by P A Duncan
A little before one, she checked her watch, cleared the table, and headed for the restrooms. He managed to stop himself from hanging around the women’s room exit, but he stayed where he could see her emerge.
Instead of the exhibit area again, she headed for the rooms where the various programs were scheduled, and his heart leapt with joy when she entered the room for the program he’d planned to attend: “What Really Happened at Killeen.”
The room was filling fast, and she was slowly moving up the center aisle, looking around as she did. A third of the way up the aisle, she took an end seat, and he took one a half-dozen rows directly behind her, hoping she’d turn around and see him.
Lust almost overtook him again, but the warrior in him reminded him to wait for his moment.
Mai Fisher fidgeted in her seat, waiting for this nonsense to start. And the prickling between her shoulder blades wouldn’t stop.
This was an easy place to think someone followed you. All she’d spotted was a swatch of camo, the back of a neck, but that could be any swinging dick in this place.
As people walked past her to take their seats, she checked every face and occasionally stole glimpses behind her. Frankly, they all looked alike in their fake military garb, with their brush-cut hair, and their thousand-mile stares.
To a loud and long round of applause, the host for this session came onto the stage.
Mai tuned him out as he hawked his video purporting to tell the “hidden truth” about Killeen. She tried to study every man within sight as the host yammered on, spinning conspiracy after conspiracy, the screen behind him showing doctored footage of the FBI’s raid.
Not that she disagreed with some of his conclusions about FBI screw-ups. However, she preferred facts over bad fiction.
The rest of the audience sat quiet and rapt, and if she turned around a lot to check the room, they’d wonder what she was up to. She should have taken a seat in the back row.
Damn, why wasn’t John Carroll here?
This was the one place she was sure he’d be, but this was the first of several slots for this presentation. If he wasn’t at this one, he might be at a later one.
Bloody hell, that would mean sitting through this drivel again and keeping herself from standing up and denouncing the so-called expert as a fraud.
To keep from paying attention to the droning host, she thought about some tidbits Analysis had dredged up on Carroll: letters to the editor of his hometown paper and correspondence with his Congressional representatives. He’d complained about crime, politicians’ salaries, intrusive gun and controlled substance laws, of taking away a woman’s right to protect herself, and the abuse of animals in slaughterhouses.
Analysis had concluded his anti-regulatory topics made him a libertarian more than a conservative.
“Ah, more Lyndon Laroush than John Birch,” Alexei had said.
The two names sent her to the computer for more research.
“The FBI shed innocent blood!” the host screamed, and the audience burst into loud denunciations of the agency.
Blood.
One of Carroll’s letters to the editor had mentioned wondering if “blood in the streets will be necessary before the government wakes up to how much it oppresses an average citizen every day.”
Blood in the streets.
Mai suppressed a sigh. She’d grown as tried as Alexei of the sameness of these gun shows, of the people who were either ignorant or pretended to be, who saw conspiracies in every bleeding thing. The gun shows were too much like the world she worked in, though taken to the extreme.
Enough, she thought, I won’t last an hour here. She pulled some napkins she’d saved from lunch and pretended to dab her eyes. Still dabbing, she rose from her seat and headed for the exit.
Outside, she paused for a moment, feigning composing herself in case anyone watched.
“Excuse me, ma’am, are you all right?”
Someone had followed her out. Great. She did not need to fend off some MW Lothario.
Mindful to use the Belfast accent, she said, “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Can I get you some water or something?”
Mai turned…
…And looked into the face of John Thomas Carroll.
He said, “That was hard to take, I know. I saw you leave, and you looked upset.”
He’d been inside? Bloody hell. No time now for recriminations. You didn’t do overt surveillance in a room full of paranoiacs.
“It was trying on the nerves,” she said.
Mai took in everything about him she could see, turned every inflection of his voice over in her head. Gone was the vacant stare she’d seen at Killeen. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, darker than Alexei’s, and expressive. He had a slight overbite and a small misalignment of his nose. He was thinner yet again from her sight of him at the trailer park. He sported a fresh, military brush cut.
“It gave me a flashback, to things at home. With the Brits,” she added.
“I thought you sounded Irish.”
Now, that was a nice smile, and the subsequent frown was one of concern, something that seemed misplaced for a reactionary.
“Are you sure I can’t get you some water? A place to sit down maybe?”
His eyes went everywhere except to connect with hers, and they settled on her chest.
“No, really, it’s fine I am. Thank you, though.” She smiled at him, and Carroll blushed.
“Uh, what, um, brings you to the U.S.?” he asked.
“Lying low,” she said. She nodded toward the exhibit hall. “Maybe score some help for the cause.”
He frowned again as he nodded. He might not know what cause she meant.
Carroll looked at the poster beside the door to the meeting room they’d left, and he blushed again.
“I, uh, I was there.”
“At Killeen? Jesus Wept, lad, what a thing to see.”
“I, uh, I wasn’t there at the end. A couple of weeks before.”
Not embellishing his presence there displayed an honesty Mai hadn’t expected.
