by Rose Beecham
Hawke saw no shame in the existence of concentration camps; in fact, he considered them a testament to the will of the master race. In the interests of the entire Volk a few individuals had been called upon to carry out distasteful tasks, and they had manfully stepped up to the plate. He teared up thinking about those race heroes.
Jude honked her horn and a member of Hawke’s newly established personal security unit—named the Hakenkreuz Commando—rushed from an outbuilding to open the gates for her. With expressionless fervor, he raised his right arm in the Roman salute as she drove the MCSO Dodge Dakota into the “VIP” parking area in front of Hawke’s house. She was now unofficially acknowledged as the CRAP commander’s girlfriend, a fact greeted with rare emotion by her FBI handler. Arbiter viewed Hawke as the leader most likely to unite the fragmented white power movement, and the Bureau expected him to make his move soon.
So far, it had been a lousy year for American neo-Nazis. Reeling from deaths and imprisonments, they were ripe for muscular leadership. A lawsuit had bankrupted the Aryan Nations several years ago, and the movement was now punch-drunk from a fresh series of scandals. The National Vanguard was no more. Its leader was facing child pornography charges and the organization’s powerful Boston unit collapsed when its head honcho was arrested for statutory rape. Another white power outfit, the National Socialist Movement, had been thrown into disarray when chairman Cliff Herrington was driven from the fold. Amazingly, he wasn’t tossed out because of his notorious body odor, rages, or sexual harassment of Aryan women. He and his wife were discovered to be running a Web site called the Joy of Satan and having its mail sent to the NSM’s address. Another demoralizing problem surfaced at the same time. Upon closer inspection, Herrington’s wife turned out to be less than Aryan. They both had to go.
Since Satan-gate, the NSM had been controlled by Jeff Schoep, a reformed small-time criminal who beat out a rival, Bill White, for the top job. White subsequently resigned, taking his supporters with him. He showed up at white power events, sulking on the sidelines and exchanging insults with Schoep loyalists. The NSM had been on a membership drive lately. So had another notable, Billy Roper of White Revolution, a man attempting to present himself as a thinker and a face of reason within the movement. Hawke saw Roper and Schoep as his main rivals and frequently speculated on how he could obtain their fealty or, failing that, have them run out of the movement.
The Bureau had its money on a Hawke-driven unification, so Jude’s femme fatale role wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Her subject didn’t like to be seen as a loser with women, so it suited him to have her around. Jude found him fairly easy to manage. Other than the occasional hint or lapse into innuendo after a couple of schnapps, he didn’t hit on her. Hawke subscribed to the notion of white women as the bearers of racial honor, and Jude’s refusal to move beyond the platonic only seemed to enhance her appeal. Instead of being depressed by her rejection, Hawke waxed on about the purity of Aryan womankind and how the desires of the individual had to be subordinated in the interests of race survival.
As Jude waited for her Wodanist suitor to emerge from his lair, she removed her sunglasses, touched up her lipstick, and fluffed her short hair. Hawke didn’t seem to care that she was five foot ten and built more like a bruder than a cheerleader, but she made sure to behave as if there was an inner girl buried beneath the muscles, just clawing to get out.
The guard from the gate opened her door and said, “Good morning, Fräulein.”
He looked spiffy in his Hakenkreuz Commando uniform of black shirt and pants, black boots, and emblem armband. Jude greeted him politely and stepped down from the Dakota. As he waited at stiff attention, she ran her hands slowly over her close-fitting MCSO uniform like she was overwhelmed with a girlish need to impress some hot guy. Her efforts weren’t wasted on Hawke, who looked her up and down with pathetic gratification as he strode out to greet her. He had a fetish for women in uniform.
Jude extended her hand. “Good to see you, sir.” In private she got to call him Harrison.
He drew her hand into the crook of his elbow so they could walk arm in arm. Baring his teeth in what, for him, was a tender smile, he said, “You could not have chosen a more auspicious day to visit, Fräulein.”
