Cobra Clearance

by Richard Craig Anderson

  “It’s nothing.” Levi mimicked smoking. “Too much ganj.”

  “Cut the crap.” He pointed a finger at Levi’s chest. “I saw you an’ Pete.”

  “So I puffed the magic dragon.” Levi squinted. “Hey, I ain’t no damn junkie.”

  “No?” Brian grabbed Levi’s arm and pushed the sleeve up. Tapping one of the injection sites, he peered at him. “How many needles you doin’ a day? Two? Three?”

  Putting on a show, Levi looked away. “I kin quit anytime I want.”

  “You can’t. But I don’t care. You’re my buddy. That’s all what matters.”

  Levi’s respect for Brian rocketed. Although he’d gotten snared in Kruger’s web, once caught he was bearing up and being a trusted friend. “Bri, you’re so totally cool.”

  “One more thing. You’re gonna call me every time you slam so I can sit with you, ’cause I don’t want you OD’ing. Every time.” Brian leaned into him. “Are we clear?”

  Levi wet his lips. “Yeah, we’re clear. Thanks. Means a lot. An’ Bri? I mighta been zoned last night but I knew you was lookin’ out for me.” I also know you humped Brenda. But you stopped, and I know why. Yep, you’re a good man. Brian grimaced and opened his mouth, but Levi cut him off and invited him to the cabin. He was a source of information, but Levi also admired him. “I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he said.

  “I, um—there’s this waitress at Denny’s. I’m gonna pay her a little visit.” Brian flashed a very male grin. “Then I’ll be there.”

  While watching him walk to his car, Levi realized just how much Brian reminded him of another brave soul—an eight year old who ran in to attack the man that killed his mother. Mounting the Harley, he stood on the pedal and kicked the engine to life. Once on the highway he twisted the throttle wide open and leaned into the wind, letting it lash at his face, his bare scalp and his Swastika.

  He went first to a hotel near the Sunset where Michael and Dentz stayed. When Dentz opened the door, Levi held a finger to his lips, then grabbed a pen and pad from the desk and wrote NEED TO BE SWEPT. Dentz retrieved a device from the room’s safe and was scanning the clothes and Doc Martens when his nose crinkled. “Reefer?”

  “Yeah. And heroin.” He then briefed them on everything, from Jackson to Cohen.

  “We’ll get it on the wire,” Dentz said, adding, “Dow took another plunge today.”

  “Humph, just what we need.” Levi gave them Kruger’s cell number, and ordered them to monitor his calls and movements through the phone’s GPS.

  Next, he discussed getting doped by Brenda. He felt stupid. His pride was hurt. But he added, “I’m hooked, guys.” Responding to Michael’s arched eyebrow, Levi said, “We knew it might happen,” and took off his shirt to reveal his track marks, the faux tattoos and the party bruises. Shifting gears he said, “I’m Kruger’s adjutant now, and his top dog considers me his best buddy. Couldn’t have asked for a better ‘in.’”

  Dentz said in the clipped tone of a SEAL, “Concur.”

  Levi put his shirt back on. “I don’t know the exact date or venue of the attack but the month of May keeps popping up. Another thing. Kruger’s taking me into town tomorrow to contact his associate.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It might be Amahl.”

  Michael’s eyes went wide. “Jehoshaphat! What makes you think so?”

  Dentz squinted. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll assume it is. Okay. What’s the plan?”

  “I think we’ll meet at the Cottonwood Mall. Scramble Avwatch. Have ’em track Kruger’s F-150. You guys can shadow us through my cell’s GPS once we’re in the mall. Get on the horn to NSA. Make sure they monitor communications at the mall.” He looked at his team mates. “Now let’s develop some contingency plans.”

  Brenda’s hands shook. Eric’s late. Oh, God. Maybe he knows about me an’ Brian. Maybe he’s hunting him down. She put the packet of roofies next to the refrigerator and reviewed the plan: hope for the best and slip Eric a roofie, then inject him repeatedly. Minutes later she held her breath as he walked through the door—and felt instant relief when he smiled. But when she saw his forehead her shoulders slumped. “Why?”

  “Why? ’Cause I’m a full member now.”

