Blood Appeal

by Lyle O'Connor

  Sixteen or seventeen years of age, he appeared to be the boss, or at least for the moment. “You the man in charge?” I asked.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The shack was nothing more than an old log cabin piecemealed together with plywood. It had all the earmarks of a one-room warehouse that had been renovated a long time ago. The insides matched the outsides, dingy and dirty. Stacks of auto parts helped form aisles and dismal lighting hung over the showroom heaps. Shadows stretched into the corridors that harbored an accumulation of dust.

  “I’m a visitor to your state and I’m looking to add a couple license plates to my collection. I hang them on the walls of my private bar. They always make for a lot of conversation among my friends.”

  “You looking for some real old ones ‘cause I got some.”

  “What I’d like are current plates.” I tossed out a laugh. “That way I can remember what year I came to Alaska.”

  The boy said, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” He walked behind the counter that doubled as the stockroom and disappeared. Occasional clunks and clatter emanated from the backroom which assured me the kid was still digging. I passed the time by redistributing piles of dust in a bin filled with vintage tools that had caught my eye. The percussion of metallic jangling on the counter broke the spell of the old tools. I made my way back to the front.

  Brushing my hands off on my pants I approached the counter and asked, “What are they running?”

  The boy hemmed and hawed for a moment. “We don’t get a lot of call for these, how would ten dollars each sound to you?”

  I looked the stock over, paired up two sets, one of which had tags that were current. “How’s fifty bucks sound for both pairs?”

  The kid snapped up on it, “Yes Sir.” He bagged the plates, handed them across the counter. With an exchange of thanks we parted. Anna and I were back on track.

  Our prearranged meeting with Kuhl was scheduled for the following morning. If we hadn’t heard from him before then, and he was a no-show for the meeting, our operation would take on a defensive posture.

  We arrived back at our RV late in the evening. First order of business was to change license plates on the Avenger. Physically, I was getting around pretty good by now. The pain had ceased to rule my activities, although I was still careful with my ribs. I could sufficiently chew food with my teeth solidly attached. Even the rainbow coloration of bruising that had covered most of my head and neck had faded into a light brown. The only issue that persisted was the tinnitus. Since I hadn’t noticed any notable change in the ringing sensation, I assumed there was permanent damage.

  Anna and I turned in for the night. She had given me the bedroom at the rear of the RV while she’d taken the loft over the cab. Vaguely cognizant of the overhead cabins light dimming, I closed my eyes and waited. In time, sleep would overtake my thoughts. In Alaska, during the waning days of July, nights tend to be dusk rather than dark for the few hours the sun rested on the horizon. Consequently, Anna had placed aluminum foil over the windows to guard against a too early sunrise. Still, whispers of light crisscrossed the cabin of the motorhome. Particularly vulnerable to the light was the loft Anna had chosen for her bed.

  A fresh rose fragrance wafted in the air and awakened my senses as I felt Anna’s hair brush against my face. She whispered, “Walter. Are you asleep?”

  “Yeah, what’s wrong?”

  “I thought you might like to work on your chances?”

  I assumed the question was rhetorical, but she came to the right place for the answer. Without another word I took her into my arms. She slipped the bedcover aside and as our bodies touched, we entwined. Her soft, wet lips parted on contact with mine as she sought my tongue with hers. My hands roamed up her bare back heightening our senses. The rhythm of my heart picked up until it thundered against my chest and I could feel her heart pounding in sync with mine. Anna was a woman who liked to be in the driver’s seat, traveling hard and fast with her hands firmly on the controls. My mind slipped into blissful oblivion as my body buckled up for a wild ride.

  At seven in the morning, I awakened to Anna’s eye-twinkling smile followed by a nudge to my rib cage.

  “Hey girl, take it easy on the ribs, will ya.”

  Any expectation of sympathy was short-lived. “You’re fine. You didn’t complain about your ribs hurting last night.”

  I muttered under my breath, “That might be the reason they’re sore today.”