Jude was afraid to ask.
“I’m preparing to make an announcement,” he confided. “This comes at a critical moment in our struggle.”
“You’ve changed your mind?” Jude allowed a convincing quiver of hope to infiltrate her voice.
Hawke had been vacillating over the idea of a presidential run, but since the NSM had put forward a candidate, he’d decided to wait until 2012. By then, he hoped, America would have woken up and the time would be ripe for a new order.
“No. There’s another matter,” he said. “I want you to be the first to know.”
He ushered her into a living room that was the last word in neo-Nazi chic, the walls festooned with swastika flags, SS memorabilia, photographs, and posters. Jude unholstered her service weapon, a Glock 22C, and placed it on the modest sideboard below Hawke’s favorite reproduction oil painting of Adolf Hitler. Hawke had never asked her to remove her sidearm, but her choice sent a signal. The gesture was more than just good manners, it was a sign of respect and womanly submission, and it worked. Hawke immediately regarded her with sappy indulgence.
Jude sat down in one of two matching leather club chairs opposite the fireplace. To her left a wall-mounted video surveillance monitor displayed the front entrance of the compound.
“I have some news for you, too, Harrison,” she said.
He angled his shaved head attentively.
“No. Please,” Jude insisted. “Your announcement first.”
Hawke leaned against the stone fireplace surround, a thumb hooked in his belt. He’d been dieting and working out since his return from a vacation in Buenos Aires, a fact that intrigued Jude. He’d shown no previous concerns about being seen as a doughboy by CRAP recruits. His more streamlined physique wasn’t the only change. Whatever had happened in Argentina, he suddenly had enough money to drill another well, build a small barracks and mess, put a few of Hakenkreuz Commando on his payroll for round-the-clock security, and set up a state-of-the-art Web site.
When Jude commented on these expensive advances, Hawke would only say that an old friend had done well in Miami property development and they’d made a few investments together. He claimed to have made out like a bandit on these and said he was now cashing in to fund his dream. Jude had passed the information to Arbiter, and the FBI had traced a few property sales that bore Hawke’s name. Oddly, each property had been purchased via a Swiss funds transfer only a few months prior to resale. Arbiter thought cash was being laundered and wanted to know where it came from.
As Hawke’s pale blue eyes devoured her, Jude fingered her shirt buttons, making sure nothing had popped. She didn’t have much going on in the breast department so, on visits to the compound, she tried to maximize her questionable charms with a shirt that was a size too small.
Licking his lips appreciatively, Hawke said, “April twentieth, two thousand eight.” He stroked his fingertips back and forth across his Totenkopf buckle as he waited for this significant date to register.
Jude glanced up at the portrait on the wall, knowing what was coming.
“Yes, the Führer’s birthday.” Hawke was instantly choked up and fell silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts as he always did when he was about to launch into a monologue.
“Shall I make coffee?” Jude inquired before he could wind himself up.
“Not for me.” In a pensive tone, he said, “I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to present itself and I believe the moment has arrived.” He cupped his head in his hands for a few seconds, then looked up with fiercely flashing eyes. “A leadership cadre must be established or our movement will fail. A Kristallnacht is called for.”
“Killings?” Jude asked.
“No, the spilling of blood will be fig
urative. We can no longer saddle our movement with leaders who advertise their social incompetence on a daily basis. The very existence of the white race is in peril. It’s time to act.”
Jude nodded sympathetically. “Most people think neo-Nazis are crazy extremists and violent bullies.”
“Precisely,” Hawke conceded without expression. “And if we have any chance of winning the war against extinction, we must attract unawakened whites. More than ever we need a leader who can unify the white racialist movement politically and take the struggle forward.”
No doubt he had the very man in mind. Prodding a sore spot, Jude said, “Isn’t the political route the Knights Party strategy?”
Hawke narrowed his eyes. He thought the KKK had sold out when they reinvented themselves and adopted another version of their “invisible empire” shtick, instructing members to infiltrate both major political parties and seek influence from within.
