by P A Duncan
“Good morning, sir. I slept well.”
“Good. You said you needed to email Cutter. Do it now. The address of the drop box is on the notepad by the keyboard.” He motioned to a computer on a separate desk. Lewis returned to his reading and didn’t seem to pay attention to Alexei.
The computer was already turned on, and Internet Explorer was open. Alexei composed his message, addressed it to Cutter, and blind-copied his Sergei Nevansky email address. If Mai had read her email by now, she’d know to keep an eye on that account. He clicked send.
“It is done,” he said. “I send copy to myself.” That was in case Lewis had someone examine the transaction.
“Who else has access to your account?” Lewis asked without looking up.
“No one.”
“Fine. My Wrangler is outside. We will ride about the grounds, see the layout, the training facilities, and so on. Afterward, we will return here, and you will meet Elijah.”
“Who is Elijah?”
Lewis narrowed his eyes. “Elijah is everything.”
The Wrangler had its canvas top removed. Once Alexei was in the passenger seat, he realized he sat next to the man who, if he didn’t do so personally, had issued the order to kill any captured Soviet soldier at Stalingrad. The gun seemed to press hard against his side. If they drove out of sight of the main house, all he’d have to do it pull the gun and shoot, kick the body out, and keep driving until he reached a town.
That, however, wasn’t his primary mission.
Lewis began a narration about the farming area, the firing range, the collection of buildings housing “home businesses.” In the training area was a military-style obstacle course and a barracks large enough to hold at least two hundred men. All of it was either tucked away among thick tree-cover or beneath camouflage netting. Alexei saw men drilling like soldiers in a nearby field.
“We are Yahweh’s army,” Lewis said. “This is Yahweh’s fortress, Patriot City. Here we redeem Christianity for white people. Here, as Yahweh commanded, we assemble and train an army to restore the white race to its rightful position of power in this country. I am trying you out as a trainer of these soldiers. When the time comes, you are welcome to join the fight against liberals, abortionists, feminists, Jews, everyone who has oppressed the white race.”
“When will war begin?” Alexei asked.
“We are in the beginning stages, Sergei. We have had gains and losses, but we are unstoppable. Those who once dismissed us as crazy now send their sons to be trained. More importantly, they send us money for the second American Revolution.”
“Was not already revolution here?”
“A noble endeavor ultimately subverted by Jews. You are Russian—Ukrainian. You know what the Jews did to your country. Now only the oligarchs have money and power. Your once glorious army is a shadow of itself. Would it not feel good if you could kill some Jews?”
I’d certainly feel good if I could kill you, he thought, but replied, “Sounds glorious.”
“It will be. I envision the day we will free America from the Jews and mud peoples, the day when the white race finally realizes its potential.” Lewis fixated on a distant or imagined horizon, his lips twitching around a smile. He drove on in silence until the main house came into view. “I need to go over some rules, Sergei.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Twice a day all instructors have prayer with Elijah, though today you will have a private introduction. You do not initiate conversation nor ask questions. You answer him, every question he asks. If you have trouble with any English words, ask me only for clarification. Whatever Elijah tells you to do, you do it, or I will put a bullet in your head. Vy ponimayete?”
Where they rested on his thighs, Alexei’s hands wanted to curl into fists. He didn’t let them.
“I understand,” he said.
“Gut! I like you, Sergei, and would not want to kill you.”
Lewis stopped the Wrangler at the front steps of the house and looked into Alexei’s eyes, the light of fanaticism in Lewis’s. “Now,” Lewis said, “you go to meet our savior.”
Lewis limped up the main staircase, one step at a time. At the top, he turned left down a hallway that ended at a room with double doors. He stopped, turned back to Alexei.
“Remember,” he whispered, “respond only if he asks a question.”
Alexei nodded, and Lewis knocked on the door, opening it without waiting for a response. Alexei followed Lewis inside. From habit he took in his surroundings, looking for escape routes. The suite was a combination bedroom, sitting room, and office. The decor was eclectic. On one wall hung a large figure of a crucified Christ, so realistic Alexei at first thought a real person bled there. The cross was a large swastika.
A variety of emotions warred within Alexei and threatened to erupt. He fought them back, again forcing his fingers not to tighten into fists.
Elijah was mid-thirties at most. Alexei had guessed he might be older. He had light brown, almost hazel eyes with flecks of green. A large head atop a thick neck. Square-jawed. Alexei couldn’t determine the hair color because Elijah had shaved his head bald. Given the man’s dark eyebrows and eyelashes, Alexei guessed brown or black. The lashes were dense and curled, almost like a woman’s.
Elijah stood legs apart, hands on hips, radiating confidence that bordered on arrogance. Alexei had dealt with his like before; it wouldn’t take much to move him into rage. Elijah wore desert camouflage BDUs and tan combat boots. Through one epaulet on the jacket was a dark blue beret with a patch matching the crucifix on the wall.
Elijah first looked at Lewis, rapture on his face. “Good morning, Father,” Elijah said. “How are you this morning?”
“I am well enough, Prophet.”
“Is this the new instructor candidate?”
“Yes, Prophet. Sergei Nevansky.”
