“Would we be in the right to ask for our people back, those that were stolen, and for the lands to be restored, those that were ruined? Not according to the rule of law. What was done was done by contract and contracts are inviolate according to that law.
“Keep in mind that what I say about my own country could be said about any country in the world. A country may be rich today and poor tomorrow due only to the vagueness of nature, food growth, pollution, disease, age, and the loss of spirit that comes with overabundance. You ask a man in utter poverty living with closeness of death to wait until another civilization collapses from excess and his country is restored while his children and his wife die of thirst or starvation or disease. He would ask and rightfully so, why should he and his die and you and yours live? He sees your television shows. He no longer lives in ignorance of your high living. Besides, the old arguments of waiting no longer convince him. The religions all counsel a future in Heaven but he wants the present for those he loves. He knows also that if the world’s future is left to chance, the oppressor might be replaced with another oppressor.
“Suppose these divergent opinions gain armies and fight for what they suppose are their rights? Suppose they think that the time is ripe for action, that the old world rules of law are failing.
“Where would these armies to carry out this Armageddon come from? First they would come by way of small groups. They could come from that set of people that all countries have in their shadows, those who for a variety of reasons are disaffected and easily brought into the fold, those people who feel it their duty to fight and die. They are there always for those with causes to use them. Once part of an army they can be ruled to carry out the most horrible of tasks planned to sway the greatest numbers of the enemy to accept their goals.
“Fail to stop them by changing your ways and they will grow into hordes. Borders will not stop them and weapons will not kill them fast enough to overcome the birth of new soldiers.
“Let’s look at the answer most commonly given to this problem. Long ago we were told to elect our own governments, that democracy would protect us and rebuild our lands and our future. We did that. Unfortunately, the governments we elected were always in the employ of the same men who had destroyed us, who had enslaved us. These new governments simply went about killing and destroying all the power that we had in the people making sure that no truly decent government could ever be achieved in our new democratic institutions.
“The elite of the world is behind this. Some are public, some hidden, some are corporations, some individuals. It does not matter. They can be found in all lands. They aggrandize, seek more than their share, even profess to give back some of their gains but only at the price of what they might wish, not what the countries might wish, so they remain in power. Let it be well understood that the word for good sounds like the word for god but the word for evil sounds like the word for devil. These individuals are the earthly form of the devil.
“The last hope of all of us is the United Nations. Here the people of the world can reign in these controllers, these elites. No single fighter however he may feel his destiny is powerful enough to stop them alone. He can draw attention but he cannot win.
“We want our country, our home, returned to us. Yes, it is all about our home. Home is so important to all people. It is a universal concept, understood in all cultures, in all languages, and it is something to fight for. Thus it is the cause of war. We want restitution of the resources which have been stolen by outsiders. We ask only that the United Nations investigate this and determine the guilty parties and make them pay.
“We do not want to be a people without a home, drifting around the world looking for a new land when no land is to be found, and our own homeland is no longer habitable.
“I can assure you that this is a warning. I make a simple statement of the truth in my book. I write that if no effort is made by the haves to share with the have nots, if the elites remain in power to the denigration of the subjugated, if no attempt is made to attempt a redress of the old sins, in some reasonable way, I cannot guarantee the future for any of us.
“Money yes. All will cost money. Yet if only a part of the great military expenditures can be saved by a new peace causing approach, a leveling and appreciation of each person’s right to live, to grow, that saving can do wonders to pay for much of this growth.
“We have a date of infamy in our country too as I am sure most nations have. In the massacre of August 21, 1771, my forefathers were killed by the English and their allies the French and American and Spanish traders, killed off to protect the slave trade which robbed our best men and women. Then again on August 21 six years ago my family was killed in the battles fought between the government and a few free thinkers in the countryside. The attacks came from old AmericanB24 Liberator bombers painted black but with the American symbols once used against the Nazis still showing through the paint. They were loaded with jellied gasoline that burned our people and left skin hanging by threads so they died horribly.
“Let me say, beware that this gasoline is used on you here in America and in other United Nations countries.
“We call gasoline the devil’s water for it is surely the essence of evil. This last August 21 battle was fought by the government to save the wells that polluted our land, save them for the fortunes of the corrupt government we had elected and which in turn persecuted us. Its goal was to save the fortunes of multinational corporations that are so big now they dwarf even the countries. Beware I say of the power of these things for the gasoline will come here and burn you too in the fire of retribution and soon.”
Owerri looked at the panel all of whom were staring at her and finished, “We as Africans provided the original genes for all the world’s civilizations. Yet those same nations control us. Why? They have the guns and we do not. I’m here to suggest to you that will change. As it changes for you, you will know how we feel. You will know that we have to fight, protect what we have that’s ours alone. As the American hero once said, we have not yet begun to fight.”
