The guy slid his chair back and stepped toward Levi with clenched fists. “Hey, you punk.”
Levi stood as others looked up from their food. “Walk away.”
“Negative. We’re goin’ to Duke City.” Then he charged.
Levi muttered, “Idiot,” and stepped to one side.
The guy pivoted and came at Levi with a left hook.
To avoid revealing too much skill, Levi let it connect. It was a solid hit. He saw lightning bolts, and instantly went into a Dieter close quarter defense stance. The system looked lame to untrained eyes, but it provided a base for lethal counter-attacks. The guy came at him again. Levi struck back.
The guy staggered; shook it off. He should have reassessed his opponent at that point, but his anger crippled him. “Nazi scum,” he yelled, and swung wildly at Levi.
Instead of backing away, Levi closed the distance and rapidly pummeled his attacker’s head with the knife edges of his hands. The guy covered-up, but too late. Levi drove a Krav maga-trained knee into his groin. The man collapsed. Levi knew he wasn’t getting back up. He turned to Kruger and calmly said, “Let’s go.”
A Muzak ditty followed them as Levi shouldered his way through a mob of muttering spectators. Several jeered him. He flipped them off.
They were in the sunshine a minute later and Levi felt the pain.
“Let me see.” Kruger inspected the left side of his face. “You’ll have a shiner. We’ll ice it.” He started for the truck and growled, “Why didn’t you finish him off? Hell, you had him on the ground.”
Levi dissembled. “You didn’t see the cop?” When Kruger’s eyes opened wide he said, “Yeah, he was coming through the crowd. I’m armed but I got no permit. I don’t need to be locked-up. Not now. We got a job to do.”
A smile crawled to Kruger’s lips and curved itself like a snake. “This is why I chose you. You’re disciplined.” He punched Levi’s shoulder. “And you like to fight.”
“Damn. My cheek hurts.”
“Damn. My leg hurts.” T.J. Jackson aimed the impotent, unloaded .25 pistol at the porn images flickering across the TV and jerked the trigger. The hammer clicked and he said, “Bang” to an empty room. He re-cocked the hammer and fired at the copulating couple again and again as he considered another beer. It would be his fourth and it was not yet 11:00 a.m. Pulling his cowboy hat low over his eyes, he pointed the muzzle at his right temple. His finger experimented with the trigger.
“No. Not me. Him.” He put down the tiny pistol. He had liked Eric from the beginning. Sure, Eric moved in on Brenda, but T.J. had to admit that he waited too long and didn’t hold it against him. Then Eric kicked that coon’s ass, and T.J. was instantly drawn to this pothead who wouldn’t back down when the spook shot at him.
He gave Eric his loyalty but Eric paid him back with kicks and threats of imminent death. He flushed red as he remembered soiling himself in front of the others. But he had other concerns. He’d completed his tasks: quality control of the ordnance, the Semtex and the platoon weapons. Sure, he was on Brian’s mortar crew but he knew too much, and Brent Kruger didn’t tolerate liabilities. Brent acts like everything’s cool because we’re cousins. But I know him. He’s gonna kill me. Probably a matter of days. T.J. came to a grim resolve. He would take control. He would shoot Eric and Brent, then turn the insignificant pistol on himself before Potts and Bronk reached him with their flensing knives. Either way, he was going to be dead.
Kruger said as they drove east in I-40, “Amahl and I made an arrangement. He killed Melchior for us, and we’re to get rid of Cohen for him. This way the Feds focus on him, while we do an end-run and take out the Jew. By then it won’t matter who did what, because the civilized world will have collapsed, and we will be in control.”
Levi whistled softly. “That’s some plan.” He paused, then dug a little. “Why didn’t you do this when the first blackie got elected?”
“We thought that election was a fluke. We were convinced that once America saw the fallacies of letting a colored person attempt a white man’s job, they’d come to their senses. But the second election convinced us that they’re trying to take over.”
“Never thought of that.” Time to probe. “So, how’d you hook up with Amahl?”
“I met him in Iraq during our first expedition into the Arab lands. Our troops took him prisoner and I happened to be assigned to the unit that took custody of him. I engaged him in conversation, and once he understood my fervent support of the war against Zionism we struck a bargain. Not that I liked the bastard, but…” Kruger smirked. “He somehow managed to escape, and we somehow remained in touch.”