“It was important the folks at Calvary Locus knew people outside supported them,” he said, a glint of anger in his eyes. “I mean, I didn’t think much of Isaac Caleb’s view on religion and what they said he did to young girls, but the whole thing… The FBI charged in like an army. I saw bad sh…stuff in the Gulf, but this was happening in my own country.”
Mai put some steel in her tone. “Where I’m from, I lived with that almost every day of my life.”
“Our police trample on the Constitution whenever it suits them,” he continued. “The government takes away more rights every day.”
“I can relate to that, but someday we’ll do something to make the Brits take notice. You wait and see.”
“Like what?”
Glad she’d been thinking about his correspondence, she replied, “Well, now, I’ve found blood in the streets to be effective.”
His pupils dilated, and she heard a sharp intake of breath. Good on me, she thought, thinking on me feet.
“I’m… I’m afraid that’s going to happen here. I mean, I hope not, but…” He shrugged. He stayed quiet, and she kept eye contact. He looked away, and she took in more of his appearance: the sharp creases in his jeans, the BDU jacket so crisp it must have been new. His face flushed again. She hadn’t counted on his being shy.
“You’re in the army, then,” she said.
His eyes came back to hers, narrowing as he frowned.
“You mentioned the Gulf War.”
“Oh, yeah,” he replied, the smile returning. “Not anymore. I, uh, I deal military surplus at gun shows.”
“Are you an exhibitor here?”
Another blush.
“No, no. My stuff isn’t good enough for this show. I was, I was in the area and wanted to see the program about Killeen, see if I could find some folks who feel like me about what happened.” He grinned and added, “You know, find some mercenaries who are tired of ta
lk and want to take action.”
Jesus Wept, she thought, it can’t be this easy. “And did you?” she asked.
Carroll sobered and shook his head. “Nope. Everybody gets angry about it, but no one wants to do anything.”
“At least you can talk about it. In my country, if we complain about government oppression, it’s treason.”
“The time for talk might be over, but, I don’t know… I’ll wait and see.”
He was not what she’d expected. As much as she wanted to draw him out more, the contact had gone on long enough. More questions might bring out the paranoia.
“Well, then,” she said, “I need to be going. Some people to talk business with.”
He smiled. “Scoring some help for the cause?”
Mai smiled back. “You never know. Nice meeting you…?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Jay. Jay Jenkins.”
She noted the alias. “Jay, I’m Siobhan Dochartaigh.” She held out her hand for a shake. His was firm, but the contact was fleeting.
“That’s a cool name. Can you say it again?”
“Siobhan.”
“Shee-vohn,” he repeated. “That’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, lad.” He didn’t move and continued to stare at her. “Well, I do have to be going. See you around, lad.” She turned to go.
“Will I?”
Mai turned back.
“See you around, I mean,” he said.
“I’ve been making the rounds of gun shows. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again somewhere.” She gave him the same all-over appraisal he’d given her and let him see her appreciation. “At least, I hope we do. Take care, then.”
Mai walked away.
A slow smile crossed her lips. A good, noncommittal first contact. By the book and not suspicious. Distinctive enough he might remember her but short enough he might not.
No. Given the way he’d looked at her, he’d remember.
In the meantime, she’d stay out of sight, follow him this time, put a tracer on his car. After that, maybe she could convince her practical Russian husband a few hours of gambling might be fun.
48
Words into Deeds
Carroll’s body reacted again as she walked away. Siobhan. He remembered his mother had liked a soap opera with a character by that name. Well, he wouldn’t let that put him off.
Siobhan had flirted with him, was still flirting given the swing of her hips. She had to know he’d watch. He ran some pick-up lines through his head, seeking the right one. She was older than he, and that meant more experience. The line would have to be a good one, a sure one.
Maybe he should follow her again, let her spot him, let things happen. He didn’t mistake she was interested.
“She was good-looking, wasn’t she?” came a voice from behind him, deep, authoritative.
Carroll felt caught, like the time his father came home early from work and almost found him with a girl in his bed. He turned toward the speaker.
The man emerged from a shadow in the narrow hallway, like some movie special effect, and Carroll blinked. Damn, he should have checked for people listening. The guy was five-eleven or so but seemed taller. He’d dressed for the convention: crisp, woodland cammies, high-polish combat boots, but no name stencil, no unit badges.
Active duty but de-identified for the convention? But that was against regs, wasn’t it?
The man’s head was shaved so close, his hair was a five o’clock shadow. Maybe early thirties. Hazel eyes so intense Carroll thought they might be colored contact lenses. Carroll brought to mind all the wannabes he’d spotted here, and this guy wasn’t one of them.
“Yes, sir, she is,” Carroll said. “I’m sorry, sir. Is she with you?”
The man laughed and crossed his arms over a sculpted chest. “No, you definitely saw her first. I have little time for chasing women, damn it.” He smiled, as if they were Army buddies, assessing the women in a bar. He walked closer. “I’ve seen you around at gun shows. You’ve got an ax to grind about Killeen.”
What the fuck did that mean? “Yeah? So? It’s a free country.”
“Easy. You’re not the only one.”
“You don’t mean the people here or on the gun show circuit?” Carroll’s snort was contemptuous. “All talk and no action.”
