign of the three men he’d humiliated at Starbucks, but he kept his eyes peeled, ready to duck if they showed up.
A man in an expensive-looking suit stood near the table with two burly men wearing armbands of red with the white star. Henry guessed it was some symbol they had appropriated for their group. No one spoke to him as he took a seat in the last row.
Flanked by the other two, the man in the suit moved to the center of the table, held up both arms, and yelled, “Heil!”
Jesus, Henry thought, was he in some kind of neo-Nazi group? His dismay grew when the seated men stopped talking, turned their attention to the front, then, as if choreographed, raised their arms and yelled “Heil” back.
Henry remained seated and did not raise his arms. He couldn’t bring himself to give the Nazi salute even to blend with the others.
He kept his eyes forward on the men standing in front and noticed one of the men in an armband staring at him. He hoped he hadn’t just fucked up.
The man in the suit began talking about how they were just days away from a major goal but never said anything specific about said goal. Either everyone in the room already knew the plan or he was using them as a means to an end and they had no idea what they were doing.
Henry fought off the urge to stand up and ask about specifics. In the SEALs, when preparing for a mission, they went over every possible outcome. Here, it sounded pretty hit or miss. No mention of the missiles or the reservation, just vague words about a revolution like no other.
After about thirty minutes of double-talk, the meeting ended. There was no coffee or treats. The men just left their seats and began to chat among themselves.
Henry figured he should try to mingle, when he spotted the man in the armband approaching. No buzzing, but Henry tensed, ready for anything.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam was amazed at the quality of sound they received from Henry’s transmitter. She could hear every word spoken by whoever oversaw the meeting. So far, nothing was said that would be any help.
She turned to White Cloud with a sigh. “This is a waste of time.”
“We must wait and see.” He sat behind the steering wheel and listened without moving a muscle.
Sam had been squirming all night, ever since they parked along the two-lane road next to the river. There was nowhere to keep out of sight, only locked gates for the parking lots of the warehouses, which lined the road.
When flashing red and blue lights lit the interior of the taxi, the blood raced through Sam’s veins. “What the…?”
“It is the police coming up the road behind us. They may pass us by, or they may not like us parking here. We shall soon see.”
The flashing lights grew brighter, but they did not move on. Sam’s stomach clenched as she tried to think of an explanation for their presence in the secluded area.
Before she could say anything to White Cloud, an officer appeared at the driver’s side window. He looked to be about twelve years old, and Sam didn’t know who was more fearful, them or the baby police officer.
White Cloud rolled down his window. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“License and registration, please.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“License and registration.” The officer’s voice cracked on the last word, but he held out a steady hand while White Cloud pulled the paperwork from the center console. He gave them to the policeman without a word.
Sam bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at the absurdity of the situation. She didn’t see any No Parking signs along this stretch of road. They could have broken down and were waiting for help. Why did this jerk need White Cloud’s license and registration?
Then again, this guy could be aware of the meeting and was hired to watch for interlopers. It wasn’t inconceivable that some of the police officers were sympathetic to this movement—whatever it was. That racist pig they ran into this afternoon at the FBI parking lot could well be one of them.
The officer walked back to his cruiser with the taxi driver’s papers. He didn’t seem concerned that they might try to get away.
Sam wished he would turn off those damn blazing lights. They were far enough away that they could not see Henry’s building, but if the meeting broke up and the men came outside, they couldn’t miss the red and blue strobes penetrating the black night sky.
Sam and White Cloud silently stared out the windshield. Sam’s pulse would not settle down. She’d clicked the receiver off when the officer approached, and now she worried that Henry could be in trouble and they wouldn’t know until it was too late.
She reached for the receiver and tried to click it on. If she kept the volume low enough, the cop may not be able to hear it.
“I would not do that.” White Cloud kept his gaze straight ahead and barely moved his lips.
“What if Henry needs our help?”
“The chances are good he does not. So far no one has spoken to him. We do not need to take the chance that the transmission will be heard when the officer comes back.”
