Firepower

by John Cutter

  Vince laughed softly to himself at that. “The ‘boogaloo’.”

  I could walk away from this, Vince told himself. Best to just get Bobby out, if he can, and walk the hell away from these brainwashed idiots.

  He said it to himself to hear what his conscience would say in reply. He sighed when it responded.

  You know what you have to do, it told him. You have the skills.

  Someone has to do it…

  He got out his phone and called the special number that Gustafson had given him. A man answered, and Vince said, “This is Vince Bellator. Tell the General that I’m ready to boogaloo.”

  Then he hung up, and began waiting.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Midmorning, late October, and Vince was standing in a light rain encircled by fifteen men as he picked up a three hundred-pound oak log in a deadlift. He finished the lift, then squatted, and did it again.

  “He’s got good form,” said Marco approvingly. “Not that easy to have with those logs.”

  It was part of Wolf Base’s “Centurion Method” fitness training, something Vince had been taking part in for two weeks.

  They passed small boulders bucket brigade-style to one another; they ran with backpacks full of rocks; they lifted logs and tried to run upstream in shoulder-deep water. The whole thing was a fad amongst white-power militia groups. Because it had the Old Europe feel to it, Gustafson had taken to it wholeheartedly.

  Two more lifts and Marco said, “That’s enough, Vince. Who’s next?”

  “I got this,” said the big blond with the carefully cropped beard. He’d been one of Vince’s original escorts, that first day. He was pale as you can be without albinism; his eyebrows were blond and his eyes were gray-blue. He was wearing a paramilitary uniform, just as Vince and the other men were. Bjorn, his name was. He had a slight Norwegian accent.

  Vince dropped the log, wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and got into the circle with the others. He watched Bjorn make a point of doing two more deadlifts than he’d done.

  He noted the three Shield Maidens coming through the meadow between the creek and the access road, bringing baskets of juice and protein bars down to the trainees. They wore their uniforms with short military jackets against the increasing chill.

  Marco called a break. Eating a protein bar and drinking cranberry juice, Vince sidled up to Wynn Foster, who was sitting on the log Vince had dropped. Wynn wasn’t a log lifter, Vince reflected; he was a log sitter. “Hey, Wynn. How’s the training going?”

  Vince hadn’t left the base for two weeks. He’d been quietly asking around, trying to find out what the militia’s big plan was — but he did it slowly, carefully, to evade suspicion. He’d made no headway. And Gustafson had told him nothing more.

  “I’m keeping up,” Wynn said through mouthfuls of protein bar. “Not my forte. I work in the comm center, usually.”

  “You’re probably part of the coordination of all those guys out there in the country?”

  “I guess. Yeah. I keep charge. Count heads. I do a lot of IT security too. Fucking deep-state hackers keep trying to break in…”

  “All those Brethren across the country — must be hard to keep a lid on security. Some people are careless. When you’ve got, what, a thousand guys talking…”

  “It’s not a thousand. Two hundred and change. I mean — the fully committed ones. They know better than to talk.”

  “About the boogaloo? There’s lots of talk about it.”

  “Not many know… the how and where.”

  So it’s gone that far, Vince thought. There’s a how and a where.

  “The boogaloo is coming,” Vince said, nodding, just as if he knew. “They have to know.”

  Wynn frowned. “The General told you?”

  “He told me some things. It’s still quite a ways off. I’m antsy. I want to get out there and kick some ass.”

  “It’s not that long off.” He stood up, kind of abruptly. “I’d better get back up there and check my… project.”

  Wondering if he’d pushed too hard, Vince watched him walking off.

  “We’re going on a trail run next,” Marco announced. “Pile up your trash over here and line up. You know the drill…”

  Two of the women were heading back up to the house, Vince noticed, but Deirdre was walking off into the woods, carrying a basket.

  He got in line for the run, just behind Deek, which made Vince the last man on the run. Vince asked, “That blond really headed into the woods all by her lonesome?”

