Bad Company

by P A Duncan

  Elijah basked in the applause and the amens.

  “Yahweh’s voice is not one you hear with your ears. You know it in your heart. When his voice comes into your heart and speaks, you must obey. This is what the secular world cannot—will not—understand.

  “Like many of you, the first time I heard Yahweh, I hardened my heart because I was unworthy. He did not give up on saving me. He talked to me day and night until finally, praise him, I listened. And I obeyed. As you must obey no matter what your family says, what an employer says, what a wife says. If they tell you to disobey, cast them aside. To disobey is to reject Yahweh. To disobey is to be condemned to a hell on earth occupied by Jews, mongrels, and the subhuman.”

  A few clearing of nervous throats, the shifting of chairs. People looked at each other.

  Elijah smiled and said, “I know my words ring harsh. As I learned myself, the truth is sometimes hard to hear. I ask your patience and for you to open your hearts to him. Not to me. I am his unworthy prophet, but I will show you his truth.”

  “Amen!” someone shouted, and most of the others were now comfortable enough to echo him.

  Simple brainwashing works again, Alexei thought.

  “Now, you know who I am,” Elijah said. “Introduce yourselves. First names only, for security. Tell us what you do and where you’re from.”

  Each trainee stood and provided the information, and Alexei studied each one.

  He stood out from the other instructors. Though he wore an instructor’s “uniform” of dark blue pants and shirt, his head wasn’t shorn, nor did he possess the blue beret. He was one of ten, and each of them would have twelve trainees. Because he’d come in toward the end of the previous “class,” he’d been given only a handful of problem cases to work on. Two weeks into his excursion, he’d get a full complement to turn into Aryan Warriors, based on a military manual prepared by Lewis. The spiritual side was, of course, Elijah’s domain.

  Alexei found the introductions interesting. He’d expected the undereducated and ignorant, but the range of occupations were distressingly mainstream: a surgeon, a lawyer, a divinity student, as well as teachers, policemen, firemen. They came from cities and small towns and farms. They were a perfect demographic slice of white, male America.

  Did they understand they were here to learn how to kill people who were different from them?

  It took a while to get through 120 people, and Alexei’s back muscles protested the rigid posture he held on the metal folding chair. None of the other instructors flinched, so he didn’t either.

  “How good it is,” Elijah said, after the introductions were complete, “to look out upon a sea of white faces. Christian faces. Aryan faces.”

  Seated alone in the front row, Pinkus… No, Lewis took in Elijah’s words, nodding in affirmation. Elijah had a certain charisma, even if Lewis were the brains. Elijah was the type to make the gullible lay down their lives for him.

  “Today, you will learn why you are here and what your purpose is.” Elijah walked to one side of the stage as the lights dimmed and a large screen lowered from the ceiling.

  The grainy image on the screen had no accompanying sound, but in a beat or two some stentorian music from the Dolby sound system set the tone. Wagner, of course, Alexei thought. Lewis’ idea? To link Patriot City with the mass gatherings at Nuremberg no doubt. On screen a tall cross burned against a night sky, so large and so bright you might feel the heat, smell the kerosene. Men in hoods and robes surrounded it. The camera focused on a small boy, no more than four, clinging to one man’s robes. The boy wore a small robe but no hood. The robe had swastikas on it, and the child’s free arm lifted into a Nazi salute.

  What bastard would teach his child this?

  The movie paused on a frame with the child’s innocent gaze.

  “Who knows who this child is?” Elijah asked.

  People murmured, but no one answered.

  “He is the son of our martyr Robert Matthews, founder of the Bruders Schweigen. The film was taken only a couple of years after his father’s murder by the government. These patriots are at a meeting in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, at the compound of our friends in Yahweh, the Church of Jesus Christ Christian.”

  Otherwise known, Alexei thought, as Aryan Nation.

  The film resumed, the shot widening to show several more children, all boys. Near them, a man in purple and black Klan robes, which Alexei recalled made him a Grand Wizard, spoke soundlessly over the children, his arms upraised in supplication.

