Killing Time oj-1

by Cindy Gerard

  At the far end of the town’s center was a huge communal garden plot. Chickens wandered around free, pecking between the rows and at the garden’s edge while women and young girls wearing long dark skirts, blouses, and what looked like prairie bonnets bent over hoes or knelt between rows tending spinach, radishes, onions, and lettuce, along with immature tomato, corn, and squash plants. One girl, so young she could barely be in her teens, carried a toddler on her hip. The sight gave Eva a sinking sensation in her stomach. Please let that be her little sister.

  The sick feeling increased as she watched the women and girls, all moving with purpose, eyes down, faces somber, always working, rarely resting or even taking time out to take a drink of water under the hot sun. It was as if they were afraid to be idle. Their heads down, subservient, they appeared to be little more than slaves.

  Everything she’d read on the UWD movement downplayed that aspect of the culture. But these were the kind of women that men in these movements preyed on. Low self-esteem. Gargantuan need to please and be accepted. Most likely abused, either as children or by a boyfriend or a spouse. It made them weak, yes, but mostly it made them victims. And it made her physically ill.

  The boys were an entirely different story. Even though they were also dressed uniformly—jeans, solid-colored T-shirts, and ball caps—the boys were clearly encouraged to be boys. They wandered around kicking rocks down the dirt street, carrying BB guns or fishing poles, or fooling around in a playground that consisted of rope swings, a rope-webbed climbing wall, targets stuck to straw bales, and a wooden teeter-totter.

  Holy God. It was Opie Taylor meets the frontier Stepford wives.

  • • •

  Shoulders back, head high, Mike followed the men into what was clearly Lawson’s office. From the bank of computers, the camera monitors, and the whiteboard outlining the duty roster and work schedule, this was also UWD command central. Taking it all in, he stood at attention as Lawson rounded a military surplus gray metal desk and sat down, a man confident of his power. The desk was a behemoth: utilitarian, expansive, rusted in spots, dented in others. Not one item on its surface was out of place. It was as clean and organized as the room, as orderly as Lawson himself, who carried himself like a little general lording it over his troops. A pennant that Mike recognized as the UWD banner—a solid red background showcasing a closed white fist—hung on the wall behind the desk.

  A straight-backed wooden chair faced the desk but Mike didn’t take it. Simmons and Wagoner flanked him on either side, cradling their weapons. He stood military straight, hands at his side, legs planted wide, eyes fixed on the banner, not Lawson… the posture of a man who respected his superiors.

  He could not wait to bring this bastard down.

  “Walker, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And why are you here, Mr. Walker?”

  “Only one reason. To join the movement and help the cause.”

  Lawson leaned back, clasped his hands over his lean midsection, and regarded Mike with a somber expression. “You’ll understand if I’m skeptical.”

  Now it got dicey. “Yes, sir. I do. You don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me or my motives.”

  Lawson continued to watch him with interest. “So what am I supposed to think? That you’re brave, or stupid—or a little bit of both?”

  “I’m a devotee, sir. I only want to join the movement.”

  Lawson lifted a hand. “And yet you show up here, no advance word, no letter of recommendation.”

  “Barry Hill’s my recommendation.”

  “Says he knew him in stir.” Simmons was clearly not a believer.

  Mike turned to Simmons. “I don’t need you to do any talking for me.”

  As he’d hoped, this amused Lawson. Not so much Simmons; the big man’s face turned blood red. Mike figured that was a good thing. Let Lawson know he had Simmons’s number—big, dumb muscle—and Dan Walker was a little higher on the evolution ladder.

  He turned back to Lawson.

  “I was in the pen in California with Hill. But we go back further than that. We were both in the Navy at the same time. San Diego. We were of like minds even back then.”

  “Like minds? What the fuck does that mean?” Simmons growled.

