by P A Duncan
Mai looked at him. “Elijah, I mean.”
“We don’t have time for what ifs, Mai. Now, the motels he’ll use will have or be near restaurants.”
Mai shook her head. “Room service, take-out, or fast food.”
“Good point. Lower profile that way. He’ll stay incommunicado, except for an occasional phone call—to his family or you. If not with him, Elijah will stay in touch to give pep talks. If that’s the case, he’s developed a specific itinerary. Carroll will constantly be on the move, mostly alone, watching videos, listening to music, and above all, keeping him going, fueling his energy, deepening his paranoia, meth, probably also supplied by Elijah.”
“Didn’t you say he preached against drugs?”
“That was so he could blame Jews and blacks for corrupting America. He knows meth stokes paranoia.”
Mai turned away again, and Alexei wondered what he’d said wrong. When she faced him, he saw such a play of emotion on her face, he was worried he’d pricked her conscience too deep.
“I pushed him to where he is now,” she murmured. “Letting Elijah beat me was overkill. Carroll couldn’t process it.”
Though he was pleased she could acknowledge her mistake, he made sure he didn’t show it. “Mai, again, too many what ifs.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not saying I’m a total fuck-up for not killing Carroll when I had the chance.”
“Dushenka, I respect your standards. I always have, and I’ve done my best to help you maintain them. I need for you to respect mine. If you can’t turn Carroll and the only way to stop him is a bullet, I’ll do it. I say again, if you’ve got a problem with that, air it now.”
“No problem,” Mai said.
The defiance in her eyes contrasted with the answer, which meant he had to make sure she didn’t undermine him.
“Let’s write the parameters for Analysis’ building search,” she continued. “They can get started while we’re on the road.”
6
On the Road
Port Town, New York
The new Chevy Suburban had arrived in time for the road trip. Mai had specced the after-market additions: bullet-resistant glass all around, puncture-resistant tires, blast-proof armor beneath, and heavy armor for the doors and rear panels. The added weight meant a higher horsepower engine than the standard model, tripling the SUV’s price, almost doubling its weight, and reducing its fuel efficiency to the ridiculous.
Alexei had never seen her happier than when the customizer delivered it.
First stop: John Carroll’s hometown. They met with the operatives who’d watched Thomas Carroll’s house in shifts from an empty dwelling nearby. They spelled the operatives for a few days but saw no evidence of John Carroll. The operatives back in place, they watched Carroll’s sister’s apartment from a vacant office building across the street. Again, no sign of Carroll, but they followed MaryAnn to her job at a local sports bar.
“I’ll go in,” Alexei said. “She’ll recognize you. You go back to the father’s house for a closer look.”
“As in…?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination. Come back in a half-hour. I might have to have a beer to hold off suspicion, of course.”
“In that case, take an hour.”
“You are a good and generous wife,” he said, kissing her.
“Behave,” she said to his back.
After alerting the operatives of her plans, Mai parked a half-mile from the Carroll house and walked. Mid-afternoon wasn’t the best for a B&E, but she knew most people were at work. And she recalled Mr. Carroll didn’t lock his basement door. She hoped he hadn’t changed that habit.
Mai entered the backyard through the cluster of trees ringing it. The carport and driveway were empty. Before she opened the basement door, she called the house on her mobile. No answer. She crossed the lawn as if she belonged, the trees covering her.
Inside the cramped basement, Mai removed her sunglasses to let her eyes adapt. The basement was a storage area for unwanted furniture and boxes labeled “Christmas decorations.” A sofa bed occupied most of one wall. Memories from her visit intruded. Carroll and his sister dancing and lip-synching to songs from Mr. Carroll’s stereo, how Mr. Carroll watched them with obvious love. To eliminate distractions, Mai compartmentalized those memories, something she’d grown so good at she reminded people of Alexei in his heyday.
She assessed the room. The layer of dust on everything told her no one had been down here recently. She checked the carpet to make certain she’d left no footprints and crossed to the basement’s half-bath. No toiletries, no shaving kit, a stale smell. Not used or cleaned for some time.
Her feet silent on the stairs, she climbed to the kitchen. The heater clicked on, the rush of air from a ceiling vent warm on her face. The kitchen was clean, tidy, breakfast dishes in the drainer. One coffee cup, one plate, a single fork and spoon.
Mai went to the bedroom she’d used. As far as she could tell, it was as she’d left it. She checked the closet and dresser anyway. No male clothing. The bathroom across the hall, though smelling fresher, contained female toiletries and makeup, belonging to Mr. Carroll’s girlfriend, no doubt.
In Mr. Carroll’s bedroom, she understood Carroll’s neatness streak. The bed was made; no dirty clothing strewn about. The en suite bath held Mr. Carroll’s toiletries and nothing more. A search of the elder man’s closet and dresser revealed no sign of his son. Mai sat at a small, roll-top desk in the bedroom and searched the papers on the desktop and in the drawers. She found an envelope addressed to Jay’s mailbox in Kingman. An attached Post-It note read, “Mail by April 20.” Likely the annual card Jay mentioned his father sent for his birthday. Thomas Carroll was an organized man. His son’s birthday card was ready three months early.