“I’m impressed. Now what?”
“Insurrection.” He slowed for the Highway 41 exit. “With Cohen gone, the white militias can rise to the call to action.”
Dream on, Kruger. Levi knew that when the Confederates invaded Antietam they thought the Marylanders would join them against the Federal troops, thus putting D.C. into enemy territory. But when the locals saw that the Confederates had no underwear, lacked food and that most were barefoot, they stood down. The same error repeated itself in Oklahoma City. Allegiance to a cause is one thing, killing kids another.
Levi said, “Yeah, the white world’s gonna stand tall.” Sensing the moment was at hand to appeal to Kruger’s vanity he said with relish, “Yeah. Pretty soon we’ll be saying, ‘Heil Kruger.’”
Kruger nudged the wheel and merged onto the exit. “You’d have fit in well on Nixon’s staff.”
Levi rubbed his jaw. “So how’re we pulling it off?”
A hesitation. Then Kruger said, “I never discuss all the details with any one person. Not even Amahl. You know more than most of the others. They think we’re raiding a rival club.” He checked his mirror. “The Jihadists have it right. Keep your cells small, compartmentalized and spread out. When it’s time, they come together.” Pointing to a municipal airfield to the left, he said, “I keep a twin Navajo there.”
“For our getaway?”
“For our get to. We leave for D.C. in four weeks. Cohen’s scheduled an awards ceremony on the South Lawn to pay tribute to VE Day.” Picking up speed he said, “I wonder if his staff realizes that the Ides of March can also fall on the eighth of May.”
Levi had most of the facts now, but wanted concrete evidence to bring before a judge. He ached to get at that notepad in the glove compartment and was considering several possibilities when Kruger abruptly pulled to the side of the road.
“Can’t wait.” He left the motor running and walked off, unzipping as he walked into a shallow ravine and disappeared from view.
Acting instantly, Levi yanked out his cell, activated its video cam and grabbed the notebook. He was photographing the last page as Kruger entered his peripheral vision. Levi jammed the cell in his pocket, but still had hold of the notepad when Kruger appeared at the window.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Ignoring him, Levi rooted through the glove box with his free hand. “Thought you might have some alcohol pads. You know, from dee-luxe tubs a finger-lickin’ chicken.”
Kruger’s face flushed deep red. “What the hell do you need alcohol pads for?”
“Hey. Deep cleansing breath.” He pointed to his swollen cheek. “I want something to cool it down a bit.”
Kruger watched Levi’s eyes for several long seconds before saying, “Okay.”
Putting the notepad away, Levi fumbled it so that his fingers brushed through the pages to justify his prints—although God help him if Potts checked his cell right now.
Brent pulled through the gate minutes later. Levi searched in vain for Jackson to make peace for kicking him, then sought out Brian. After explaining his black eye he said, “Let’s talk,” and led the reluctant young man to the lone mesquite tree. Levi queried him at length about mortars while they passed a joint—with Levi taking light hits to keep focused. Later, Brian’s face shone when he described the breakfast Brenda made for him, and how they’
d talked and talked. Then a veil crossed his eyes. He fell silent and walked away. Levi stayed busy until four, when he checked in with the boss before leaving.
Kruger glanced at his swollen cheek. “I’d have wanted something for it, too.” Arching both brows into triangles, he added, “But ask permission next time. And get that nose ring.” After a brief pause he launched into a discourse on children—their merits, their understandable naughtiness that in his view should be celebrated as evidence of a child’s spirituality, and their value before God. He ended with a sincere wish that each child should find love, even non-white kids, and wondered aloud why people abused children. “It’s a crime,” he said, and his face turned grim.