  Knowing he was making an enemy, but calculating that it might play well for him to stand up to the big man in the long run, he ignored Simmons again. “When our hitches were up, Hill ended up going one way, I went another. My way didn’t work out. Did six of an eight-year stretch. I was three months from release when Hill showed up. I saw it as a sign, that we crossed paths again, you know? And I still liked what he had to say. He told me to come find you. That you’d have a place for me.”

  “Convenient that there’s no way to verify it.” Simmons again.

  “Would you shut the fuck up?” Mike said very quietly but with deadly intent, then turned back to Lawson, who lifted a hand motioning Simmons to settle himself down.

  Like a good little toy soldier, Simmons backed off.

  “With due respect, sir,” Mike went on, “knowing what I do about the sophistication of your organization, I would be very surprised if that was the case.” He nodded toward Simmons.

  The subtext in that statement could fill a football field. One, he’d thrown a gauntlet and basically invited Lawson to check out his story. It showed that he had nothing to hide. Two, he’d let Lawson know he was privy to some inside information—which invited the assumption that Hill had confided in him. And three, it cemented the notion in Simmons’s and Lawson’s minds that he was not intimidated by loudmouths like Simmons.

  If the slight glimmer of interest in Lawson’s beady eyes was any indication, he’d scored major points on all counts. He hoped to hell that Gabe and the BOIs had gotten Hill to play along. The chances of Lawson not following up and checking with Hill were slim.

  Mike forced himself to hold Lawson’s measuring gaze. He was so thin he looked emaciated. His features were so sharp edged and severe they were almost cartoonish. Only there was nothing remotely laughable about this man.

  Mike schooled his expression to remain impassive while he played out a mental fantasy of launching himself over the desk and choking the life out of the bastard.

  “Explain the woman.” Lawson jarred Mike back to the room.

  “Maria Gomez. Sorry. Maria Walker. We got married a month ago… right after I was released. Maria was my attorney. She can be an asset to the movement.”

  Lawson tilted his head, interested. “An attorney. One would also assume, then, that she is a strong-willed woman.”

  “An intelligent woman. Who bows to my will.” His slight smile was genuine; he was thinking of Eva’s reaction if she heard this exchange.

  “And what if she is asked to bow to my will? To the will of the movement?”

  Mike knew where this was going. “Maria has no allegiance to the current government. She has her reasons. She’s prepared to contribute what is asked of her.”

  Apparently Lawson liked his response. “And you. What do you bring to the table?”

  Mike could bullshit with the best of them, and it was time to put the spin on the plate. “I grew up in Colorado, so the mountains here feel like home. My old man believed in less government—he’d have been a follower if he was alive today. Not that I gave a shit what he thought back then.” His smile was jaded. “But then I found out what life in the real world was about… and I finally understood how badly the government screws its people.”

  He had Lawson’s full interest now. The UWD leader had started to think he might have a true believer on his hands.

  “I tried the Navy when I couldn’t get work. Like I said, that’s where I ran into Hill the first time. Liked what he had to say even then.”

  Then he turned the hatred he felt for Lawson and everything he stood for into a passionate line of party rhetoric that would have made a Quaker want to pick up a gun and declare war against Uncle Sam.

  Lawson was to
o proud of what he had created not to feel triumphant over Dan Walker’s impassioned and fanatical declaration. And when Mike put the spit on the polish by reciting the closing lines of the UWD doctrine—

  “United we stand against corrupt politicians. United we face an enemy from within. United we prevail over a failed ideology. United we denounce allegiance to a government that has forgotten the people.”

  Mike stopped abruptly, and made a show of reining in his enthusiasm.

  “You’ve read the manifesto.” The fire in Lawson’s eyes made it clear that he’d begun to see the possibility of promise.

  “Anybody can read the manifesto,” Simmons grumbled. “It’s on the website.”

  “I’ve read it many times,” Mike said, again ignoring Simmons who seethed beside him. It might not be wise to make an enemy before he’d made a friend, but he needed everyone in the room to know that he understood Simmons’s position in the pecking order. Simmons was an enforcer. A bootlicker. He was not a thinking man.

