by Alex Siegel
Tawni, Atalanta, and Boreas fanned out.
Ethel took out her phone and dialed the senior hacker in Washington, DC.
Todd answered immediately, "Ma'am?"
"Put 'the Fraternal Order of Honor and Pride' into your computer," Ethel said. "Tell me what pops out."
She heard typing.
"I found some references on the internet," he said. "It's a white supremacist group."
"Their brochure makes that clear enough. It seems Nathan Forrest is a member."
"You think they're responsible for kidnapping the President?"
"They're certainly involved," she said, "but I doubt they're calling the shots. Dig a little deeper. Find out who else is a member."
Ethel waited impatiently while Todd worked. She heard him typing rapidly.
She wandered into the living room. White leather couches faced an impressive home entertainment system. Six components with elaborate interfaces were beneath an enormous television. A neat line of remote controls was on a marble coffee table. She had no idea how to even turn the system on.
She was more appreciative of the art on the walls. She actually recognized a painting of a river by Andrew Wyeth which was worthy of hanging in a museum.
"Well?" Ethel said.
"Working on it, ma'am," Todd said. "The Fraternal Order of Honor and Pride is a very secretive group. I'm not finding much on the internet. They don't even have a website. Their leader is a guy named Slade, but I can't find his last name."
"Keep digging."
He hesitated. "Ma'am, Aaron asked us to find out who shot down your jet. I was actually working on that when you called."
"Oh." She furrowed her brow. "He's my boss now, so I suppose his orders have priority. Have you found anything?"
"Top secret military hardware was used in the attack. The orders came from somewhere inside the Pentagon. We're still trying to figure out who actually gave the order."
"I'm not surprised. It would take a serious weapon to kill my plane. I'll let you get back to work, but do a little research on the Fraternal Order when there is time. Or have Clare look into it. Your cell has two hackers for a reason."
"Yes, ma'am," Todd said.
Ethel put away her phone.
Eventually, Tawni, Atalanta, and Boreas returned. They reported that nobody else was in the house.
"You should see the bedroom," Tawni said. "The guy likes kinky sex toys. He has a whole shelf full of special kinds of condoms."
"That's not helpful," Ethel said.
"I couldn't find an office or a safe," Atalanta said.
Boreas nodded. "But Forrest does have a huge Jacuzzi bathtub and a tanning bed. The closets held men's and women's clothing."
"The lights were on," Ethel said, "so maybe his girlfriend is living here. We'll stay for a while and see if she shows up."
* * *
General Walker watched Erika as she had a conversation on an old-fashioned phone in her enclosure. Her face was tense, and that made him nervous. When she was upset, other people suffered.
She was wearing purple and gold robes with a leopard fur hem. The fabric had a lacy, elegant design. A diamond tiara sat atop her black hair. She had dressed this way in anticipation of victory tonight. She wanted to look her grandest for her greatest moment.
Walker thought she looked ridiculous. He was wearing his dress Army uniform as usual. He had put a fresh shine on his shoes, but otherwise, he had made no concession to the occasion. He had learned the hard way to celebrate victory after it happened, not before.
She hung up the phone and faced him.
"Something wrong?" he said.
"There was trouble at Coolidge Manor. Mr. Tinker and another member were killed. Everybody else was knocked out with a mysterious cold weapon. The safe was sliced opened."
His eyes widened. "The Gray Spear Society. How did they know about the Manor?"
"I can only conclude the Fraternal Order was sloppy," she said.
"Which means the President isn't as secure as we thought."
"Let's not panic." Erika shook her head. "The Society is still a long way from finding him. After the battle tonight, it may not matter anyway. If you want to warn Slade, be my guest, but don't tell him too much. Frankly, I don't care if the Fraternal Order gets wiped out in the end. Their usefulness is limited."
Walker nodded. "I agree, as long as the President dies, too. I'll make contact with Slade right now."