  Anna held me in a close embrace, her lips nearly touching mine. She whispered softly, “It’s time to get up and get going.”

  “Sweetie, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you get up and make us…” Kissed into silence, my lips moved to her neck, then under her earlobe, seducing her to my powers. How could any woman resist such passion?

  Evidently, it was easy. Anna abruptly rolled from on top of me and into a sitting position. With an excited, wide-eyed look, she exclaimed, “That’s a magnificent idea, Walter. You can make us breakfast while I’m getting dressed!”

  The enjoyable few minutes had passed too quickly for my liking. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking all right.” It was wasted sarcasm.

  “Come on.” Anna tugged at my arm. “Thomas will be here soon and I would like to be dressed when he gets here.”

  Reluctantly, I nodded. Far be it from me to spoil Anna’s morning plan. Besides, she was right. With any luck, Kuhl would arrive soon. If he didn’t, we had a new ball game to play.

  Having been reared a farm boy I had a different take on breakfast from that of my city-dwelling counterparts. Yogurt and English muffins were for hippies. For three long weeks, yogurt had been the staple of my diet. As long as I’d been tasked to produce breakfast, it was strictly bacon and eggs.

  When Anna finished showering, she opened the tiny bathroom door and leaned out, “Put an English muffin into toast, will you honey.” To show my willingness to compromise with my fellow Palatini, I conceded. Anna finished drying her hair as the aroma of toasted sourdough permeated the RV cabin. Muffins added a touch of class to an otherwise bare bones breakfast entrée of scrambled eggs. Maybe I was trying to impress Anna. I wanted to show her I had some degree of culture and wasn’t a complete Neanderthal. She hadn’t given me a reason to have felt lesser than her in any way, but it was obvious she was better educated and more sophisticated. On the other hand, my caveman qualities might have been what she found attractive.

  Loudly I said, “Grubs on,” as if I was feeding a small army. Pot holders lined the center of the table and were soon covered with skillets of eggs, bacon, and potatoes O’Brien. I opened a jar of Apple Butter and started another set of muffins toasting.

  Anna stopped at the refrigerator and removed a yogurt before she joined me at the table. I shook my head.

  Four distinct taps with a set of keys alerted us to Kuhl’s presence at our door. Anna answered the knock. Kuhl placed a black canvas bag on the seat opposite from where I sat, turned and gave Anna a big hug. I’d risen to greet him with a handshake, but he took the extra steps to give me a hug too. Assembled on the corner of the table was a stack of paper plates and plastic wear ready for use. I pulled the hot muffins from the toaster, put them on a plate and said, “Don’t be bashful, dig in,” as I handed it to him.

  Kuhl loaded up with plenty of bacon and eggs then drenched a muffin with Apple Butter. I kept the toaster going. Kuhl struggled to swallow and talk at the same time, “How did it go for you guys?”

  “We mapped the residences, but it didn’t go as planned,” Anna said.

  “Did you get our message?” I asked.

  “No.” Kuhl pulled his cell phone out and looked to see if there was a message. “No reception this far out.” He closed the lid on the flip-phone and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “Go ahead.”

  “We mapped Leigh’s place first. No vehicles and no motorhome. We went to Boury’s place next and mapped it. Again, it didn’t appear anyone was home. When we left his house, we pulled out
onto a side street and ran smack dab into Boury and Dixon,” Anna said.

  “I’m sure they got a look at me,” I said. “They tried to follow us through traffic, but Anna lost them. The next day we rented a car and drove to Moose Pass to map out Woolf ’s mobile home. As far as we could tell there wasn’t anyone at his trailer and no vehicles parked near his place.”

  Kuhl nodded and finished his last couple of bites. Ritualistically, Kuhl wiped each finger spotless with a wet towel followed by a paper napkin to dry them. I wondered what was going on in his mind. The element of surprise wasn’t an element to relinquish to our enemies and we’d lost the edge.

  “So, they know you’re here?” He wadded the paper napkin into a ball and tossed it on his plate.