“I agree. I’m an action man, myself. In fact, I’m looking for people who are tired of the talk. Talk only gets you so far. It’s time to do things to make the bastards stand up and take notice.”
Carroll shrugged, uncertainty and suspicion about informers for the feds couching his words in caution. “I’ve written letters—”
The man’s face twisted in disgust. “You think letters are what I’m talking about?”
“No, dude, I’m being careful. The FBI and ATF are probably all over this place. I’m not interested in getting entrapped.”
“Caution. I like that. I assure you, I’m not an agent of a corrupt and godless government.” He extended his hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”
Caution won out again. “Jay Jenkins.” He shook the other man’s hand. The grip was as strong as the thick neck implied, and Carroll struggled not to wince.
“You serve in the Gulf?”
“Yes, sir,” Carroll replied.
“Me, too. It left me a bit unsatisfied, but such is the nature of politics today. Now, Jay, I could say, ‘nice to have met you,’ turn around, and let you go chase some pussy, but I think you’re a man who understands duty.”
“Duty?”
“I’d like to talk to you about a place where I’m going to turn words into deeds and make those evil bastards pay for what they did to Calvary Locus, for what they’re doing to our Bill of Rights. I need soldiers, Jay, ones who’ve seen combat. You and I, we understand what it means to fight for freedom, for a cause, the right cause. For a purpose.”
John Carroll had had no purpose since leaving the Army. Aimless, he’d heard his father say a few weeks back. He needed something to make his life promising again, as it had been when his Bradley had rolled across the desert to take on an enemy he didn’t have to see to kill.
For months he’d wanted to do the right thing about Killeen but had found disappointment time and again. His father didn’t want to hear it, his sister was too young to understand it, and Lamar couldn’t see through his meth haze long enough to be reliable.
Was this guy for real?
“That sounds, uh, interesting,” Carroll said, hoping to appear casual even as his heart raced with hope. “You, uh, want to grab a beer and talk about it?”
“Booze and drugs take away a soldier’s edge, and we are at war here. Make no mistake. A war against those who’d take our freedom and make us give up the means to protect those freedoms. War, Jay. You remember that?”
Quite often, in his nightmares. “I didn’t mean to offend, sir.”
“No offense taken. I’m having a meeting with some other like-minded men in my hospitality suite, Room 1134 at the hotel next door. Eighteen hundred. If you’re interested. This meeting is exclusive. Don’t invite anyone else. The only way you can get in is by using my name.”
Shit, Carroll thought, what did he say his name was? No, Carroll had given his quickly, easily, and this guy hadn’t.
“Elijah,” the man said. “See you soon.”
Elijah about-faced and marched away.
Had he found someone who might share his anger? He felt something elusive flood his core. Optimism. And he felt lucky.
Siobhan Dochartaigh was probably long gone, and he’d already planned to leave the west behind. He was headed to Wisconsin to help Jerry, who’d fallen out with his brother and rented his own farm. Jerry needed help to shut it down for the winter.
But he wanted to hear what this guy Elijah had to say.
Jerry would understand if he were a day or so late, especially if it had to do with Killeen. Jerry, after all, had opened Carroll’s eyes to government tyranny.
Carroll sifted through his pocke
ts for a scrap of paper, found one, and made a note he slipped in his wallet.
Things looked up after all. He needed to take advantage of feeling so good. Poker would pass the time until six.
Elijah entered his suite and found it darkened to allow his mentor to observe a series of monitors stacked on a table. The head of security for the convention center was a supporter and had not hesitated to run a feed from selected security cameras to this suite.
Elijah walked up to the man who’d shown him his true purpose, who’d brought him out of the pit of homelessness and heroin he’d wallowed in since the Iraqis had taken him prisoner during Desert Storm.
He put his hand on the older man’s shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze.
“Did he follow the woman?” Elijah asked.
“Nein, but he did go to the poker tables in the casino. High stakes.”
“That vice doesn’t present a problem. If he loses, we can use that to our advantage. I haven’t put time and effort into identifying him as a potential candidate to have him fuck it away in a gun show whore.”
“Women who don’t know their place can distract men from what is important.”
“My women know their place,” Elijah said, “or the cunts die.”
“He has continued to order tapes and pamphlets in such quantities he must be distributing them.”
“Good. Every bit helps. Let’s give him a discount next time, especially if he shows up tonight.”
“I have completed my profile of him. You must read it carefully and understand how you can manipulate him, what… How do they say? What buttons to push. You will see, as I do, he is the perfect recruit. Everywhere he turns, life is against him.”
“Ripe for the picking. I had a good feeling about him as I watched him at gun shows, but let’s see how he handles his introduction to Patriot City.”
“We cannot seem too aggressive. He must come to us of his own free will, or at least he must think that. Several months, a year even. We have the time. And if he doesn’t accept the destiny we want him to fulfill, he may fall victim to a fatal, armed robbery. Let us hope that is not the case, and I think we start our work on him after tonight’s meeting. If he comes.” The man’s pale eyes looked up at Elijah. “You can do what needs to be done, ja?”