Elijah’s hands fell to his sides, and he circled Alexei. Alexei’s posture molded to attention out of habit. Elijah stopped in front of Alexei and looked him over. Alexei decided not to make eye contact. Yet.
“I can tell he is full of Yahweh’s fire,” Elijah said. “Sergei, has Lewis explained what we are here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Elijah’s smile broadened. “No, Sergei. Yahweh is your commanding officer now. Save your respect for him. Sergei, will you pray with me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you kneel?”
Every instinct telling him not to, Alexei knelt and lowered his head. Elijah’s hands touched his hair.
“Bless, oh Lord Yahweh-Yeshua, this your servant, Sergei. Strengthen his arm and his will. Fill his heart with love for you and your holy cause. Let him know the blood of your enemies. Let your divine word be written on his heart. We pray in your name. Amen.”
Lewis echoed the amen, and Alexei did, too, crossing himself Orthodox style for effect.
“Will you rise, my brother?” Elijah said.
Alexei got to his feet, this time meeting Elijah’s eyes. The smile was gone, but Alexei sensed no hostility.
“How long have you been in America, Sergei?”
“One year.” That matched the date on the green card.
“Is it what you expected?”
“There are many rules here, almost as many as in Russia.”
“Give me an example.”
That wasn’t a question in this curious version of Simon Says. Alexei stayed silent. Elijah smiled at Lewis and asked Alexei, “Will you give me an example?”
“When I first arrive, I go to Florida. I buy vodka and go to beach. Police come and say no drinking on beach. They almost arrest me.”
“Are you a Christian, Sergei?”
“I was Party member, but my mother followed old ways. I was…” He turned to Lewis and asked him the English word for krestilsya.
“Baptized,” Lewis responded.
Elijah asked, “Can you open your heart to Yahweh?”
“With your help, I hope to.”
Elijah circled A
lexei again. “Sergei, do you like women?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a homosexual?”
“Nyet! No!”
“Why did you refuse Charlene?”
Because she’s your spy, Alexei thought. “I do not know her. In my country AIDS is major problem. Many American women have AIDS. I do not want sickness. I only want to work.”
“I appreciate you want to place your energy into our work rather than your pleasure, but Yahweh gave us the instrument of procreation to breed more warriors for his cause. He gave us women to plant our seed in. If you become a full-time instructor here, you will be assigned a woman, Charlene or someone else, and you will impregnate her. Do you understand?”
With a mental eye roll, Alexei said, “Yes.”
“Sergei, I want a strong, well-trained army of Christian warriors. Can you do that for me?”
Alexei almost smiled. He knew what this peacock wanted to hear. “I will do anything you ask of me.”
It was the right thing to say because this was about Elijah and not God.
“Excellent! Prayer is at 1400 this afternoon in the auditorium. All the instructors and trainees here will attend. We will introduce you and give you your assignments. Sergei, will you leave? Lewis, please stay.”
Lewis touched Alexei’s arm, and it was all Alexei could do not to jerk away. “Wait downstairs. I will take you to your quarters when I am done.”
Alexei inclined his head and left Lewis alone with his prophet.
“How did we come by him?” Elijah asked Lewis.
“Cutter.”
“I knew we should have slit that bastard’s throat.”
“Sergei is not of Cutter’s ilk. My instincts tell me he is promising, and I know Ukrainians. Cutter’s find may be lucky for us.”
“What if he’s merely a mercenary?”
“Prophet, right now that doesn’t bother me, as long as he trains our recruits to be soldiers. Every warrior counts, but the people coming to us require a great deal of work to be what we need. Sergei is an experienced soldier. He served in Afghanistan. Scratch the surface of a Ukrainian, and you’ll find a race-lover beneath.”
Elijah gave Lewis a warm smile. “I trust your judgement, as always, Lewis. Cutter, however, is a problem. He talks too much.”
“He has not broken the conditions we imposed on him. I would know.”
“Even if Sergei works out, I don’t want to risk Cutter’s next referral being a government thug. Take care of this for me.”
“Of course, Prophet.”
“You could make it a test for Sergei.”
“Too soon to let him off the compound, and it was important to him to keep his word. Let him think he has. I will select two in Cutter’s area from our network. I will send them a picture, tell them where he is to be on Monday, and advise them he is a Jew who spied on us. They will know what to do. If the police kill them…” Lewis shrugged.
“A steady flow of recruits, good instructors, and John Carroll almost in our fold. The time approaches, Father.”
“Yes, Prophet. This has all happened because of you. I will not see it, but I know you will succeed.”
Elijah placed his hands on Lewis’ shoulders. “Father, I don’t like it when you talk of not being here. This is your blow to strike as much as mine. I need you at my side.”
“I started this, but like any good son, you will continue it. You will finish it. When John Carroll strikes the blow, I and every other white man will be redeemed. I can take my rightful place in the history of what created our victory.”
“We will all be cleansed in a mighty flame, Father.”
24
Promises
Las Vegas, Nevada
Mai hoped the smile pasted on her face for the wedding didn’t look fake. Her sleep the night before had been close to nonexistent and riddled with dreams she couldn’t remember. She was glad to get to the chapel where she could concentrate on observing Carroll’s and Duval’s friends.