She turned to her four male slaves. They were kneeling on the floor with their eyes down. In anticipation of tonight's victory, they were wearing jackets and ties, but she wouldn't let them wear shirts or pants. They had skimpy, tight bathing suits underneath.
"I'm upset," she announced. "One of you will suffer. Who will it be?"
* * *
Roy Haley heard the military radio in the cabin crackle to life.
"Slade, are you there?" a male voice said with a heavy overlay of distortion. "Slade, answer me!"
The big, blond man went to the radio. He grabbed the microphone and said, "I'm here."
His name is Slade, Haley thought.
"This is the general," the mysterious voice said. "What's your status?"
"The package is secure." Slade glanced at Haley. "My men are in position. No trouble so far."
"Coolidge Manor was attacked."
Slade's eyes widened. "By who?"
"Unknown. Listen, if you have any kind of trouble, I want you to kill the President right away. Get that done first. Make sure he has no chance to escape."
"I don't understand. Nobody knows we're here. Why should we expect trouble? And if an intruder does come up here, he'll be dead before he takes two steps. The Fraternal Order is covering every inch of this mountain with rifles, and they have orders to shoot on sight."
"Yes," the mysterious voice said, "but that doesn't mean you can relax. Every federal agent east of the Mississippi is searching for the President right now. The feds aren't even the worst threat."
"What do you mean?" Slade said.
"Never mind. Just stay on your toes. Out."
Slade put the microphone down and turned to Haley.
The two men had shared the log cabin since Haley's abduction. Nobody else had intruded on the silence between them. Slade had read comic books the entire time. He had a tall stack on a shelf, enough to last for days. He was still wearing his white and tan hunting outfit, as if he might suddenly encounter a deer in the cabin.
Haley had sat on the floor with nothing but fear to keep away the boredom. His captor had refused to even provide a chair.
"Your name is Slade," Haley said.
Slade nodded. "The general sounded worried."
"Who is he?"
"I ask the questions around here. What threat is worse than the feds? Don't tell me it's your girlfriend again." Slade sneered.
"That's exactly right," Haley said, "and killing me won't save you from her."
"Is she a nigger, too?"
"The darkest kind. I'm hungry and thirsty. Are you going to feed me or watch me starve to death?"
Slade raised his eyebrows. "Where are my manners? We brought special chow for you."
He took two plastic dog bowls from a shelf and placed them on the table. He filled one bowl with water from a jug. He emptied a can of dog food into the other. He placed both bowls on the floor in front of Haley.
"Bon appétit!" Slade said.
Haley was thirsty enough to drink from the bowl. He picked it up with difficulty because his hands were still tied together. He tried not to spill as he slurped down the water.
The dog food was another matter. It consisted of amorphous brown chunks in a brown sauce and smelled awful. The phrase "meat byproducts" came to mind. He pushed the bowl away.
"Don't be so picky," Slade said. "If you don't eat it now, you'll have it for breakfast."
"I can go without food for a couple of days if necessary."
"Your choice."
Slade place a pot on a ca
mping stove and filled the pot with water. He poured in dehydrated foods from bags and pouches. He lit the stove.
"Are your men coming in here to eat?" Haley said.
"They have MRE's. They can't leave their posts. Tell me more about this amazing girlfriend of yours. What does she do for a living?"
"She butchers idiots like you. Actually, she usually orders other people to do it for her. She's more of an executive these days."
"You have sick fantasies," Slade said.
You might be right, Haley thought. "What about you? What is the Fraternal Order you mentioned on the radio?"
"We protect the purity of the white race."
"Why?"
"So we don't turn into a bunch of mongrels and half-breeds," Slade said.
Haley decided that avoiding an argument was wise under the circumstances. He only nodded as if the information was actually interesting. "Does your general have similar beliefs?"
"I guess so." Slade shrugged.
"You don't know?"
"I never actually met him."
Haley cocked his head. "You're taking orders from a total stranger?"