Levi couldn’t help but think that under different circumstances, he might have liked Brent Kruger. For one thing, he would have been a stellar FBI agent. He had the intelligence, the drive and the attention to detail that were the hallmarks of a good agent, and his uptight demeanor was the norm for many of the ones Levi had worked with. But most of all, Kruger’s love of children could not be seen as anything less than sincere. For a sociopath, that said a lot. Half an hour later, Levi pulled to the side of the state road. The compound’s emission detectors could not reach this far. As the red and white Electra Glide chugged rhythmically, he got out his cell and emailed the video of the notebook to Hacksaw. There’d been five pages and he taped them within ten seconds—less than a megabyte of memory. It transmitted without a hitch and when he got a confirmation he sent a text message about mortars, trucks, the eighth of May and the South Lawn. Then he sent a text to Tucker. KRUGER KEEPS NAVAJO AT LOCAL AIRPORT. WILL USE TO FLY US TO MD. INSTALL TRACKING DEVICE. The Patriot Act permitted this action without a court order. Once the messages were sent he removed the phone’s SIM card and destroyed it. He now had probable cause to arrest Kruger for his role in Melchior’s assassination, but risked letting members of the other cells escape if he moved now. In any event it would be the Bureau’s call. He knew how they operated. After receiving the down-linked photos and text from Hack, they would gather and discuss and wind their watches. But in the end they would arrive at identical conclusions—wait, think, and then act. Levi tapped the gear pedal and headed home.
It was dark when he arrived but he could see Jackson’s truck in the front lot. He pulled up to the cabin and went inside. The unkempt room made him think of Brenda. As a professional he always suspected that she might be on Kruger’s payroll. He thought he knew the reason, and it was underscored by a sense of honor. But the roofies introduced a new menace, one he would neutralize. Retrieving a hidden SIM card, he put it in his cell and then went to the mirror. His eye had turned purple, marking a contrast to his unsoiled T-shirt and Doc Martens.
A minute later he entered the Sunset through the rear door. It still reeked of vomit, tobacco and stale beer, the same signs hung from the walls, and green doors still guarded the rest rooms. Yet everything had changed.
Brenda turned at his approach and waited, and when he looked into her eyes she shifted uncomfortably and put a hand to his cheek. “What happened?”
“Got in a fight.” He glanced at a pair of old timers at the bar, then at Jackson, sitting alone at a table with his cowboy hat pushed back.
“You win?”
“You’re joking, right?” He studied her face. “Anything you wanna tell me?”
“Um, no.” She got busy cleaning a beer mug.
To minimize getting drugged again, he said, “Kruger knows I been doin’ junk.”
“Oh?” She started cleaning the same mug again.
“But he don’t care. Said I can do all I want.”
“You should do some now.” Her eyes narrowed. “You look like crap.”
“I’m gonna—in about ten minutes.” Pushing back from the bar, he marched to Jackson’s table, plopped into a chair and stretched out his legs. “I came to apologize.”
“Yeah? And I wanna shake hands with whoever gave you the black eye.” He put a bottle of Millers to his lips, drained the last few ounces and slammed it down. The table rattled and the old timers turned to look. Jackson said, “You didn’t have to kick me.”
Fearing a set-up he said, “You shoulda stood up like a man.”
Jackson dropped his gaze. “You never even asked my side of the story.”
“Your side?” He scoffed. “Only side I care about is Brent Kruger’s, an’ he said you ratted us out.” He flung his arms out wide. “I’m a soldier. I do what I’m told.”
“Give me just a little break. You’re no soldier.” Jackson pointed to his chest. “I was a soldier. Damned good one, too. EOD. Know what that means?”
Levi looked him up and down. “Yeah. Enough Of this Dope.” He jumped to his feet, went to the bar and told Brenda to get him a beer.
Jackson looked over his shoulder at the front door. The path was clear. The old guys were no threat. Pulling his hat low, he reached into his pocket and grabbed the pistol. Holding it beneath the table, he calculated the bullet’s trajectory. It would strike the base of Eric’s spine. He would leap forward and finish him off, then speed back to the compound and take out Kruger. He tightened his finger around the trigger. The hammer moved back, further and further until…
CREAK.
The front door opened. A woman’s voice called out. “Levi? Levi Hart? My God, I’ve finally found you.”
Jackson froze. Eric’s face went white. Jackson released the trigger, then turned toward the blond, well-dressed woman standing in the doorway. She was staring at Eric.
Susan Kane stepped inside. “Levi, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
17
Levi recovered at once and kicked it into passing gear. Cohen’s life stood in the balance and he had to assume the presence of hidden mics. He looked at her with mild amusement and said, “My name’s Eric, lady.”