  She looked him over. “The shaved head is kinda nice. Let’s see your tatts.” He peeled off his shirt. His ravaged arms scared her but she touched his belly. “Scorpions look cool, but I don’t like the skulls. Or them Nazi tatts.”

  “Tough, ’cause I’m a Nazi. I’m a Nazi an’ I done found a home.”

  “A home? Whaddya know about homes?” She thumped a fist against her chest. “I had a home. My mama made it a home. Now she don’t know a home from ketchup.”

  Brenda regretted the words at once but there was no taking them back.

  “She’s alive?” He took her in his arms. “I just kinda figured she was dead.”

  Brenda felt knocked off balance by his tenderness. “She is. In a way.” She tapped a finger against her head. “There’s nothin’ goin’ on up there. She’s on life support.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Listen. I don’t got much money, but it’s hers. My dope money, too.” He embraced her again. “Where is she? We’ll go see her together.”

  “She’s in a hospice. In Albuquerque.” Then forgetting about the roofies, she urged him to the bed and asked in a small voice, “Make love to me?”

  Brenda still quivered an hour later. Eric had made exquisite love to her, and they were speaking in low tones when there was a knock at the door and Brian walked in. As she offered a sleepy-cat grin his eyes lit up, and after he and Eric traded looks, he filled his hash pipe, kicked off his shoes and sat cross-legged on the mattress. They smoked until stoned, and when Eric’s eyelids fluttered and his head hit the pillow she chatted on with Brian until he blurted that he’d just had sex with a waitress. He winced.

  Other than a flicker of sadness she smiled and said, “Come here a sec.” When he moved closer she took hold of his nose ring and eased his lips to hers. “I’m jealous of that waitress…and Eric’s out cold.” She flicked her eyes at the couch and waited.

  A heartbeat passed before he lifted the sheet and exposed her breasts. But as she groped the sudden bulge in his pants he grimaced and tapped the dog collar. Getting up, he put one foot behind the other and backed away. After killing the lights he undressed in the moonlit room, then stretched out on the couch and pulled the blanket to his chin.

  Brenda wept silently as Eric, the barrier to her happiness, shifted in his slumber.

  However, Levi was feigning sleep after fake-smoking the hash. Having spotted the roofies on entering the cabin, he deduced their raison d’être and went to DEFCON Two. Now he mulled over Brenda’s on-and-off malice. He knew why—he treated her like dirt and as a result she posed a threat. But he needed her, both as a source of information and as an excuse to avoid Kruger’s breeding agenda. He was considering options when the bedside lamp snapped on.

  Her tight smile in the pool of dim light meant trouble. Reaching under the pillow, she retrieved a tourniquet and shoved it at him. “Get a vein while I get your needle.” She studied his face. “How many mills you want? Twenty? Or do you need thirty now?”

  All at once, lightning arced across the backs of his eyes as his brain’s sensitized diacetylmorphine bonds tripped multiple synapses. Sweat erupted across his brow. His loins stirred; his appetite whetted by the dragon, he wanted to shoot up. But he refused to cross that line. Yet staying in-role he said, “Twenty still does it,” then made a show of checking the clock. “Shit. It’s five. Gotta leave soon—can’t even do five mills.”

  “Sure you can.” Her eyes turned hard. “An’ you’re gonna, ’cause you need it.”

  Just then the couch creaked and Brian’s voice reached out from the edge of dark. “He did junk at the party. Now leave him be. He don’t need no more.”

  Her mouth opened and closed. “Drink a beer with me then?”

  And go to Roofie City? “Don’t need no beer, either
.”

  She grumbled and turned her back to him. But heroin wasn’t turning its back. It prodded him without mercy. He wavered. Maybe just a little. But he held firm and sweated out the trembling that tormented him and prevented further sleep.

  That morning he made his way into the bathroom, and promptly reared back at the sight of the bald, Swastika-bearing thug staring back from the mirror. After performing his ablutions he went to Brenda and touched her cheek, then regarded Brian’s sleeping form. Levi nodded, jammed the .45 into his waistband, and darted out the door.

