End Times

by P A Duncan

  Once he was on his feet, Alexei said, “Officer, if this is about the gun, I apologize for neglecting to give you my permits.”

  “You wish that’s what this was about, comrade.”

  “His rights,” an older trooper said. “Miranda him now.”

  “You have the right—”

  “I waive them,” Alexei said, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “What’s the issue?”

  “A little matter of that outstanding warrant for drug trafficking. Walk.”

  The troopers deposited him in the back seat of one of the cars, and he watched as they searched his car. Alexei took a deep breath and relaxed. Once they ran his fingerprints, they’d release him. That, however, would take some time. His regret was the salmon, which would go bad before this got worked out.

  And something else reeked, something more insidious than spoiling fish.

  29

  Unavoidably Detained

  When a single trooper brought him from the holding cell without cuffing him, Alexei knew Nelson had resolved the problem.

  The trooper in charge of the sub-station apologized when he returned Alexei’s belongings, including his gun.

  “The guy who stopped you was a rookie, first unsupervised patrol. He made a rookie mistake,” the trooper said.

  “It happens,” Alexei said, pulling on the shoulder holster and putting his gun away.

  “I, uh, saw that’s an H&K, but I’m not familiar with the model.”

  “The USP, only available since January. Would you mind running my license plate and let me see what made him suspicious?”

  “He probably entered your plate number wrong, but let’s have a look.”

  They both stared at the result: a warrant for his arrest, with the notation he was “armed and extremely dangerous.”

  Well, of course, Alexei thought, but what the hell is going on?

  The trooper’s smile was nervous. “Ha, maybe I, uh, shouldn’t have given you back your weapon.”

  “The FBI cleared me, I assume?”

  “Uh, yeah. U.N. weapons inspector and all your gun permits are in order.”

  “There’s a mistake somewhere in the system,” Alexei said. He reached, slowly, for his wallet and took out a business card. “If you call this number, we can straighten this out. I don’t want to be back out on the road with that warrant hanging over my head.”

  The trooper took the card and read it. “The attorney general? Of the United States?”

  “Always start at the top.”

  Sheryl Vejar answered her private line and listened to Alexei’s explanation. She put him and the trooper on hold while she contacted the head of the DEA. In twenty minutes she returned.

  “Are we speaking privately?” she asked.

  Alexei took the phone off speaker and put the receiver to his ear. “We are now.”

  “The warrant’s withdrawn. Fitzgerald did this. Filed an affidavit with a buddy of his at DEA. Would you like to file a complaint?”

  Not at all what he wanted to do, but he considered. “No,” he said, “but I want him to know I had the chance and refused.”

  “Yes, in your line of work, having people beholden to you is better than money. Mr. Bukharin, you have my assurances this will not happen again.”

  Alexei’s relief turned to dismay when he and the supervisory trooper discovered the state police drug team, in their zeal, had started to dismantle the Jag.

  “I’m very sorry, really very sorry,” the trooper said.

  “We have to get a Jaguar technician here. Now.”

  “Oh, we’ll tow it free of charge to your mechanic first thing in the morning.”

  Alexei sighed. “Officer, if you do that, I’ll have to call my wife for a ride, and, believe me, you do not want her here with the knowledge I was falsely arrested. She also carries a gun.”

  The trooper rubbed his brush-cut and said, “I guess it pays to keep the weapons inspecting in the family. What’s the number of your Jag technician?”

  A few minutes shy of midnight, Alexei parked his reassembled car in its spot in the garage. Most men who came home late without the promised dinner and having been out of touch for hours probably had a seamier excuse. His reluctance to explain his tardiness was no less. He’d used his one phone call to contact Nelson, who was far more forgiving than Mai would be.

  The wine had survived, and he hoped that would make some amends.

  When he entered from the garage, Mai emerged from their office, her face clouded. Well, she’d give into his charm. Eventually.

  “Hi, honey, I’m home. Tough day at the office,” he said.

  “Funny that, since the office is right here.”

  “I had some car trouble.”

  “So Nelson said, and with your mobile, too, as well as every communications device between here and wherever you were, which were programmed to call Nelson and not here.”

  “That, too.”

  “I need to show you something,” she said and re-entered the office.

  He delayed long enough to uncork the wine and grab two glasses before he followed her.

  After he shut the door to the office, she said, “I’m fucking furious.”

  He smiled. “I have an ironclad explanation and some excellent wine.”

  “I’m not furious with you. Not yet. At this.”

  She nodded toward her computer, and Alexei put the wine and glasses on her desk to study the monitor.

  Surveillance photos. He checked the information stamp in the lower right corner of each photo and smiled. Olga had used some Directorate tech. He scrolled through the shots, which focused on a couple in their thirties.

  “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “Two FBI agents who trailed Olga and Natalia at the mall after they leap-frogged surveillance in cars, surveillance which started at the middle school. They have pictures. Of Natalia.”

  He regretted he’d let Fitzgerald off the hook.

  “These, these…” Mai sputtered, uncharacteristic in the lack of a decent insult. “…assholes followed Natalia, were outside her school. They took pictures of her, and you were fucking off somewhere.”