  Deek was already watching her walk onto a game trail and into the brush. “The General, he’s all into wild edible plants and mushrooms. Says women of the olden times would gather them. That Deirdre girl knows the right ones so she heads out there to pick ’em. Goes out there… all alone.”

  Marco blew a whistle and the run began. The trail run went in stages, the man in the lead taking thirty seconds to get out ahead, the next man going out thirty seconds after him. They weren’t allowed to bunch up on the trail. Vince started out half a minute after Deek, running along the well-trod trail that wound up and down a series of low hills.

  It was a three-mile route that looped back close to the starting point, and Vince was having to work at it to keep from gaining too much on the leadfooted Deek. They were almost back at the training field, a quarter mile away, when Vince saw Deek glance nervously around, then cut off the trail, into the forest.

  He was taking a route through the brush that would intercept Deirdre.

  Acting on instinct, Vince followed. He was quickly under cover of the black gum and kudzu-coated fallen logs and granite outcroppings rising from the uneven ground. He could follow Deek’s trail easily; it was deeply marked in the dry leaves fallen from the stand of shagbark hickory.

  Vince followed as quietly as he could. Ten minutes on, he came to a rise overlooking a narrow clearing. He could see Deirdre, hunkered down, using a satellite phone. In front of her was a trench with an aluminum box in it where she’d kept the satphone hidden. A grass sod covering was pushed to one side. Nearby was her basket of wild plants and mushrooms. But evidently that was only her excuse for coming out here alone. She was here to call someone, in private.

  “Holy shit,” Vince murmured. Deirdre was quite likely an undercover federal agent.

  Deek burst out of the underbrush, a few yards north of her.

  She gasped, dropped the phone and reached into the box — but Deek sprinted to her before she could bring the gun out and get it into play. He threw himself on her, pressing her onto her back, grabbing the wrist of her gun hand.

  Vince leapt off the rise, landed heavily but stayed upright, and dashed toward the two. He was sorry he didn’t have his knife. The Brethren didn’t allow weapons during Centurion training. The combat blade was in the locker next to his bunk.

  “All I wanted was some nookie, and come to find out you’re a spy, bitch!” Deek cackled as he held her down. “Now you’re gonna give me some and then I’m taking you back to the General!”

  She struggled, tried to knee him, but only hit his hip. She’d lost her hold on the gun.

  Then Deek heard Vince running up to them.

  He turned to gape at Vince — and was drop-kicked in the face.

  Deek yelped, and blood arched from his broken teeth and lips as he rolled back, half off Deirdre, losing his grip on her right hand. She bared her teeth and grabbed at the gun. Deek’s right hand came up with a large rock from the ground — and Vince kicked him hard in the brisket.

  Deek doubled up, wheezing, dropping the rock, and Deirdre twisted free. She scrambled to her feet — and then Deek sprang at Vince, tackling him low.

  Vince went heavily over backwards, inwardly cursing himself for carelessness. He struck the ground with enough force to knock the wind from him. Gasping for air, he brought both fists together hard on the side of Deek’s head. The militia thug yelled, blood spraying with the sound. Vince shoved him off.

  Shaking h
is head as if to clear it, Deek got up and Vince rolled aside to avoid being kicked. Deek’s boot flashed past and Vince grabbed it, wrenching to pull Deek off-balance. The big man fell heavily on his side.

  Deirdre was aiming the 9mm Smith & Wesson at Deek.

  “Don’t fire that weapon,” Vince snapped, getting to his feet. “They’ll hear the shot.”

  Vince got to his feet as Deek got up and rushed him. Vince sidestepped, grabbing one of Deek’s arms as he went by, using Deek’s own momentum to twist it. Deek tried to turn, but Vincent stepped behind him and got his left arm around the man’s neck, wrenching the man’s right behind.

  “You want him alive?” Vince said, struggling to increase his hold, the words coming out as grunts.