  “My gut tells me they do,” I said. “I’ve never known my instincts to be wrong.”

  “It’s of little matter,” Kuhl said as he pressed the fingertips of his hands together. “Often in Covert Ops, the enemy knew we were coming. They didn’t know when, where, or how but they knew we were gunning for them. They never stopped us, and these guys won’t stop us either.” Kuhl’s demeanor reminded me of a therapist as his fingertips mimicked the pattern of his words. “Keep in mind, they may think you’re here, and Anna too since you had a driver, but they don’t know about me. Surprise is still an element.”

  Kuhl was incredibly cool and confident which brought strength to our conversation. Anna, who’d been sitting forward during the SitRep, leaned back against the seat and appeared relaxed.

  “We have more legwork to do,” Kuhl said. “From my experience in similar situations, it is paramount we follow the information trail wherever it leads. Once we engage, there will be no time for recon. We must be relentless and persist until it’s over.”

  It was my turn to nod. “Last killer standing—wins.”

  “Something like that,” he said.

  I shrugged and said, “I like it. How about you Anna?”

  “What did you find at the training camp, Thomas?”

  “I was able to enter the compound easily. Essentially, they are without security on the compound. They appear to rely extensively on no trespassing and warning signs. I counted a dozen or more posted on everything from trees to buildings. They make it an unfriendly place to wander into. In the way of real security, they have simple bolt locks on the two doors.” Kuhl pulled from his black bag a small folder with drawings inside. “There is a series of mock buildings, some are nothing more than props used for training. It’s very similar to what we used in the military for urban warfare training. Only the training camp is on a miniature scale from military operations.”

  “How large of a place is this?” I asked as I looked over the drawings.

  “The mockup training area is spread out over a fifty-yard circumference. We should try to stay out of it when we bring these guys down. It’s a risky environment because it’s their home turf.”

  Anna and I both nodded while Kuhl continued, “The main building is the meeting hall and it sets separate from the training area. As you can see on the map, it’s the first structure you would encounter from the highway. The driveway length is approximately two-hundred meters long and makes for easy access.”

  “Tell me about inside the compound.”

  “The amenities are pretty straightforward. The power plant is a small generator outside the back door. The latrine is a double wide outhouse located twenty yards from the rear corner of the building. No well or potable water supply. A singular propane furnace in the larger room probably takes the chill out of the air in the winter months, but that’s about all. Most importantly, a one-hundred-gallon propane tank is attached to the building on the driveway side.”

  “Why is that significant?” Anna asked.

  “You don’t want to be anywhere near it when it blows. If we get in a shootout, find something else for cover.” Kuhl laughed, “Just fair warning.”

  “The meeting hall is unlike the Dixon Holler compound. It doesn’t have a second level; the design is simple with the one large room connected by a hallway to four smaller rooms. The small rooms look like poorly organized storage facilities for doomsday preppers. It’s a hodgepodge of blankets, medical supplies, water containers and canned foods. The door lock sprung open quickly with the use of a pick set.”

  “There aren’t any alarms in the place?” I asked.

  “What they have are a couple of motion-activated cameras. They weren’t hooked up and I suspect they are intended to intimidate visitors.”

  “What good does that do them?” Anna asked.

  “None,” Kuhl said. “You can tell this is a low budget operation. Everything in the place is old or used.”

  “Did you get completely through the place or do you need more time?” I asked.

  “I had as much time as I needed. Not a single person showed up while I was there.”

  I noticed Kuhl’s smile, so I pointed it out. “Your lip is creeping up the side of your face again. What’s up your sleeve?”

  “We know the Alaska Alliance is a proclaimed pseudo-paramilitary organization operating under the guise of survivalists. That’s the front for their phony operation. Inside the meeting hall is a calendar with two of the weekends blocked out. I believe these are gathering dates for their group. Any legit militia would have muster or drill schedules, but I suspect it’s a ruse of some sort. There is something deceptive going on. I haven’t been able to get a handle on what the scam is, but it’s coming together piece by piece. That’s why we need to follow the information trail. There’s more to what we see than what meets the eye.”