  He caught the inflection and ignored it.

  “I said I could explain.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Nelson didn’t tell you?”

  “All he said was you were unavoidably detained, and a convenient crisis arose as I was about to ask pointed questions.”

  “I was being held by the Virginia State Police.”

  “What?”

  “Cuffed, stuffed in a squad car, finger-printed, and had only one phone call since I waived my rights.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I did nothing; however, there was the matter of a warrant for my arrest on drug trafficking charges. It took a couple of hours and Attorney General Vejar to straighten it out.”

  She almost kept her face impassive but gave in and snickered. His wounded look cut her short.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Cuffed?”

  “And made to lie face down on the ground in one of my best suits. The exonerating information didn’t come through in time to stop the police from taking the car apart to find drugs. I’ve been at the dealer, getting it put back together, at considerable expense, I might add.”

  “And the Jag dealer didn’t have a working phone, either?”

  “I thought the personal, face-to-face explanation would be the better approach.” He smiled again and stepped closer.

  She backed away.

  “There’s more,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  “Dinner spoiled in the trunk of the car.”

  “Well, that’s a shooting offense.” She smiled at him. “How many did it take to put you down?”

  “I didn’t resist. Three.”

  “Only three? Alexei, are you getting old?”

  “Not too old to make up for dinner. As you can see, the wine survived.”

  “Forgiven
ess may be in the air. In a moment. What do we do about this?” She pointed to the pictures.

  “I’ll get Nelson to work on gun permits for Olga.”

  “That will make her the happiest ex-KGB agent on earth.”

  “We document any further surveillance, with particular attention to the house, and we discuss this at the government’s debrief.”

  Less action than either of them wanted, but it had to do for now.

  Mai approached him, slipping her arms around his waist to draw him close. “Poor Alexei. Were they rough?”

  He smiled and put his hands to good use. “Not nearly enough.”

  30

  Damning Conclusions

  Department of Justice

  Washington, D.C.

  The security escort deposited Mai and Alexei at the door to Attorney General Sheryl Vejar’s conference room. Alexei opened the door and led the way. Vejar greeted them each with a handshake, transmitting a slight tremor. Mai took in the deeper lines in Vejar’s face, the dark smudges around her eyes. The events at Killeen had taken their toll.

  “Ms. Fisher, Mr. Bukharin,” Vejar said. “Thank you for coming. Take a seat. You asked this to be compartmentalized, so I’ve limited this to FBI Director Allan Steedley…”

  He looked up, gave a head bob, and returned to his reading.

  “ATF Director Noel Stark…”

  Stark stood and reached across the table to shake hands.

  “And of course you know Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  Fitzgerald’s lounging posture in the chair next to Steedley’s bespoke his attitude.

  “Where are the rest of the FBI senior staff at Killeen,” Mai said, “Agents Taunton, Knerr, and Petilli?”

  “On assignment,” Steedley said, still not looking up.

  “How distressing,” Mai said, noting Fitzgerald’s smirk. “My impression was they were significant players.” She looked at Fitzgerald. “Or could have been.”

  “You said compartmentalized,” Steedley said, looking up at last. “I didn’t see the need to pull them off their current assignments.”

  Mai and Alexei waited for Vejar to take her seat at the head of the conference table and sat down.

  “I’ve already communicated with Mr. Nelson, thanking him for the quick response and your availability,” Vejar said. “Now, let me thank you for the debrief report you provided ahead of time for our review and your willingness to answer our questions.” She looked at Steedley and Stark. “Gentlemen?”

  Steedley said, “I assume you two wrote this?”

  “We supplied a draft, which our analysts reviewed. They amplified certain areas, provided the footnotes and their attributions, and removed any personal biases,” Alexei replied. “Our director reviewed and approved it before submitting to the attorney general.”

  “I find some of the conclusions, well, extraordinary,” Steedley said.

  “Specify, please,” Alexei said.

  “For one, the conclusion this incident will become a rallying point for the right-wing militias. Isaac Caleb had no connection with any militia or right-wing groups. In fact, his followers were a bit too, shall we say, diverse, for the likes of those groups.”

  “The point is, regardless of Caleb’s lack of affiliation, the militias and other right-wing groups will take the government’s actions against Calvary Locus as their cause because it involved guns,” Mai said.

  Stark shook his head and said, “Look, they were buying assault rifles, a lot of assault rifles. That’s not something the ATF could overlook.”

  “They had a federal license to do that,” Mai replied, “but that’s not the issue. What the militias will take personally is that the government went after Caleb because of his guns.”

  Alexei added, “The idea of armed, U.S. law enforcement officers invading a private home to confiscate guns is something these groups fear. They’ve preached against it, worried about it, prepared for it.”

  Steedley waved a dismissive hand. “Those people are so way out there; they’re off the radar.”

  “For the most part, yes. Until Killeen,” Alexei said. “What happened there showed them their ideas weren’t delusions. In fact, it now appears to the average American these dire predictions are possible.”

  “So?” Stark asked.