The United Nations moderator had begun to look looked startled. When she stopped talking, he said, “We thank you for your testimony. You’ve given us a lot to think about. We’ll take a short recess and then go on with our meeting.” With that the panel all stood up and began to move toward the door. Doctor Owerri preceded them and stopped at the door to sign some of her books.
His cousin stood up, trying to get her smiling face into the panning of the television camera at the back of the room.
Just then the bags of books behind the podium burst into flame and the room instantly filled with thick black smoke. Tench lurched forward, his first thought of the Mayor’s safety. The overhead lights went out. The blackness was broken by flashes from the flames breaking through the smoke. The fumes burned his eyes and he heard the terrible sounds of screams. Chairs were hammered against flesh and walls as people fought without mercy for each other so they could get through the only doorway.
Chapter Twelve
Noon, Friday August 20
The smoke in the United Nations committee meeting caused havoc and fear. Concern that the smoke might be hazardous, or even a poison gas of some kind, was brought to mind. People fell down, were trampled, screamed in panic and in general reacted in terror. Hotel guests poured out to the long porch of the hotel, running into the street and pushing against the demonstrators who also became excited. The police, who for the most part had no training in this kind of crowd panic, were unprepared and ineffective for at least a half hour in bringing order. That caused even more people to be hurt. For one thing, the town did not have a team prepared to check the noxious nature of the smoke and until the fire department brought up its one trained volunteer who happened to be at his home farm several miles out of town, no one could rest assured that the fumes were innocent.
At the same time as the smoke billowed from the hotel, other smaller fires sprang up behind neighboring buildings on the street
. For years since the days of the race riots in River Sunday, persons unknown had set these harassing fires in trash bins to aggravate the police. They occurred on national holidays or during elections. Some said they were set by the blacks and some were sure they had been instigated by the whites. No one was ever caught and that was the story today. However, the sudden extra smoke plumes added to the confusion.
Smiley ran the ambulance to the hospital all morning taking anyone who was hurt or terrified. All this of course was duly recorded on the television cameras and would be played Tench knew ad infinitum on the rest of the day’s national reports under the headline
“Sleepy Eastern Shore of Maryland port town is the recipient of the latest terror attack, causing substantial injuries and town panic.”
This did not play well with the Mayor. Tench could see that immediately from her crestfallen face. When Tench finally got outside, his cousin in tow and rubbing her eyes from the smoke, she was disheveled, her shoulders slumped in defeat. The River Sunday fire trucks were arriving just then, making people stand to the side of the noisy machines. The scene was one of confusion beyond Tench’s belief. In the narrow colonial streets the crowds were pushed back into the nearby marina yards, some almost into the water beyond, while the firemen were uncoiling hundreds of feet of hose, their volunteer crews anxious to investigate the fire source and don the new anti-gas gear they had been sent from Baltimore for hazardous duty.
The demonstrators were screamed at all the villains, the United Nations, the black, the whites, the religions, and any terrorists. They tried to surround the bent over figure of Doctor Owerri but she was rapidly escorted away by two of the Africans from the Island. These men roughly pushed away and knocked down news people and fervent activists. They put her into the Strake station wagon. That car drove off quickly, horn blaring, narrowly avoiding the incoming fire trucks and police cars and the hordes in the streets.
The television reporters were everywhere and one jammed a microphone in Tench’s face, yelling a question about terrorists. He pushed him away knowing he would be considered a ruffian or worse when the shot aired later. The Mayor tried to restore order standing beside the sheriff and yelling orders, most of which were unheeded in the crowd panic.
Satter’s face had a puzzled expression. He held the so called bomb. The smoke source had turned out to be a cleverly fashioned set of battery wires inserted into a can of crankcase oil set behind the stack of books.
Tench left his aunt with the sheriff and his men and went back to the garage. He secured his building against any incursion by the unruly street people who seemed completely out of control in their excitement. He watched as they rushed through yards and back areas along the harbor, seemingly trying to proclaim their message to anyone who would listen about the evil of enemies from abroad. Loud fights began with anyone who disagreed.
The Mayor called him two hours later. “Get over here to my office as soon as you can.”
The sun at noon had disappeared behind a dark overcast from the west and the bushes and trees along the street began to sway with strong breezes. Tench heard thunder coming from the west across the Chesapeake and moving in fast to River Sunday.
His aunt stood in the center of her office and looked at him with a glare in her eyes he had not seen before.
“Yeah, I’m pissed off. You got that right. We have to start all over.
She went on, “I don’t think you understand, Tench” He looked at her again and she stared at him, almost the dedicated stare of a woman who wanted to sell him her body, up in Baltimore, some whore he had met on the street.
She picked up the map and pointed to the small stars glued on it in various places. “This marks every place I own. Five beauty shops, two farms and a garage.”
“My garage.”
“I own that garage until you pay me back.”
“You telling me there’s some fine print?”