  “This film has played so many times, the sound is gone,” Elijah said, “but I can repeat the words, for I was honored to be there. I hitchhiked almost a thousand miles to arrive at this holy ground.”

  “Amen!” someone shouted.

  “The Grand Wizard is blessing the children, given by their parents to be Aryan Warriors, like you will be. If you have been blessed with children, bring an image of them to mind. If you haven’t been blessed, imagine your future children. I will recite the blessing for them said by the Grand Wizard.”

  Elijah imitated the posture of the Grand Wizard and said, “Dragon of Night, bring forth the hope of our future. For these, we go to prison, for these we fight. For these, if necessary, we die. Amen.”

  “Amen,” chorused again.

  Elijah lowered his arms and looked over the crowd. “Yahweh will ask the same of you.”

  Gone were the dubious expressions now. To a man, the trainees leaned forward in their seats, eyes intent on Elijah.

  The film faded and opened to the inside of a church in daylight. On the wall behind the altar was a swastika in stained glass. From Analysis’ research, Alexei recognized the chapel at Aryan Nation. In the film, men two at a time walked up the aisle and dropped money into an offering plate on the altar.

  “In ancient times,” Elijah said, “a soldier provided his commander money to be used to ransom him from the enemy. These Aryan Warriors each brought thirty-three copper pennies to the altar. The alloy coins of the Jew weren’t allowed. This symbolized their commitment to the upcoming war. Thirty-three pieces of copper to redeem all of us betrayed by Iscariot the Jew’s thirty-three pieces of silver.”

  Alexei supposed Elijah “forgot” to mention Christ was also a Jew.

  On the screen a man in a Marine dress uniform walked forward, dropped his coins, drew his sword, and held it aloft. A preacher in white robes adorned by swastikas anointed the man’s forehead. And, yes, now the music was “Ride of the Valkyries.” Men in dress suits, Nazi uniform knock-offs, and police uniforms followed the Marine. Some saluted the regular way; some gave Nazi salutes.

  “Those warriors received their baptism,” Elijah said. “The words spoken over them were: I anoint thee a soldier of Jesus Christ.”

  When the procession of men ended, women came up the aisle. All wore feminine dresses, some almost wedding gowns. A few were obviously pregnant.

  “These Aryan women came before the congregation,” Elijah said, “to have the pure fruit of their wombs blessed. Look at these icons of Aryan motherhood, these beautiful white women, bearing the seed of their Aryan husbands. Those of you who have not planted your seed, you must do that before the upcoming final battles. If you do not have the proper wife, we will help you find the proper vessel for your warrior seed.”

  Alexei heard a few muted snickers, but Elijah either didn’t hear them or ignored them. The scene shifted again, to a different man before the same altar. He spoke with animated movements and gestures. The sound cut in.

  “There is war in America, and the enemy camp is in Washington, D.C., where the Antichrist Jews control the federal government. They sit in their dark, smoke-filled rooms and plan the destruction of our race, our faith, and our people. We are their enemy, and we have a plan, too. Their destruction. There is no middle ground, no place for diplomacy. We will not take any survivors, any prisoners. It’s us or them.”

  The film froze at that point, the sound system echoing “us or them” until the phrase fade
d to silence. The lights came up, and people began to applaud. Elijah came to stage front again, and the applause swelled. He let it go on for a while before holding up a hand for silence.

  “The spirit which burned in that cross fell on me. I didn’t recognize it right away. I was too much in the flesh and the pleasures of the secular world. Even though I’d traveled all that way and even though Yahweh had touched my heart, I turned him away. And he punished me. He sent me to a war the Jews started, and he addicted me to Jew heroin, left me homeless and hopeless on the streets, as he should have.”

  Murmurs rolled through the hall, but the instructors remained quiet and unmoving.