  Where he’d clasped them atop the table, Alexei’s hands tightened, and Mai rested her calf against his. “So, the mainstream is flocking to militia meetings in unprecedented numbers,” Alexei said.

  “What’s of greater concern,” Mai said, “is the fact the various leaders of these groups now meet to plan strategy.”

  Steedley gave a bark of laughter. “No, no way. Most of those guys don’t even speak to each other. That’s why we don’t consider them particularly dangerous. They argue too much among themselves to be a serious threat.”

  “That’s a naïve attitude,” Alexei said. “A common cause can be unifying.”

  Fitzgerald’s eye roll was exaggerated.

  “You can’t afford to be taken by surprise,” Mai said. “As we’ve outlined in our report, this new cooperative attitude among these groups poses a threat.”

  Stark said, “What I think is more of a threat is that report. It reads like an indictment of the government.”

  “Allow me to reiterate,” Mai said, “our analysts reviewed and verified this report. To assure we haven’t injected personal opinion, they research our conclusions and remove the unsupported data. Once we hand it over to them, it’s out of our hands. We didn’t blame the government, per se. We concluded the blame rests with the decision-making of a few, based on incomplete information provided by a single individual.”

  Fitzgerald jerked upright in his chair, and Steedley held a hand up to silence him. “That individual is right here,” Steedley said.

  “I’m aware,” Mai said, “and you have to be aware of a pattern of vengeful behavior on his part. Since he is here, let’s hear his opinion. As I recall, he’s quite eager to express himself.”

  “So are you,” Fitzgerald said.

  Vejar said, “This meeting will be conducted professionally. Am I clear?”

  Fitzgerald glowered at her and sat back in his chair.

  “Of course,” Mai murmured.

  “Begging your pardon, Madame Attorney General,” said Stark, “regardless of how the blame is allocated, we can’t allow these conclusions to get out. It would be tantamount to an admission we made mistakes, particularly about the search warrant, which the report damnably points out. We could face dozens of lawsuits on that alone.”

  “Not to mention the lies told to the attorney general about CS gas and its harmful effects,” Alexei said.

  Steedley had the decency to blush, at least.

  “In the interest of time,” Alexei continued, “I’ll sum up the critical points, on the record, and I will add some personal observations. The most sacred rights in the minds of the public are the constitutional guarantees on freedom of religion, the right to keep and bear arms, and the right to be secure in their homes and free from unreasonable search and seizure.”

  “I think we know what the First, Second, and Fourth Amendments are, Mr. Bukharin,” Steedley said.

  “Mr. Bukharin has the floor, Director,” Vejar said. “Please limit your remarks to questions. Go ahead, Mr. Bukharin.”

  “After Killeen, the long and contentious debate over the Second Amendment won’t ease. It will likely intensify. We understand the framers of the Constitution wanted to be able to raise a fully armed fighting force, given their distrust of standing armies.”

  “Understandable after what they’d gone through to earn their independence,” Steedley said. “You’ll find some of us are students of our history.”

  “Director,” Vejar said, “again, allow Mr. Bukharin to make his point.”

  Alexei pinned Steedley with a stare. “Some historians believe the Second Amendment also guarantees the right of the people to overthrow a tyrannical government. It’s called the insurrectio
nist theory, and many in the right-wing patriot movement adhere to this interpretation.”

  Stark shook his head again. “For me, it keeps coming back to the fact Isaac Caleb illegally converted to automatic fire firearms controlled by the National Firearms Act of 1934.”

  “Perhaps, but the force with which you addressed that made it appear he was the only one in the country to do so. The reality, as I’m sure you’re aware, is much different. Since we became involved, we’ve sent people to some gun dealers and gun shows to test how well they follow the law. Director Stark, if your agents were to do the same, they’d find illegal transactions as serious, maybe more serious than Caleb’s alleged offenses.”

  Stark twitched in his chair. “Well, we do that, of course, Mr. Bukharin.”

  “Yet, the prosecution rate on those transgressions is low, as is rescinding federal licenses, both of which take far less time and fewer resources than the raid on Calvary Locus. Your indulgence in a multi-million dollar show raid ultimately led to the death of more than eighty people. Again, why Isaac Caleb?”

  “I’ve already—”

  “Director Stark, according to your own agency’s matrix of priorities for prosecution, Caleb had a low score. No drugs involved, he wasn’t a career criminal, no priors—”

  “No, wait,” said Steedley. “Assault and paramilitary activities.”

  “Acquitted.” Alexei returned to Stark. “Finally, he wasn’t using the firearms that concerned you to commit crimes or acts of terrorism.”

  “Yet,” said Fitzgerald. “We stopped the bastard before he had the chance.”

  The smile Alexei gave Fitzgerald didn’t echo in his eyes. “I’m willing to concede that. However, Caleb had accumulated his arsenal over a number of years, not all at once as implied in your press briefings. He did what most every gun dealer is doing: inflating his inventory before an anticipated assault weapons ban. Caleb did nothing more with his guns than store and fire them on private property, like most Texans. You chose to move on a man never before in much trouble with the law, virtually ignored by his neighbors, the head of a religious group that shunned drugs and other questionable behavior.”