“The awakening will come too late for their plan to pay off,” Hawke said. “And a few Pioneer Little Europes in the Northwest won’t save us. It’s up to the radical wing of the movement to take control.”
“I thought that was happening,” Jude said innocently.
Hawke snorted. “We can’t fund a new world order by robbing banks and stealing credit cards from old ladies.” He was warming up, his brow aglow with perspiration. “I would not say this outside these four walls, but since Pierce and Butler passed to Valhalla, our movement has lost its way. What are we now but a social club for white trash and prison inmates?” Bitterly he added, “That fiasco in Kalamazoo was a new low. What was the turnout? Ten? Maybe twenty?”
Jude nodded. “What an embarrassment.”
“A public face-off between factions! Bill White in his brown shirt and swastika armband behaving like a child because he wasn’t invited to speak. Is that what we want the unawakened to see?”
“What are you suggesting?” Jude asked.
“The Christian Patriots Alliance. A new political organization.”
“You’re dissolving the CRAP?”
“No, we’ll have two arms. One political, one security. I intend to implement the Führer principle.”
Jude hoped she looked suitably impressed. “I thought the NSM tried that.”
Hawke dismissed this idea with a faint sneer. “Those amateurs. No, I’m going to hire experts and pay for an advertising campaign.”
“Won’t it take a lot of money to get this off the ground?”
Smugly, he replied, “I have that taken care of.”
Jude could tell he longed to let slip the name of his benefactor. With a note of disappointment, she said, “It’s better that I don’t know any details.”
Hawke responded to her reticence with a hint. “Let’s just say we have the support of a man who understands firsthand what we’re dealing with.” In case she didn’t follow his meaning, he added, “This is a man familiar with blood and honor, the grandson of a Third Reich hero.”
Wondering which SS criminal he was referring to, Jude prompted, “And you think the timing is right?”
“I do. I’ve handpicked my leadership cadre and I’ll organize a rally in April. That’s when I’ll make the unification announcement.” He crossed the room to stand before her. “With you at my side, we could set an inspiring example. The Aryan leader and his Valkyrie. The future of a cleansed America.”
Wincing inwardly, Jude braced herself for a marriage proposal. She couldn’t get a girlfriend, but the crazy men were lining up. It was time to change the conversation. Before Hawke could continue she said, “Oh, Harrison. If only we lived in a different time where none of this was necessary and all the peoples of the world could live in peace.”
He patted her shoulder, and struck an avuncular note. “Your compassion is a virtue, Fräulein. Even though you know it’s impossible, you still yearn for all races to share your noble spirit. That steadfast heart of yours longs for a safe place in which to rear your children.” He stared up at the Hitler portrait once again, drawing strength. “Yours is the hope of all Aryan women and the driving inspiration of our struggle. A future for white children.”
Jude touched his hand before he could continue with the speech. “I’m worried for your safety, Harrison.”
Her soft tone made him flush. “Every true leader must accept the risks that come with his destiny.”
“I understand, but there’s something I have to tell you.”
Hawke sat down next to her and seized both her hands. His palms felt clammy. “Don’t be afraid to confide in me. Every word spoken is strictly between us.”
As if she could hardly wait to unburden herself, Jude said, “I was at a briefing yesterday about the Telluride Film Festival. You won’t believe this, but there’s some kind of plot to attack the festival. The ASS is behind it.”
At the mention of these CRAP traitors, Hawke released her hands and brought a fist down on his thigh. “What kind of plot?”
“It involves a chemical weapon. That’s what they’re saying. We’re on a Homeland Security alert. I just wanted you to know because you’ll be—”
“Under close scrutiny,” he completed in disgust. “A suspect.”
She nodded sympathetically.
“Those morons,” Hawke ranted, leaping to his feet. “They’re going to spoil everything. An attack on a few Jews and their commie elite friends. Very smart.” He paced back and forth.