"It's a friend of a friend situation. People I trust vouched for him."
Haley raised his eyebrows.
"Shut up," Slade said. "If I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you."
Haley saw the similarities with Unit K. A mysterious enemy had paid the mercenary outfit to spread the cannibal plague in Chicago. Unit K had never known who was paying them or why. They had simply taken the money blindly. All the mercenaries were dead or in jail now, and the real threat was still at large.
The Fraternal Order could be in the same position. The Gray Spear Society would eventually wipe them out while the real enemy remained safely anonymous.
"Did the general tell you why he wanted me kidnapped?" Haley said.
"He wanted you out of the picture," Slade said. "We were happy to oblige."
Out of the picture? Haley wondered. The truth suddenly hit him. He was the Commander in Chief, and with him gone, the Army had no civilian leadership. The military would be free to operate in Chicago as they saw fit. All manner of evil mischief could take place.
"You're a fool, and soon you'll be a dead fool."
"Eat your dog food like a good bitch," Slade said. "I don't want to hear another fucking word out of your mouth."
He kicked the bowl and splattered dog food onto Haley's clothes.
* * *
Sheryl kept glancing at Yule. His gigantic, yellow eyes were impossible to ignore. His vertical pupils were the size of camera lenses.
They were riding in the cab of a moving van. Yule was driving with the headlights off. The night was dark, but he drove with confidence. Apparently, his giant eyes allowed him to see perfectly well.
"You're the commander of Los Angeles, right?" Sheryl said. "When I was a professional magician, I performed a lot of shows there. I like the city."
Yule nodded. "I wish we were back home. The weather here is a cold version of Hell."
"Our theory is that God is making it snow on purpose to slow down His enemies."
"I could buy that."
They were passing through some rough neighborhoods in the western part of Chicago. Three and four-story apartment buildings were common. Some of the lots were entirely vacant, a sure sign that developers weren't coming to this part of town.
Some of the oldest homes still looked nice though. At some point in the past, people with money had actually wanted to live here. A home made of granite and slate caught her eye. The windows were tall, narrow, and framed with stone. An antique weathervane was on top of the peaked roof.
"Did you have any warning that Aaron was going to become the Lord of the Society?" Yule said.
Sheryl shook her head. "It was a total shock to me. I guess he's not my commander anymore. I wonder who will replace him. I suppose Smythe is next in line for promotion."
"Odelia won't like that. They'll see each other less often. I bet he wouldn't like it either. He has mixed feelings about the Society, in general."
"He hates the bloodshed. He just wants to heal people."
"I noticed." He nodded.
After driving a little further, they arrived at the Kedzie Garage of the Chicago Transit Authority. The red brick building filled an entire city block. Lines of blue bricks provided a visual break from otherwise blank walls. One side had eight garage doors, each big enough for a bus.
Yule parked directly in front of the main door. No lights were on, and Sheryl guessed the building was closed for the night.
"I forgot to ask," he said. "Do you have a gift? I noticed your strange eyes."
"Sure. Mirrors."
Sheryl created a mirror in front of his face. He stared at his own reflection.
"Interesting," Yule said.
She allowed the mirror to vanish.
"Let's get moving. We're on a timetable."
Sheryl pulled on her hat and gloves. She climbed out of the warm moving van, and the cold winter air hit her like a slap in the face. There was ice on the ground, and she had a hard time seeing it in the darkness. She walked slowly and carefully around to the back of the van.
Yule got there first and opened the back doors. Twenty men and women wearing light combat gear were inside the van. Some carried flashlights. The large team began to get out and assemble on the sidewalk.
"We're here to steal buses," Yule announced, "not kill people. Stick together and move quickly."
The legionnaires were equipped in a variety of ways. Some had real body armor and helmets while others wore only a light vest for protection. Weapons ran the gamut from .22 caliber pistols to full-size assault rifles. Many legionnaires had arrived in Chicago with only the clothes on their back, and there wasn't nearly enough equipment to go around.