“I’m the mayor of a town that’s on national news with a riot and a United Nations meeting that was disrupted by thugs. We’re going to be the laughing stocks of the whole country. On top of that, my investments will go to hell.”
Tench understood. She was really thinking about herself. “Does the Sheriff know who set off the smoke?” he asked.
She answered, pacing the floor, “Sheriff thinks it was one of the demonstrators. Someone who didn’t agree with Owerri. The FBI fortunately had been detailed to routinely check out the meeting. Its agent in charge from Philadelphia was here checking out whether this was racism, hurting minorities or whatever.”
“Can’t they check out who made that bomb? What about the fires around town?”
“The FBI man said it was the simplest smoke bomb he ever ran into. Like a toy that anyone could have made. Satter and his team found no fingerprints, nothing. The agent in charge thinks all of this was a local prank, something to do with anti-black racism directed at the United Nations or at Doctor Owerri, but that it wasn’t terrorism. He said that the terrorists would have wanted to kill people, not scare them.
“Satter told him that we have some pretty rough white people living around River Sunday, people who don’t like anyone. The FBI agent said it might be a prank against the United Nations and not racial at all. He said that if they went after every one of these small incidents, they’d be unable to handle the bigger stuff. He said though they would watch River Sunday in the future for any activity that might be part of a national terrorist program.
“So that is where it stands. We face an investigation of possible race bigots here. Some interviews will be held over the next few days by Washington authorities responsible for race crimes. Sheriff Satter has turned over his files to the FBI on local bigots. Isn’t this delightful just when we are getting the town a reputation of being a tourist destination? None of this will look good in the papers so I hope they keep it quiet and I’ve told the Sheriff to play it down as he works on the case. I just don’t want bad press when we have worked so hard to build up River Sunday as a nice town.”
“So what can I do?” asked Tench.
“I want you to stay away from Strake’s farm.”
Tench shrugged. “I’m just trying to help out my friend.”
“I don’t care about Smote. I do care about my town, my property. I don’t want you stirring up anything else. ”
“What about if Strake and his men are involved in Captain Bob’s murder?”
“I just don’t want any more trouble. Besides I owe that man a lot of money. Money I don’t have right now. Mister Stagmatter called today again and reminded me that he will continue to let me miss some of the payments, take as much time as I need, especially if the tourism slows.”
“Stagmatter.”
“You might say, he owns your garage, not me. Least, he made the loans for Mister Strake. He’s in charge.”
Tench sat down then. He stared at the edge of the mahogany desk, trying to focus on the carved scrolls in the woodwork. He was working as hard he could, Katy was too, all of them were, but the profits were building in Strake’s bank account. Or, if Julie’s long held suspicions had any truth in them, in Stagmatter’s bank account.
The side door to the office opened and the sheriff walked in.
“Tench understands,” she said to Satter.
Satter said, “Look, Tench, like she says, Strake and his people aren’t the problem. I don’t know about Peake’s death. I don’t think anyone does. However, the real problem in River Sunday is the troublemakers who use any excuse to start up a fight. You saw it today. I’ve been fighting this racial hatred for years. I started in Baltimore when I was working the street. You know something about the street, Tench. These people, they hate everyone who isn’t one of them, like white, religious, patriotic, and ignorant. Some hate Strake and his African mechanics. Some hated your old friend Captain Bob. Maybe some hate Smote. I’m sure one of the gangs hate the lady doctor who gave the speech and I know many of them hate the United Nations. I’m just surprised some
one hasn’t gone after that little committee before when it came to town to have its meeting.”
“What local troublemakers?” asked Tench. “You mean the people who set those fires?”
“Maybe so. I don’t know. May I, Mayor?” She nodded, stepped back and the sheriff clicked on the computer at her desk. “I’m going to show him just one of the hate groups, a white one . You can find the same thing on the others.”
The screen opened up. The Sheriff hit more buttons. The page was white, an intense white, and at its bottom corner, a small United States flag.
On the next page was a map of the world dated 1950. All the countries were colored with blotches of white among other hues of yellow, black and tans.
“Now look at this,” said the Sheriff as he clicked.
The map changed to one with the date 1960. The white areas were smaller, the other colors taking more space.
He hit another button. The date was 1970 and the white areas shrank more among the other colors. By the time he hit 2000, the white areas were tiny compared to the other colors. This was the last page of the website.
“What does this mean?” asked Tench.
“That’s the website they follow,” the Sheriff said. The mayor nodded.
“Smiley might be in this gang,” said Satter.
“Gang?” asked Tench, staring at the console.
“They have no name.” Tench remembered what Smiley had said, that his friends did not need a name, that they all knew each other.
“The State Police think this area around River Sunday is a major location for members,” said the Sheriff.
“What does this mean?” asked Tench.
Terror Flower (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 5) Page 11