The Army buddies were easy to pick out from their crew-cuts, stiff postures, and ill-fitting civilian clothes. The Arizona contingent were mostly bikers in leathers, bandanas, and long beards.
Carroll handled himself well during the ceremony, standing by his friend and handing over the rings on cue. During the vows, for which she had no context despite having been married for sixteen years, Mai’s focus shifted to the third email she’d received this morning, another blind copy of a message to Cutter. As with the others, she’d forwarded it to The Directorate’s computer data forensics group to see what they could learn from it. By the time Carroll arrived to pick her up, she’d heard nothing.
The small solace was that as of this morning, Alexei was alive.
After the ceremony and pictures, the wedding party and guests convened in the basement of a nearby fire department for a reception. A local deejay, who had served with Duval and Carroll, played loud music, and the ladies auxiliary served hot, greasy appetizers. The inevitable slot machines clanked and blinked in competition to the music, occasional shrieks from the winner of a small jackpot overcoming all other noise. Ashley Duval ran about unsupervised and unnoticed, except by Carroll who made several attempts to corral her until, full of food, she napped in her grandmother’s lap. Lamar and his new wife drank lots of Cold Duck in between make-out sessions, cheered on by the guests.
Carroll had shed his tie almost immediately and undone the first button of his shirt. He made a short but heartfelt toast for the couple’s happiness and shared a brief, awkward dance with the bride. After the cake-cutting and garter rituals, he found Mai and led her to a table where several of his Army buddies sat.
They greeted each other warmly and drank beer, reliving the Gulf War. Carroll filled them in on what he’d been doing since he’d gotten out. As the afternoon wore on and after more than a few beers, he grew bolder, sitting close to her, his arm around her shoulders.
Carroll got up to get another beer for himself and a glass of wine for Mai, and she found the other men staring at her.
“What?” she said.
The men stopped staring, but one leaned toward her. “Sorry, it’s just that… All the years we’ve known J.T., we never saw him dating anyone,” he said.
“We were wondering…” another said, breaking off when another of the men nudged him.
“What?” Mai repeated.
“Are you… Did he, like, hire you?”
She laughed long enough for them to be embarrassed. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “I’m not for hire.”
“So, you’re, like, with J.T.?”
“Yes.”
“Where’d he find you? I mean, J.T. would always go for the best-looking woman with some lame-ass pick-up line and get dumped nine times out of ten.”
“So?”
“Uh… What made you say yes?”
With friends like this, she mused. “Maybe he’s grown up well, lads. Is there a problem?”
“Oh, no problem, ma’am.”
“It’s, well, J.T. being with a woman is not J.T.”
“Some men are late bloomers and respect their friends.” She stood, eyes seeking where Carroll stood in line at one of the cash bars. “Excuse me, gentlemen, and I use that term loosely.”
When she reached Carroll’s side, she slipped her arm through his. He smiled at her. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked.
“Needed some decent company.”
He looked toward the table of soldiers and back to Mai. “Oh, Jesus, what did they do?”
“They thought you hired me.”
Carroll blushed so red, she worried for his blood pressure. “Oh, Christ, Siobhan. I am so sorry…”
“Don’t worry, lad. I’m not offended for myself, but you should be, considering they think you’re incapable of having female company unless you’ve paid for it.”
“We’ll find a different table,” he said.
He ordered and collected their drinks, and Mai led the way to an empty table acros
s the room.
“The music sucks,” he said when they sat, Carroll’s chair again close to hers.
“No Nine Inch Nails?” Mai asked, smiling over her wine glass.
“Too shocking for the old folks,” Jay said, smiling as well, until he looked at his friends and saw them staring. “Those jerks. I’ve half a mind to go over there and…”
“Here, let’s give them something to look at,” Mai said. She kissed his mouth, startling him because at first all she got was slack lips before he responded. When she pulled away, she looked at the table of soldiers. They’d gotten the point and looked away. “That should shut them up, lad,” she said.
“So, you tarnish my reputation to save my reputation?” he asked, his tone teasing.
“Something like that.”
“It’s not all bad, having a pretty woman kiss you.”
“They’ll go back and spread the word, though.”
“Just what you’ve always wanted to be, right? The talk of an Army base.”
“On two continents,” she said. “The British Army have said a thing or two about me, not as flattering as those friends of yours.”
His smile faded so abruptly Mai wondered what had happened. “Will you ever be able to go home?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Of course, but I’ve accepted the way my life has gone. I’m responsible for some of it.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault, lad.”
“No, I mean, I’m sorry you can’t go home. I know it must bother you because you seem kinda distracted.”
She grinned at him. “Oh, that was just the wedding, lad.”
“Yeah, me too. Not ready to take the plunge.”
“Good for you, lad. Wait until you’re ready.”
“Someday I want kids, a family of my own. What about you?”
The gaffe wasn’t deliberate, and she teased him a bit. “Interviewing for the job, are you?”
He held up the beer. “Too many of these and I can’t put together a sentence. I meant, do you want to have a family?” This time he recognized his blunder. “With someone? Anyone?”