  “That shocks you, doesn’t it?” Elijah continued. “That Yahweh could punish one of his children, but remember the words from the film. It’s us or them. A holy war needs a tough, unrelenting God, a God who is willing to have his servants suffer in order to make them dig deeper and find inner strength. And I did, only because I fell to my knees and begged forgiveness. I love Yahweh for every bit of obedience he demanded from me, for every cruel thing I endured because that was the only way to open my eyes. I turned my life over to him, and he gave me my part in his plan. To build this place, Patriot City, to train warriors for his cause.

  “Here, no one will hinder your Yahweh-given right to freedom of speech with the stink of political correctness. Here, a nigger is a nigger, a kike is a kike.”

  More murmuring, but Alexei couldn’t tell if it was in support or not.

  “It’s as simple as this. Yahweh made us in his image. Because we are white, he is white. Listen! Because he’s white, we’re white. We are his chosen, not the demon-seed Jew who reaches his filthy, greasy fingers out from Israel to defile us. This country, our America, is Yahweh’s true promised land. This once-great country.

  “Now, you think, ‘How dare he call my country once-great.’ It was great, but no more because the nigger and the Jew have perverted this country from what our white, Christian founding fathers intended. As Yahweh’s warriors, we will make America great again. Now, you must learn Yahweh’s plan so when you leave you can articulate it, to friends, to family, to bring more to our side, more warriors for Yahweh. Look beneath your chairs.”

  The chairs scuffed against the floor as the trainees picked up dark blue, soft briefcases. Radd, the Aussie head instructor, turned around and handed Alexei a briefcase.

  “In your briefcase are four books,” Elijah intoned. “A King James Bible, not the latter-day translations done at the behest of the Jew to water down Yahweh’s holy words. From your Bible you will learn you are the seed of Abel, slain by his brother Cain, the filthy offspring of wanton Eve and Satan. Cain, from whom every usurious Jew descends and whose descendants killed Yahweh’s only son Yahshua.”

  From the breast pocket of his jacket, Elijah took a booklet, and Alexei took the same item from his bag. The U.S. Constitution.

  Elijah said, “The Jew won’t allow this to be taught in public schools, but Yahweh dictated the words of our sacred Constitution to the founding fathers. These are all the laws we need, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. All the other amendments are tools of the Jew to take God-given rights from white people.”

  Alexei almost groaned when he saw the next book; in fact he didn’t want to touch it. It wasn’t a regular hardback or paperback but a Xeroxed copy. Well, 120 copies, one for each trainee, of a thick volume and painstakingly copied and assembled in three-ring binders by someone here. Most likely the women.

  “Mein Kampf,” Elijah said. “Who knows what that means?”

  “My struggle!” someone shouted.

  “Amen! Our brother Hitler understood the struggle and put it down in his own words. He knew if the Jews got to him, others would take up the cause. That’s why he went to his noble death. He knew his Aryan descendants would fight on in his name.”

  Men who’d followed this book had conquered the land of Alexei’s ancestors, killed two of his siblings, forced his mother from her home, and caused him to be born fatherless. By no means a book-burner, Alexei would have gladly started a bonfire with this.

  “The final book,” Elijah said, “is by a modern-day prophet, a warrior of distinction. Dr. William Pierce. The Turner Diaries. From this book you will learn what to do and how to do it. Every builder needs a plan, and this book is our blueprint.”

  After allowing a few minutes for everyone to look over the books, Elijah said, “In Sunday School you were taught about the Twelve Tribes of Israel, taken into bondage in Egypt, a bondage lasting 430 years until the Exodus, led by the brothers Moses and Aaron. What you were never taught is Moses and Aaron were of the Tribe of Levi and were not Jews of Cain’s seed.”

  Alexei suppressed a sigh. Everything so far had simply been a warm-up. This would be a long day.

  29

  Dependency

  Washington National Airport

  Outside Washington, D.C.

  The air conditioning in Signature Aviation’s lounge worked overtime to keep the 100-plus degrees beyond the tinted windows. The constant aircraft traffic approaching to land on Runway 36 should have enthralled Mai, but she was deep inside her own head. Her plane was on its way from Seattle, bringing Natalia back from a fortnight with her father. Natalia’s absence had meant no questions for which Mai had inadequate answers, and Mai wasn’t looking forward to the barrage of them when the child saw her grandfather hadn’t returned.