  Dan Walker was.

  Lawson was smiling now, but the reservation in his eyes told Mike he wasn’t home free yet.

  “Simmons,” Lawson barked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You may speak now. What do you think we should do with our uninvited guests?”

  Simmons got a mean, real smug look on his face—and Mike got a sick feeling that things were about to take a turn for the worse.

  • • •

  Eva checked her watch again, avoiding eye contact with her guard, knowing that what she’d see in his eyes would compound her case of the creeps.

  Another five minutes had passed. She breathed deep. Realized how thirsty she’d become sitting here. Since she’d rather swallow her tongue than ask him for a drink, she continued her study of the compound.

  At the very far end of the meadow, it appeared that most of the men had congregated. They were playing war games, running drills, participating in target practice. The constant, steady barrage of automatic weapons fire from the training site was a muffled thwup, thwup, thwup in the distance.

  Back toward the heart of the compound, rows of single-story residence buildings flanked the meadow to the north. At least a dozen individual cabins backed right up to the forest on the south and again to the east. The residences made a U that faced the military hub of the compound and the main building Mike had been led to.

  What was taking so long? And what were they doing in there?

  A door slammed like a shot and she jumped, making her guard laugh. Ignoring him, she turned toward the sound… and briefly closed her eyes in relief when she saw Mike walking toward her, flanked by the two enforcers who had led him into the building.

  None of them looked happy.

  26

  “And here I was expecting ankle chains and whipping posts. Hell, these are five-star digs.”

  Behind him, Eva grunted. “If you’re into Little House on the Prairie.”

  Mike peered out the front window of a small, rustic cabin, watching the activities outside that mostly consisted of women working and men playing war. Wagoner sat in a pickup about twenty yards away, AR-15 still in hand, picking his teeth and playing jailer.

  The fun never ended.

  It had been touch and go for a while, but despite Simmons’s suggestion to “run the cocky bastard’s ass all the way to the Idaho border,” Lawson had decided to take a chance.

  “You will remain here tonight as my guests,” he’d decreed like the petty dictator he was.

  Translation: Lawson was going to tap his resources and find out the full skinny on one Dan Walker and Maria Gomez, and neither of them were going anywhere until it was decided if they were legit or candidates for target practice.

  “That’s very generous,” Mike had told him, then showed Lawson that he knew the score. “I want only to be a part of this, sir. But I understand, you need to run a check. I have nothing to hide. Neither does Maria.”

  Lawson’s expression had been unreadable as he’d ordered Simmons to get them settled. The irate flunky had snapped to like a dog used to having his chain jerked when he got out of line.

  “Provide our guests with everything they need. And Simmons,” Lawson had added with an arch look at Mike, “they’ve had a long trip and are no doubt weary. Make certain they don’t want for anything that would require them to leave the cabin tonight.”

  It hadn’t taken a degree in language arts to understand the subtext of Lawson’s order. The cabin door would be locked behind them to make certain they didn’t get out.

  Wagoner, the watchdog, would make doubly sure of that.

  Feeling confined, fighting off memories of the time he’d spent in the brig, Mike moved away from the window, and to make certain he hadn’t missed anything, did a second sweep for bugs.

  Not that he expected to find anything this time, either. The camp’s living conditions were pretty primitive. The computers and surveillance equipment in Lawson’s office were cutting edge but Mike strongly suspected resources were focused on the camp’s perimeter areas. Still, Lawson’s dossier said he was paranoid. So, just in case, as soon as they were alone, he’d dug the ink pen that was actually a bug detector out of his duffel bag. One of Gabe’s toys. The sweep hadn’t taken long, and it didn’t take long the second time, either.