Among a stack of unpaid bills was a letter from Carroll to his father. No date on the letter and no envelope for her to check a date and a postmark.
“Dad,
“Just a note to let you know I’m good. I’ll be traveling a lot this spring going to gun shows, so I don’t know when I’ll visit. I’ll write when I can, but don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while. Give MaryAnn a kiss for me.
“Jay”
Sounded innocent enough, but she got it. He’d made an excuse to his father why he might be out of pocket for, oh, blowing up a federal building. She lay the letter on the desktop and used her miniature camera to take a picture. She refolded the letter and replaced it.
Mai went through the house again to see if she’d missed anything. She left the way she’d come in, pushing her disappointment down far enough Alexei wouldn’t see it.
7
Of Bars and Ukrainian Convents
The air inside the sports bar was thick with cigarette smoke and pulsed with country music. Alexei looked around until he spotted MaryAnn Carroll chatting with a group of men her father’s age, empty tray balanced on a hip. Alexei thought she was naked, but after his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw she wore a flesh-colored bikini. Thin to the point of boniness, what excess flesh she had centered in her breasts. He remembered Mai saying the young woman wanted to be an elementary school teacher. This job might come back to haunt her.
He went to a table close to where she spoke with the men. He sat down and pushed the ashtray away.
The restaurant was roughly circular, with two tiers and a stage on the lower level. The lights were out on that level, and he could make out no details. He saw MaryAnn Carroll approaching him.
“What’ll you have?” she asked.
Her smile was bright but detached. This might be a way for her to earn money for college. His estimation of her rose a little.
He cleared his voice of an accent and said, “What’s on tap?”
She looked at the posters and neon signs surrounding the bar area and said, with a good deal of sarcasm, “Bud and Bud Light.”
Alexei smiled at her. “I’ll have a Bud.
Do I know you?”
To show him she’d heard that line before, she looked him over, raised an eyebrow, and said, “I doubt that. You want a tab?”
“No thanks.”
She returned with a frosted mug full of a golden liquid and a medium head. She put that and a bowl of peanuts in front of him. “Three fifty,” she said.
Alexei handed her a ten. “Keep the change. I remembered why you’re so familiar.”
She eased a step away from him. “How?”
“Are you MaryAnn Carroll?”
She frowned. “How’d you know that?”
“My son was in the Army with your brother, uh, Jim. No. John.”
“Yeah. He was in the Army until a couple of years ago.”
“He had a picture of you. My son thought you were really pretty, so your brother gave it to him.”
Her smile seemed more genuine this time. “Seriously? Are you from around here?”
“No, passing through. Me and the wife.”
“So, like, where’s your son now?”
“I guess he and your brother lost touch. He’s married.”
“Oh. Too bad. That we never met, I mean.”
“Is your brother around? Maybe I can get an address from him for my son.”
“No, he’s… He’s based out west and travels a lot for his work. You need anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
She walked away.
Alexei drank beer, shelled and ate peanuts, and watched MaryAnn wait on tables. Close to his hour deadline, the spotlights over the stage below came on, revealing not a stage after all but a large, above-ground swimming pool filled with pink goo.
The bar patrons hooted, whistled, shouted obscenities, and stomped their feet. Two women, one of them MaryAnn, walked into the light and began to circle the pool in opposite directions. The men cheered, and the two women blew them kisses. They met, glaring at each other. MaryAnn shoved the other woman, and she pushed back.
The men hooted again, chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
A man off to the side introduced each woman as if this were a boxing match. The other woman, Candy from Albany, sat on the edge of the pool and swung her legs over the side, spreading them wide enough an army could march through. She slid feet-first into what Alexei realized was Jell-O. MaryAnn dived in head-first and emerged, tossing back her long hair with a spray of Jell-O. It dripped from her body and rendered the bikini almost transparent.
And if I ever suspect my granddaughter has had one thought about this, Alexei told himself, she will find herself in a Ukrainian convent.
The two women circled each other in the goo, and Alexei checked his watch. He drained his beer and headed for the door, feeling as if he escaped something distasteful. As the door closed behind him, a loud roar told him the bout had begun.
Mai pulled into the parking lot and saw Alexei waiting outside the bar. The flush on his face bespoke something other than a beer or two.
“Let me guess,” Mai said as he fastened his seat belt. “MaryAnn Carroll is a stripper.”
He smiled at her. “Close. Jell-O wrestler.”
“People watch her wriggle about in Jell-O?”
“She and another woman as buxom and scantily clad wrestle each other in the Jell-O. It’s a sports bar. I assume this is some obscure American sport.” His grin broadened.
“Shielded your eyes, did you?”
“Of course.” He relayed the gist of his brief conversation with Carroll’s sister. “Anything at the house?”
“No trace.”
“Let’s head west. Shall I drive for a while?”
“No, I’m good for a few more hours.”
“We could stop early, find a hotel with a large bathtub…”
“Alexei…”
“After we buy a store out of Jell-O.”
8
Ghosts
Kansas City, Missouri
They alternated driving as they headed west. When he drove, Alexei noticed Mai’s eyes searching vehicles around them. Futile. If Carroll didn’t know tradecraft, Elijah did.