Sam sighed. She knew he was right, but she worried about Henry. She slid her hand back into her lap and kept her eyes straight ahead.
After what seemed like forever—probably only five or ten minutes—the officer returned and handed White Cloud his papers. “It all seems to be in order.”
White Cloud took his license without looking at the officer. The man then leaned down to eye level and shined his flashlight on Sam. “What are you doing out here at this time of night?”
Sam was ready with what she considered a reasonable explanation. “I’m from out of town and was trying to visit a friend. I thought I knew the way to her house, but it’s been a few years and I gave my driver the wrong directions. Now I have no idea where we are.”
“Why don’t you call her?”
Sam gave a crooked smile and held up her phone after she made sure the power was off. “I would but my phone’s dead.” When she saw the officer’s hand go to his gun, she knew she made a big mistake. People were shot dead when police mistook a cell phone for a weapon. “It’s only a phone, see?” She wiggled it in his direction.
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting here.” Though young, the officer was not to be deterred.
“I asked my driver to pull over to give me time to think. I’m sure I can find my friend if I can study the map.”
“What map? You said your phone was dead.”
“My driver’s phone,” Sam said. “That’s why I’m in the front seat. He’s very accommodating. I must get his name and send a nice letter to his boss.”
White Cloud turned his head in her direction just enough for Sam to see him roll his eyes.
“Whatever,” the young cop said, his eyes glazed over. “You can’t park here. Find some other place to stop.”
Sam didn’t bother to argue with him. White Cloud turned over the engine while the cop stood there with a nasty frown, watching as they pulled away.
Sam turned on the receiver to find only static. “Damn, we’re too far away.”
“I could turn around and drive past the building. We cannot stop since he is still watching, but we could hear for a short time.”
“Yeah, hopefully enough to know if Henry’s in trouble or not.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The big man stepped into Henry’s space and poked him in the chest. “You. Come with me.”
Henry knew he could take the man but not the fifty others milling around, so he rubbed his chin and stepped back. The burly guy stepped closer and grabbed Henry’s arm. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. Let’s go.”
Henry jerked his arm free. He dared not show any kind of weakness as he tilted his head toward the front of the room. “After you.”
The guy tried to shove
Henry in front of him, but the ex-SEAL knew how to hold steady. He didn’t budge. “What’s this all about?”
“The boss wants to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t you say so.” Henry brushed the sleeves of his flannel shirt as if brushing lint away. He’d purchased it at Walmart that afternoon, and it still looked too new for the occasion. He wore the rattiest jeans in his wardrobe, but even those were clean, not covered in mud and grime like all the others.
Even though he had rolled his sleeves up far enough to see the bottom of his one tattoo, he did not blend in as much as he would have liked. He had no choice but to blunder through it. With his head held high he moved forward, ignoring the burly man who followed close on his heels.
When they reached the front of the room, the man in the suit was talking quietly with one of the attendees. They fell silent as Henry approached.
The man in the suit held out his hand to shake as if they were old friends. “Hello, sir. I’m Patterson, and you are?”
“Samuels, Henry Samuels.” He noticed how the man did not give his first name, probably out of caution. Patterson didn’t want to give away his identity to some stranger in their midst.
“I don’t recall seeing you around before, Samuels. Are you with one of the new groups who’ve just arrived?”
“I’m on my own,” Henry said, wondering how many new groups had arrived and if that was the reason for the meeting tonight. They had to stop this thing before it got much bigger. He only hoped they could.
If these were all new guys, they may have no idea what they were getting into, but that wasn’t Henry’s problem. He turned his attention back to the man standing in front of him.
“And, may I ask how you heard about this meeting?” The man spoke as formally as if they were in a boardroom instead of a warehouse stinking with the accumulated sweat of fifty unwashed men.
“I asked around. Thought it might be something of interest to me.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
Henry waited a beat, then shrugged. “Because I’m not happy with the status quo in this country today.”