  “I — I can’t arrest him…” she said. “Not feasible.”

  “Let me go you traitorous fuck!” Deek roared, writhing to get free.

  Vince made up his mind. They couldn’t keep their cover with this asshole running around.

  Vince set his feet — and Deek seemed to sense what was about to happen. He pushed his head, straining his neck muscles against all the power in Vince’s left arm. Vince suddenly released Deek’s head on one side and pushed it hard on the other so that the man’s own force helped do the job.

  And Deek’s spine snapped.

  The big man went limp in Vince’s arms.

  He stepped back and let the body fall. Panting, he looked down at the limp, staring dead man and asked, “You okay? He hurt you any?”

  “Not to speak of,” she said hoarsely, looking in shock at the dead man.

  “You FBI? Or maybe… a state police detective?”

  “Agent Deirdre Corlin. FBI.” She shook her head and turned to Vince. “I know who you are. Vincent Bellator, codename Charon. I was with Defense Intelligence when I first started and… I saw your file when you resigned from Delta Force.”

  “Yeah?” Vince was looking around for a place to put the body. “They had you on the committee deciding if I was going off my nut?”

  “Pretty much. We concluded you just… had enough.”

  “You concluded right. There’s a hollow under that outcropping over there. We could shove him in there, block it up… Unless you think you can get the agency to discreetly come and drag him out.”

  “Can’t be done discreetly. So you’re not actually joining these people?”

  “Not for real.” Vince bent down and took Deek by the ankles and started dragging the body toward the outcropping. “Trying to find some stuff out. Personal stuff. Only it’s turning out to be not so personal. More like…”

  “More like you’re concerned about treasonous sons of bitches planning mass murder?”

  “Something like that. Hey — know how to get into the armory at the base?”

  “No, it’s got a heavy-duty electronic lock. There’s a passcode.” She watched him dragging Deek. “You want me to take an ankle?”

  “You can help me block him up in there. Rocks, whatever. You had to come out here to call your people?”

  “The militia takes away your phone, out here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I did notice… Jesus, Deek, you’re a heavy bastard…”

  “Anyway, this comm system is more secure… or it was till that asshole followed me out here. And I’ve got weapons out here. Gustafson doesn’t give them to ‘Shield Maidens’.”

  Vince turned Deek’s body ninety degrees, dropped its legs, then knelt and rolled the corpse into the hollow under the granite outcropping. “Listen — you know a Bobby Destry?”

  She handed him a couple of hefty rocks and nodded. “I met him. Seemed like a nice kid, for a Nazi.”

  “He decided he wasn’t one — and then he vanished. Is he dead?” He set the rocks in place. He’d need more than a pile of rocks. He’d have to use bark, moss, whatever he could find…

  “Last I heard, Bobby was in one of the cells in the basement under Wolf Base. He why you’re here?”

  “Partly. You going to tell your bosses about what happened out here?”

  “I have to. You’re not going to come off like a murderer, if that’s what worries you. You had to do it to shut him up. But listen — I didn’t actually tell you to kill him.”

  “I kind of thought you wanted me to.”

  “I kind of hoped you would. It would blow my cover if I arrested him.”

  “Anybody ever consider…” He went to get a particularly large rock. “…that if you just let these pricks know you’re watching them, they’re not going to make a terror move? You know — preventative policing.” He shoved the big rock in place near Deek’s boots.

  “Sure, we know that.” Deirdre handed him a couple more rocks. “But this organization is pretty good sized. It’s spread widely. There are all kinds of aspects we don’t know about. Things we need to know. And Gustafson might just take a warning as the cue to make his move… He’s a fanatic.”

  “They’re going to wonder where Deek here went,” Vince observed.

  “We’ll have to come up with a story. If you’re staying.”

  “I’m staying. I’ll think of something to tell them. But you should blow this popcorn stand, Agent Corlin — give up the embed completely before you’re blown. They might start looking at you closer…”

  “You know how long I’ve been on this? More than a year and a half!” She rubbed the wrist Deek had been squeezing.