“It means I won’t be able to come out here during the investigation,” Jude said. “I shouldn‘t be here now, actually.”
Hawke stopped pacing and searched her face intently, no doubt seeking signs of betrayal. Jude held his gaze steadily, thinking, Arbiter, you owe me a pay raise.
Finally, with a quick flash of relief, Hawke said, “Your loyalty at this critical time means more than I can say.”
Jude fidgeted like she was stressed out. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do,” he said coldly. “I’m not going to allow a few retards to destroy this movement. We are not going to play into ZOG hands this time.” He stomped over to the barred window and stared broodingly toward the desert. “Timothy McVeigh set the racialist agenda back by fifty years. It can’t happen again.”
“Do you think this could be some kind of setup?”
Hawke’s gleaming head spun her way. “What are you saying? Do you know something?”
“I used to work for the Bureau, remember? I know how they do business. Maybe they have a mole in the ASS. Someone they’ve turned. Think about it. How did they get their information?”
Hawke stared into space, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick neck. Purple blotches appeared on his angry red face. “I see your point. The feds instigate the plot, then look like heroes for stopping it. No one gets hurt, but we’re publicly disgraced and half our movement is arrested.”
“They’ll blame you,” Jude said. “You’ll be guilty by association.” She played the card Arbiter had insisted upon. “This is all about you. Don’t you see? The government doesn’t want you to lead. They know you’re a threat.”
Hawke’s face went rigid with shock before settling into the fatalistic frown of a man who realized he had a choice to make in his own dramatic destiny. He stalked to Jude’s side and bent to kiss her cheek. “Rest easy, mein Schatz. I’ll take care of this.”
Ushering her from her seat, he led her to the sideboard to collect her weapon. As they walked to the Dakota, Jude said, “If I can, I’ll update you on the briefing.”
“Take no risks on my behalf.” He opened the door for her. “One day, God willing, I will be in a position to show you the full extent of my gratitude.”
Not a prospect Jude wanted to dwell on. She glanced at the underling standing a few feet away, as if his presence was a factor in her reserve. Hawke clutched her hand to his chest in a rare public display of devotion.
“Be careful,” she told him. “Call me if there’s anything else I can do.”
&n
bsp; Hawke returned her hand and stepped back. To the young man in uniform he said, “Take note, Oberschütze. This is how a proud Aryan woman conducts herself.”
“Yes, Herr Oberst.”
Jude put on her sunglasses, thankful to screen her gaze. As she waved good-bye, both men saluted. She waited until she was ten miles from the compound before she moved to the shoulder of the road and called Arbiter. “He went for it,” she said. “What now?”
“We find out how smart he is.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I think you underestimate him.”
Scary thought. “We’ll see. Are you going to bring him in?”
“Hell, no. We need him.”
“I’m never going to turn him into a cooperating subject,” Jude warned. “He’s hardcore.”
“That’s okay, we have other assets. Hawke is going to plug us into a laundering op out of Argentina. Al Qaeda uses the same network.”
“I’m not making any headway in that department,” Jude said. Hawke was fond of mouthing off about the future of the white race, but he knew how to shut up when it came to his support network.
“On the contrary,” Arbiter said with silky satisfaction. “He now trusts you completely. It’s only a matter of time before he starts talking.”
“This isn’t about Telluride, is it?” Jude supposed she should have guessed her masters had a larger agenda.
“Telluride’s a win for us no matter what happens,” Arbiter said. “If the place goes up in smoke, we can name our terms for Patriot Three. If it doesn’t, we come out smelling of roses for arresting a bunch of terrorists.”
“I have a feeling Hawke is going to take the law into his own hands.”
“Still a win,” Arbiter said. “Because if he does, you’ll be the loyal girlfriend who helps him get away with it.”
A debt of gratitude Hawke would want to repay very personally. Jude cringed. “If that’s how it ends up shaking down, I want your orders in writing. On the record.”