  Brenda waited until the Harley’s roar faded. She thought she loved Brian but wasn’t sure what love felt like. Yet he claimed to love her, and appeared capable of delivering it. Eric’s gonna beat me when he finds out. But she didn’t care. She needed to be loved. Lifting Brian’s blanket, she lay beside him.

  He jerked awake, exhaled loudly, but guided her cheek to his spider-webbed chest. He kissed each of her Bo Derrick braids in turn, then whispered to her and touched her. Finally he moved against her, the sounds of the creaking couch filling the tiny cabin, growing in urgency, until at last they cried out. As they trembled against one another she thought, yes—this is how it should be. Later, he brought her to the bed, and there they remained until noon, after both were spent.

  Levi stopped along the road to clear his mind beneath a bright morning sky. He felt trapped between two worlds—that of a former FBI prodigy, and the drug addicted skinhead he’d become. But he’d signed on for the duration and would make sure not to lose the bridge back. The Harley chugged reassuringly beneath him as the memory of his family gave him peace. Then he shut down his brain and pushed on.

  Kruger adjusted his speed as the I-40 traffic increased. Changing lanes he said, “Heard you boys had quite a party last night. A lot of drugs. Including meth.”

  “Nobody got crazy or nothin.’” Good. He’s got ’em spying on each other.

  “I also hear that you’re still doping.”

  Levi fixed Kruger with his blue eyes and waited. Denial was pointless and lying the greater sin. His injection sites throbbed.

  After several seconds Kruger said, “Tell you what. You’re obviously man enough to handle it. Just continue to keep it sane—and your arms covered.”

  Levi wondered where this was going. His departure from sanity last night could explain it. He’s also got this messianic thing going; he heard I’m using despite his orders, and has to retain a semblance of power. Or maybe he needs to keep his Young Turk at bay, and dope would do it. Could also be he overlooks it if he likes you. That’s what Pete claims. Anyway, I’m free to use heroin. That’ll dampen Brenda’s threat. He finally said, “Don’t worry. I’ll stay cool about it. And…thanks.”

  “Good reply.” Kruger fell silent until he left the interstate. “But I want you to get a ring through your nose like Brian’s. Quid pro quo for the heroin.”

  “Humph. My old lady would like that. She gets off on my piercings.”

  The mall loomed ahead and Kruger reduced speed. “Yes, I know.”

  Levi showed no reaction to this confirmation that she worked for him. Her motive was simple—she needed money for her mother. But he resolved to learn more.

  While turning into the parking lot Kruger asked, “You get her pregnant yet?”

  “Working on it.”

  “Excellent.” Kruger shifted into park, shut off the engine and adjusted his mirror for an optimal view of their six. “Something’s on your mind.”

  Levi stirred in his seat. “What’ve we got planned for Cohen? You gonna tell me, or do I gotta read about it in the funny papers?”

  Kruger looked at his adjutant. “A truck will play a pivotal role in the attack.”

  “And?”

  “It’s set for one month from today.” He hung his wrist atop the transmission lever. “May the eighth, to be precise.”

  “The day Germany surrendered.”

  “Hmm. You’re not so dumb after all.”

  “You think I don’t know nothin’ ’cause I didn’t go to school?” He shook his head.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “I didn’t think of it before but now it makes sense. Melchior was snuffed on March fifteenth. The Ides of March. Caesar himself would’ve approved.”

  “You’re a piece of work. What else?”

  Levi toyed with the tiny rings in his eyebrow. “Amahl killed Melchior on the Ides, an’ we’re killing Cohen on the day our Fatherland lost out to the Jews. Sweet justice.”

  “Exactly.” Kruger leaned back until 10:00 a.m., when he bent forward and opened the glove compartment. Taking out a small notebook, he flipped it open and ran a finger down a column of numbers. Then he pulled out a cigar box containing five cell phones. He selected one and opened its back, and after checking the serial number against his list he fastened the cover and hit the power switch. “We’ll speak to our man from here. The air around us is saturated with emissions. Safer this way.” He rapped his knuckles against the steering wheel. “We can also bug out.” Then he glanced at his watch.

  “Sounds like a good…”

  “Keep quiet. Our friend won’t understand your presence.” The phone rang precisely on schedule and Kruger activated the speaker.