Susan took a tentative step forward. “Oh, no you don’t. I know that face, those eyes. That voice.” Stepping closer, she looked at him through the dim light. “Do you care to explain your lack of hair and the acquisition of that black eye?” She took another step. “My Lord, a Swastika. And piercings, too? What’s going on, Levi?”
He shook his head sadly. “Told you. My name’s Eric.”
Susan said in a clear, firm voice, “No. You’re Levi. You’re my lover.”
“Lover? Hell lady, you must be on drugs.”
“I can prove it. You have a scar on your left hip, the result of a hunting accident.”
“He’s got no scar,” Brenda said, so quietly that everyone turned to her.
Susan stamped her foot. “Of course he does.”
“No he don’t.” She put splayed fingers to her stomach. “I should know. I’m carrying his baby.”
Levi spun around and looked at her. “Brenda…”
“No.” Susan’s mouth opened and closed, and she looked around the room with uncertainty. “I—I could have sworn you were my friend Le…”
“What else is there about him below the waist?” They all turned to the source of the voice and found a smug Jackson sitting with folded arms.
“I beg your pardon?”
Jackson stared at Levi but said to Susan, “What I’m asking is, could he pass for a Jew-boy?”
“I don’t quite understand.” Then she got a triumphant smile. “No. He could not.”
Jackson sneered at Levi. “Forget so soon? I was there the night you proved to Brent you weren’t—that you’re Aryan. You also told him how you got that scar.”
“So? All it proves is I been boning her.” He turned on Susan with cruel, pitiless eyes. “You still ain’t gettin’ it, are you? I gave you a good time an’ I gave you a made-up name. What’d you expect? That I’d tell you who I really was?” He scoffed. “You won’t be the first babe to cry rape—an’ that’s why I been runnin’.”
Susan’s jaw dropped. “But…”
“Get it through your skull. I ain’t available no more.” He gestured at Brenda. “She’s gonna ha
ve my kid an’ I gotta do right by her. Now beat it.”
Susan Kane stood there in her smart outfit and her silence said it all. Then she straightened her back. “Yes, I see now that I made a mistake in looking for you.” She forced a laugh. “Excuse me for barging into your—life.”
“Wait a minute.” He couldn’t let her leave without knowing where to find her. She was temporarily in shock but she wouldn’t give up—not after tracking him this far and for this long. He had to initiate counter-measures. “Where’re you goin’ now?”
She hesitated, an uncertain look on her face. “My hotel. Just down the…the Doral. Why? What’s it to you?”
He laughed. “’Cause I’ll send my buddy Bronk over to give you a good screwin’.”
“Fu…” She turned around and said, “Go to hell,” then walked out the door.
Jackson smiled and said across the gulf of floor space, “Hey Eric, come over here so we can chat.” Narrowing his eyes he asked, “Or should I call you Levi?”
He held up a palm to Jackson. “Chill.” Then he turned to Brenda. “Okay, so I been screwin’ her. But it don’t mean nothin’. Now what’s this about a baby?”
“I ain’t pregnant.” She looked away. “Not yet. I was covering for you.”
“Why?”
“Because of what you said. About my mama, and offering money.”
Okay. I can trust her up to a point. “Gimme your cell. Mine’s broke an’ I gotta call somebody.” At least she couldn’t call Kruger when he wasn’t looking.
She handed over the phone, then flicked her eyes at Jackson. “Get on over there. I expect you’ve got some explaining to do.” She got busy with the dirty glasses.
Levi leaned over the bar and grabbed two bottles of Millers from the cooler, then carried them to Jackson’s table. Handing one to the cheese-grinning man, Levi sat and waited until Jackson lifted the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back. Then he reached into his pants pocket and closed his hand around his cell. “So…” he began while texting SOS—Sunset beneath the table and hitting SEND, “…yeah. Brenda knows I screw other babes. But I don’t gotta rub her face in it. I mean, what else could I tell that woman?” He kept up the small talk until Dentz ambled into the bar eleven minutes later and took a seat in a dark corner. Levi said to Jackson, “Hey, I know that guy. Wait here a sec.”
Cobra Clearance Page 21