  “I’m not following,” Anna said. “Are you saying the Alliance is not a militia of sorts?”

  “Exactly,” Kuhl said. “On one of the walls inside and again on their calendar is a circular symbol called a Black Sun. The same symbols Dixon had at his compound. I am vaguely familiar with its use in the occult and Nazi Germany.” Kuhl paused to retrieve another folder from his bag.

  Anna was my go-to girl for clues to solve a mystery. With her worldly travel and Internet investigations, I expected her to chime in and expound from her wealth of knowledge about the Black Sun but she didn’t. She was in the dark, too.

  “The symbol on the calendar is small, maybe two inches across but the symbol on the wall is easily three or more feet wide. They intend for it to be noticed. However, it is rarely seen and when it has been discovered, it’s been displayed by social neo-Nazis.”

  “Maybe these guys are a pack of wannabes. You know, Heil Hitler and all that crap,” I said.

  “I don’t see where they’re politically aligned with Nazism,” Kuhl said, “neo-Nazis are, among other prejudices, heavily anti-Semitic and they make no bones about it. We see nothing of the sort at the compound or in their flyers. No propaganda literature, no pictures of Hitler, no swastikas or other paraphernalia. And here’s the thing, if they were for real, we should be seeing other signs of neo-Nazism besides the Black Sun. I think it’s window dressing for another purpose.”

  “With these guys, one of the idiots could have seen a Black Sun symbol, thought it was cool and decided to use it for their logo,” I said.

  “That fits,” Kuhl said. “Everything I’ve seen leads me to believe the Alaskan Alliance is a sham. We already know they’re up to no good, but I’m leaning toward organized crime as the basis for their alliance.”

  “If you think the Black Sun relates to a criminal organization, then we don’t know enough about our enemy,” Anna said.

  Each of us sat quietly for the next few minutes contemplating the possibilities. Then Anna piped up with a suggestion. “Conduct an interview with one of the targets. That should bring clarity to the issue.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “I’ve seen your interview techniques in Thailand. It’s hard for them to talk to you.”

  Anna bowed up. “People talk easily to me!”

  “Not with their throats slit and their tongues hanging out the opening, they don’
t!”

  Anna’s lips pulled back into a smile. “They gave me the information I was after—and quickly.”

  “Yeah, well we’ll never know for sure because you carved them up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

  “Stop whining. You enjoyed flying first class.”

  “Leave the interviews to Kuhl and me.”

  Kuhl’s lip curled up. A sign he had more to tell. “Not much else of value in the building. I exited the main building through a rear door at the end of the single hallway. Outside the rear egress is a four-foot tall mini-octagon arena made from eight wood and wire panels, six-foot-long.”

  “What?” I said in disbelief. “These guys fight?” I thought back and as I recalled, they weren’t skilled fighters at all.

  “Not people. They use it for dogs.”

  Anna immediately moaned in disgust. I shook my head. Over the years, my research of people that abused animals or allowed dogs to fight were frequently the same people who mercilessly hurt innocent people. With spousal abusers and child molesters, there was something depraved in their character that excited them by cruelty, in general.

  “Any animals at the compound?” Anna asked.

  “Yes. Four dogs hooked on chains and in small kennels. They appear malnourished and have combat injuries. They’re not pit bulls or breeds commonly used for dog fighting. My guess, they have been used for training other dogs to be aggressive. I’ve seen it before and I don’t like what I saw,” Kuhl said.

  I nodded, “I grew up on a farm and I killed a lot of animals, but I was never mean to a critter for the sake of being mean. I don’t understand dog fighting at all.”

  “It would be good to get the dogs out of the compound area before we clean house,” Anna said.

  “We could do a grab and go,” I said. “But I think we’re getting the cart before the horse. We came to take care of business first.”

  “I’ll see if I can find an animal rescue organization in Alaska. We could turn the dogs over to them with the understanding of anonymity,” Anna said.