  A male voice with a slight Middle Eastern accent asked, “Are you there?”

  Kruger leaned toward the speaker. “Yes, and I am in a good location.”

  “I am sure you are.” The caller hesitated a micro-second. “One of my sons might have been under surveillance. Perhaps he was not.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It could be nothing. Could be everything.”

  “Continue.”

  “Of course I will continue. You do not tell me. I tell you!” There was a brief silence, filled with static. “Do not fear. I have taken the necessary precautions. I tell you this simply so that you are aware, that is all.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Kruger’s head swiveled back and forth as the parking lot filled up. “On to business. The party arrangements have been made. The tables and chairs were delivered yesterday. The caterers are standing by. You know the date and time.”

  “Perfect.”

  Kruger asked, “Anything else?”

  There was a pause. “Be certain that you fulfill your part of our agreement.” The phone went dead.

  Kruger’s face flushed as he turned off the cell with a sharp flick of a finger. “Who the hell does he think he’s talking to?” He made a fist. “A little lesson, Eric. Always let A-rabs think they’re bargaining from a position of power. Then they let their guard down and you take them out.” A bolt of anger flickered through his eyes but he forced a smile. “That was Amahl.”

  “The Amahl?”

  “The same.”

  Amahl flung the cell phone into a CITY OF MONTREAL litter receptacle and left the barren park, blending with the downtown crowd while glancing often over his shoulder. He had once felt confident—but then he never imagined the Westerners would track him to Zurich. He supposed the surveillance of his son might have been a fluke; Europeans often scrutinize people of color, and Kalil held a taste for the melodramatic. Perhaps there had been no observation after all. But how to explain his own sense that evening that something was amiss? It’s why he adopted the new disguise while awaiting Kalil’s return. No. Something was not right. The Westerners knew where to look. But how? He exercised rigorous COMSEC. There were no emissions for the vaunted National Security Agency to lock onto, and Amahl felt certain they would focus on the Middle East, not Switzerland. He played devil’s advocate: the NSA had intercepted and deciphered Kalil’s message spurts from the terminal phones. There could be no other possibility. So he would use another communication method and move to a new motel each day. Better to be tired from running than be captured while sleeping.

  Levi frowned. “Is that it? That’s what we came all this way for?” It was plenty for him, of course—a major link, minor insight into the co-conspirators’ relationship—and aff
irmation that Dragon Team had been correct to pursue Kalil.

  Shifting in his seat, Kruger spoke tersely. “Let’s go inside and do some recruiting. I want the white world to see my new Aryan soldier so they’ll know we stand ready.”

  This is crazy. Why risk exposing me now, with so much to lose? He’s a narcissist, sure. But is it that? Maybe he’s becoming unglued. Then again, he loves games. Maybe Amahl is actually nearby. Okay—game’s still on. He forced a look of confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I’m hungry. That’s what it means.” He opened his door and stepped out.

  “They’re moving. North by east,” Hacksaw said into his headset seconds later. Earlier, he had zeroed-in on the GPS in Levi’s phone, then down-linked it to Avwatch. Glancing at the screen for a birds-eye view from the plane, he opened a window depicting the mall’s diagram. Seconds later he announced in a dry voice, “Main entrance.”

  “We’re on him,” Tucker said on their discrete open net. “Okay. Kruger’s blending with the crowd.” Tucker swore. “It can’t be a meet. There’s no place to run.”

  “Then it’s a teleconference,” Michael said from another part of the mall.

  Kruger led Levi toward a food court where Muzak, deep-fried chicken and cinnamon bun odors filled the air. Several people turned and stared at Levi’s Swastika and supremacist clothes. All but a few scowled. Kruger found a table near an emergency exit and sat with his back to it, while motioning Levi to the chair at his left. Now they could both keep an eye on the crowds. “Fewer customers than last year.” He smiled and pointed at the food stalls. “Pick one. My treat.”

  Levi noted Tucker and Monica standing in line at a nearby pastry counter. He also saw Dentz seated at a table reading a newspaper. But there was a guy at an adjacent table, a thirty-something white guy, and he was glaring at Levi.