When everybody was ready, Yule led the team to the front door. It was locked, so he used his gun to break a nearby window. An alarm sounded, but Sheryl wasn't concerned. The police were still too busy dealing with cannibals to investigate mere burglar alarms. Looting had become commonplace in Chicago.
The large team went through the window carefully to avoid the sharp edges of the glass. They walked through some short hallways and passed darkened offices until they entered the section where the buses were kept. Somebody found a light switch and turned it on.
Sheryl gasped. She had never seen so many buses in one place. There had to be at least a hundred. Endless lines of fluorescent lights made them gleam. We hit the jackpot, she thought.
"We need keys!" Yule said. "Fan out and find the keys."
Sheryl heard a noise behind the buses. Several legionnaires immediately took off in that direction as a group. They returned a moment later with a security guard in their grasp. He was a pudgy man in a blue uniform with a blue cap. He was shivering with fear.
Yule walked over. "We need the keys for the buses," he said calmly, "and we're in a bit of a hurry. Hammer, show the man how serious we are."
Hammer came forward. Sheryl had introduced herself to him earlier and had learned he was from Manhattan. His body was thick with muscle from his neck down to his toes. Every part of him was solid and powerful. With his big skull, even his head looked unusually tough. His hands appeared to be sheathed in steel, but that was actually his skin.
He walked over to a steel support post and punched it. The impact rang like a bell. He left indentations in the metal in the shape of his knuckles.
The security guard whimpered. "The keys are this way!" He pointed towards a doorway.
Keys were quickly retrieved and everybody was assigned a bus to drive. Sheryl climbed into her bus, sat on the comfortable seat, and stared at the unfamiliar controls. It took a moment just to find the ignition and start the engine. This is going to be a little challenging, she thought.
The garage doors were opened. One by one, the buses drove outside. When it was her turn to go, she managed to get the bus into gear and moving forward with only a couple
of false starts. It was like driving a car, a very big car with a giant steering wheel.
The caravan of buses proceeded west towards the Rosemont Tower Hotel.
* * *
Ethel heard somebody at the front door. She ran to the door in a flash and stood behind it.
Tawni, Atalanta, and Boreas were sitting in the living room of the house in Linville, Virginia. They immediately found hiding places.
The door opened, and a skinny, young woman walked in. Her long blonde hair was frizzy and curled at the ends but straight on top. She was wearing a tiger print top. Her jeans were so tight, Ethel wondered if she could feel her toes. Red sequins covered the woman's purse.
Ethel drew her machetes from sheathes on her back. "Hello," she murmured.
The woman squeaked and spun around. She tried to run, but Ethel was much faster. She tripped the woman and sent her sprawling onto the tile floor.
The rest of the team emerged from their hiding places.
"What's your name?" Ethel said.
The woman stared back at her in terror. She curled up into a fetal position.
Ethel knelt down and placed the sharp edge of a machete against the woman's throat. "Let me explain our relationship. I ask questions. You answer them promptly. Understand? What's your name?"
"Chevette," the woman replied in a high voice.
"Cute name. According to our information, this is Nathan Forrest's house. Do you know him?"
The rest of the team gathered around. Tawni and Atalanta had drawn their swords. Tawni's was black, and shadows evaporated from the blade like smoke. Atalanta's katana gleamed with a mirror finish. Boreas just stood with his arms crossed. He was big enough to be frightening without a weapon. Chevette looked at them with wide eyes.
"I thought I explained my position," Ethel said. "I want prompt answers." She gave Chevette's neck a little jab with the sharp tip of her machete.
"I'm his girlfriend," Chevette squeaked.
"Good. We're looking for your boyfriend. Perhaps you know where we can find him?"
Chevette bit her lip.
"Look into my eyes," Ethel said. "What do you see?"
"Blackness. Death." Chevette was shaking like a leaf. Urine began to stain her jeans.