  “You’ve been at this base for that long?”

  “No, I was undercover in the Brethren group in Illinois. Been here for more than a month. We got a tip from a local woman… Anyway, I’ve got one of these knuckleheads chattering to me a little now — I’m close to finding out what their Big Boogaloo move is. Something called Firepower.”

  “That’s the big push?”

  She nodded. “That’s all I’ve got, the code name — except it’ll happen in Washington D.C. But what exactly will happen… I don’t know. You hear anything else?”

  “No. But I read between the lines that Gustafson isn’t thinking small… Okay, put those rocks down here, I’ll do the rest of this. You’d better get that basket and head back before they notice you’re late.”

  “I’ve got to finish my call. I’ll make it quick. If you find out anything…”

  “I’ll find a way to tell you.”

  “I can’t make the same promise.”

  “Yeah, I figured. Cops! What’re you gonna do?”

  “We could have a dead drop in case I want to give you a message — or you want to give me some info.”

  He thought it best she knew whatever he did. “There’s a Slavic/English dictionary in the library covered with dust, off in a corner.”

  “Okay. If I want a meeting, I’ll move it an inch out from the rest. I run the library so I can be there at, like, nine o’clock at night. It’s usually deserted — these people aren’t big studiers. You can leave the same signal. We could sit in the corner and pretend to be discussing a text…”

  “You got it.”

  She hurried back to her satellite phone. Whistling an old Jimi Hendrix tune about a watchtower, Vince finished hiding the body.

  *

  The rain began soon after Vince returned to the base. A real gully washer. It was a piece of good luck, Vince reflected. It’d help wash away his tracks in the forest.

  After supper, as Vince was heading to the showers, Marco called from the other end of the hall. “Bellator!”

  “Yes, Corporal?” Vince noticed he had his pistol buckled on.

  “The General wants to see you in his office.”

  “No time for a shower?”

  “Nope.”

  Vince nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Marco escorted him there. Vince found Gustafson sitting behind his desk. To his left was Gunny Hanson, the one-eyed crusty old anti-Semite and former Marine, who was training the remainder of his optical capacity fixedly on Vince. Hanson had an Uzi in his hands, pointed at the floor. To the right was Mac Colls, one hand
on a holstered Glock.

  Gustafson looked at Vince inquisitively; the others looked at him with open hostility.

  “General,” Vince said, saluting as per requirement. He assumed a parade-rest stance.

  Gustafson nodded and leaned back in his chair, tapping his desktop absently as he looked at Vince. “We’ve got a team out in the western property, looking for Deek Fisk.”

  “Yeah, I saw him leave the trail. I figured he needed to pee or something. But…”

  “But what?”

  “He stopped in the trail and looked around, kinda with a disgusted look on his face, and said, ‘Fuck this!’ Then he dodged off into the brush.”

  “And?”

  “And I finished my run, sir.”

  “You were the last runner, I believe?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Marco didn’t see you come back in with the others.”

  “I was there, sir. Marco was talking to someone and I followed the others up to wash for lunch.”

  It was almost true. He’d gotten back in time to join the stragglers going back to Wolf Base.

  Gustafson looked at Marco. “Could you have missed Bellator, when he finished the run?”

  “It’s possible, sir,” Marco said.

  “This is bullshit,” growled Colls. “He’s—"

  Gustafson held up a hand for silence. “Vincent — you didn’t see fit to report that Fisk left the trail?”

  “After a long time in the military, General, it is not my practice to snitch. I figured he had been out here a little too long and was headed off to town to get a drink. He was going in the General direction of the highway. He could be in Stonewall.”

  “We have people asking in town,” Gustafson said. “We’ll see.”

  “Maybe it’s time for some R and R time, in town, for these men,” Vince said, shrugging. “Send five guys out a day for a while…”