  The cabin wasn’t much more than fifteen by twenty feet. One door in, same door out, only with Wagoner there, out wasn’t an option. There were only three windows, one on each wall except the one with the door. A bare lightbulb hung in the middle of the ceiling. The living room/bedroom were one single, open area. A double bed, a small, square table with two wooden chairs, and a single chest of drawers were the extent of the furniture. A kerosene lamp sat on top of the dresser, along with a thick bound volume: the UWD manifesto. Eva had picked it up and sat at the table thumbing through it.

  A row of ten wooden pegs had been fixed to the wall beside the door. A small closet—barely large enough to hold a jacket—had been built into a corner. Roller shades covered the windows. There was no bathroom. Communal showers and toilets—one for the men, one for the women—were located at the north edge of the village, about one hundred yards from the cabin. He knew where the toilets were because prior to being delivered to their “guest house” he and Eva had been given an opportunity to use the facilities.

  That had been over an hour ago, and they hadn’t seen anyone other than the guard since. They had, however, been informed by Wagoner that someone would bring their dinner and that sometime before sunset they would be escorted to the showers, should they wish to take advantage of them. Sunset apparently was the bewitching hour, because that’s when electricity and the camp as a whole shut down.

  “This is such a load of crap,” Eva sputtered under her breath. She tossed the manifesto aside in disgust. “I’ll never understand why so many people buy into cults.”

  Mike matched her hushed tone. He may not have found any bugs, but Lawson might decide to post someone right outside a window and listen the old-fashioned way: by eavesdropping.

  “It’s the same mentality that almost allowed Hitler to take over the world, and made it possible for Bin Laden to launch his war on democracy and free will. Ten parts bullying, ten parts fear, fill in the blanks with disenfranchised, desperate zealots who are looking for a cause and a place to fit in, and bingo—you’ve got yourself a world war, or a 9/11, or something as small but significant as a Waco.”

  She rose, walked to a window, and looked outside.

  “I hate this waiting around. What happens next?”

  “Nothing. Not until we find out if Gabe and the BOIs convinced Hill to play ball. When Lawson contacts Hill, we’re up crap creek if he rats us out.”

  “What a lovely visual.” The rough pine floor creaked under her slight weight as she turned and walked back to the table.

  “Hey. I’ve got a big mouth. Sorry. And don’t worry. They’ll make it happen.”

  She’d folded her arms beneath her br
easts, a gesture he recognized. When she felt vulnerable, she tightened in on herself.

  “So,” he said, wanting to move her out of that place, “want to talk about the elephant in the room?” He glanced at the bed, then at her, then wiggled his eyebrows.

  She actually laughed. “And here I thought maybe you’d want to talk strategy.”

  He smiled. “Saving that for when Wagoner falls asleep.”

  The click of a key turning in a lock had them both turning toward the door, effectively tabling any further conversation—strategic or otherwise.

  Wagoner swung the door open and a young woman walked inside carrying a covered tray and what looked like a folded charcoal blanket under her arm. She was dressed in the standard uniform—long dark skirt, dark button-down blouse, and prairie bonnet. Without a word, she walked over to the table and set down the tray.

  “General Lawson wishes for you to enjoy your dinner,” she said without raising her head.

  “For you.” She shoved the blanket in Eva’s hands.

  Before Eva could thank her, she quickly crossed the room and hurried back out the door, which Wagoner locked again.

  “Complimentary bedding?” Mike asked.

  Eva unfolded the blanket… which turned out not to be a blanket. “I should be so lucky.”

  • • •

  “Do not say a word,” Eva muttered as the cabin door was locked behind them yet again, shutting out a twilight sky that fast faded to dark.

  An armed escort had just walked them back from the showers. She wore the getup that had been delivered with their dinner. And since her voice was filled with a healthy dose of pissed, Mike thought it best that he not laugh.

  He’d been wrong about something, though. The long, dowdy skirt and matching navy blue blouse did manage to drab her down. But then, drab was a relative term when it came to Eva.

  He tucked the bug detector back into his duffel after doing another sweep in case Lawson had gotten crafty and installed something while they used the showers. He hadn’t.

  “You saying you don’t want to know how you look?”