They detoured to Albert Parker’s farm in Wisconsin and observed the place from a tree-covered hill. No sign of Carroll. They left, Mai’s dark mood worsened by a case of the sniffles.
A gun show in Indianapolis, Indiana, was a dead end, too. Mai retreated into a sullen silence. From Indianapolis, they drove through St. Louis, Kansas City, and Topeka, checking out the federal facilities. They stopped near Fort Riley and found no sign of Carroll at the local night spots, gun shops, or a gun show.
A trip to Enid, Oklahoma, revealed Gerald Parker hadn’t returned to the house Mai had visited, and he hadn’t provided the farmer a forwarding address. The barn was empty of the plastic barrels. Mai’s cold had cleared, but her mood stayed down. They back-tracked to Kansas City for another gun show. Though they’d skirted the Ozark Plateau, Alexei found memories of Patriot City flooding back.
Mai settled at the desk in their room at Embassy Suites, exchanging messages with Analysis while searching chat rooms for any hint of Carroll. Restless, Alexei paced the small living area, fighting a losing battle with his latest demons.
“Get it over with,” Mai said, face glued to her laptop’s screen.
“What?”
“Call her. See her. Whatever.”
“Who…? Boizhe moi, Mai, I have no desire to contact Karen Wolfe.”
“Then, what’s bothering you?”
“I’m surprised you have to ask. Patriot City is in my head.”
“I didn’t realize—”
“No. You didn’t.”
Mai stood and shrugged into her coat. “Let’s go,” she said, “and lock the demons away.”
Patriot City
The ATF had secured the compound’s main gate with a chain and padlock and a printed warning forbidding entry. Other bits and pieces of paper had been nailed to the wooden gates: defiant encouragement, prayers for Patriot City to rise again. Mai studied them for familiar handwriting.
Bolt cutters from the Suburban’s tool box made short work of the chain. Mai swung the gates open as Alexei drove through, stopped, and waited for her to re-enter.
“Where to first?” she asked.
“The obstacle course.”
Alexei parked at the end of the street, and they both got out. Mai felt as if she were on a ghost town movie set. Their lined coats kept them warm, but the cold wind made her eyes water. Alexei didn’t seem to feel any of it. He stood, expressionless, his narrowed eyes like ice.
Mai took the first step and headed down the street. Alexei walked beside her and described what had happened here, his monotone voice a whisper carried on the wind. When they reached the other end of the street, he looked at the gray sky, hand reaching for hers. Mai took her glove off, so he could have flesh-to-flesh contact. They walked to the Suburban hand-in-hand, rare for them.
“Meeting hall,” Alexei murmured.
The barn-like meeting hall was empty. Even the folding chairs were gone, removed by Elijah during the bug-out or by the ATF as evidence. Alexei stood on the raised stage, and the chanting that often echoed in his dreams returned. He hadn’t shared much of that with Mai because it was connected to everything that had happened here.
Now, he told her.
Elijah’s hate-filled sermons. Bertrand Boudreaux’s show trial; the common law court to convict the government of its crimes at Killeen. He showed her where John Carroll had sat, front and center.
The afternoon sun had dipped low when they drove to the copse of trees where he’d killed Boudreaux. The ATF had found that body and several others in shallow graves, some of them dead as long as two years. All had matched missing persons reports.
Alexei knelt on one knee in the clearing and dragged his fingers through the leaves. He did something he hadn’t in a long time. He prayed, body angled so Mai couldn’t see him cross himself.
The sky was minutes away from twilight when they reached the main house. Alexei disr
upted the ATF seal on the front door and went to Lewis’ office. The furniture was gone, but he stared at where the body had fallen. He felt Mai close to him.
Alexei said, “He was an old man, but I had to fight with everything I had. I told him whose son I was. It meant nothing to him. That made the killing easier. When the life left him, I felt good.” He looked at her. “Who’s the bigger monster? Him? Elijah? Me?”
“Lewis and Elijah were different aspects of the same monster. You avenged your father’s murder. That’s not monstrous.”
Outside, at the Suburban, Mai said, “One more place.”
When he realized what she meant, he shook his head.
“That demon belongs to both of us. Show me, or I’ll spend the night going through every building here.” She took two large flashlights from the rear of the Suburban. “I saw the row of bungalows. We can walk.”
He caught the flashlight she tossed and switched it on. Mai had already headed down the path he’d walked too many times. He jogged to catch her but quickened his pace to make her keep up. At the door to the bungalow he’d shared with Karen Wolfe, Mai entered first, the beam from her light dancing about inside. Alexei had to force himself to cross the threshold. When he did, he remembered.
The sex had been exciting because it was with a stranger; the exploration, finding out the things a partner would let you do. He regretted it, but the pleasure was immutable. That, Mai could never know.
The lack of furniture made the tiny place seem bigger, but he stayed near the door. Mai walked about, searching for God knew what, since nothing remained. Leaves had blown in through a broken window, and they skittered about as Mai walked among them. The only other sound was his controlled breathing.
Mai pointed her flashlight through the doorway of the only other room in the structure. “Bedroom through there?” she asked.