  Part of Mai had welcomed the silence and the loneliness, but the empty house had become too much to endure. Her nights were insomniac, and she roamed the house, glass of whiskey constantly in hand. She’d considered all her possible futures, depending on what had happened to Alexei.

  She hated dependency. She hated the emotions his absence brought up in her.

  During the day she spent most of her time bothering Analysis about the location of Patriot City. Since no one had any idea what an American paramilitary compound, which was likely disguised, looked like in satellite photos, she’d grown surly and frustrated at their lack of progress. She’d spotted something she thought possible in Missouri, but Analysis declared it a chicken farm. Mai had researched and discovered poultry was not one of Missouri’s leading agricultural products. A pig farm, then, the analysts said. Missouri was a significant pig producer.

  Unconvinced, Mai had pinned that satellite photo on her John Carroll cork board and spent long, drunken hours staring at it.

  “Excuse me.”

  A man’s voice brought her out of her reverie, and she looked at her watch. The plane should be landing within a few minutes.

  “Excuse. Me.”

  That was more forceful, and Mai looked over her shoulder. A young executive type, complete with expensive suit, red braces, matching tie, a $300 haircut, and an over-rated after shave. His thirty-something face crimped in a scowl.

  “I need to make some business calls,” he said, shooting his cuff to check the time and making sure she saw the Rolex there. “Get me a coffee, black, and a plate of fresh fruit. I’ll be over there.” He pointed to a small cubicle with a phone.

  What the bloody hell?

  “Help yourself,” Mai said, and turned back to the window.

  A stomp of feet crossing the room, and he was in front of her, hands on hips.

  “I stopped flying commercial because I was tired of putting up with bimbo stewardesses,” he said.

  Mai didn’t meet his eyes. “You’re blocking my view.”

  “Let’s get your supervisor up here to have a chat about customer service.”

  Mai stood, smiling when she realized he was no taller than she. “I said, you’re blocking my view. Get out of my way.”

  “I’ll have your job, bitch.”

  “I don’t work here, dickless.”

  He blinked but gave no ground. “How am I supposed to know?”

  “First, don’t assume every woman present is here to wait on you. Second, they’re flight attendants whose job it is to get your tight ass out of a
n airplane in an emergency. Third, this is the last time I tell you you’re blocking my view.”

  In her periphery, she saw her Citation over the approach lights.

  “Do you know who you’re talking to?” he asked. “And if you don’t work here, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for my aircraft.”

  He smirked at her. “Daddy’s plane, you mean.”

  Mai recognized him from some business magazine Roisin O’Saidh insisted she read. Whiz-kid CEO of his own software company and recent millionaire. That explained it.

  “Well, Daddy died in service to Her Majesty, and left me the business,” Mai said, and jabbed four fingers into his solar plexus.

  Air rushed from his lungs, and he stumbled backwards, eyes wide. Mai fisted a hand in his tie and hauled his face close to hers.

  “Yes, I know who you are. New money with the finesse of a bulldozer. I hope your heart shreds in the middle of your next tantrum.”

  She shoved him away, intending for him to fall on his ass, but he flopped on the sofa, bent over, and retched.

  Mai exited through the automatic doors to the ramp as the Citation taxied and stopped at a spot indicated by the line person. From the left seat, Renee MacPherson gave Mai a jaunty salute. Mai waved back. The turbines wound down, and Mai walked toward the aircraft.

  “Usual service?” the line person asked.

  “Yes. Check with the pilots for any maintenance write-ups. If there are any, have them taken care of right away.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The air-stairs lowered, and Mai walked to them and waited at the bottom. Natalia appeared in the doorway, tanned and seeming taller, laden with her two duffle bags and an assortment of smaller ones. She thanked the pilots and bounded down the stairs, dropping her bags to embrace Mai.