Sweat poured down Bronco’s face, and he shook so hard his teeth chattered. Clearly distressed, Gaucho yowled and put his paws on his partner’s shoulders. Yellow eyes like twin searchlights, the cat looked at Emma as if to say, “A little help here, please?”
Dabbing his forehead and temple with the bandana from her neck, Emma tried to assess him. Pulse bounding and strong, skin cool and clammy. Hand on his chin, she turned his head to see his eyes. Pupils dilated. “Hey, can you hear me?”
No response, just a dazed expression and glassy-eyed stare.
“We’re two hours away from the compound.” She glanced at her watch. “Bronco, what do you need me to do? Should I turn around and go back home?” Giving his chin a gentle shake, she said in a low voice, “Lover boy, I need you with me. Now.”
Bronco shook his head and wiped his face with his hands. “Things are much worse than I thought. Terrible.”
“What’s terrible? Tell me? Where did you go?” Pulling the thermos up from the floor, she poured him a half cup of the strong brew. “Drink this, then talk.”
“Dream—not a dream. Remote viewing in my sleep.” He put his hand on top of hers. “They killed people this time.”
Frozen in place, she held her breath. “Who? Where?”
“Bighorn Canyon. They were after the mustangs—found some high school kids camping. Shot their teepees up. Killed them all.” His eyes went flat. “Six kids. All Crow.”
Numb, Emma dropped the coffee cup. “My tribe. My people. My family.” Her vision blurred. “That’s where I was when Jessica was attacked by the bear—” Unlike when she went up against a bear armed with her knife, the kids didn’t stand a chance against a flying AR-15. If she had any lingering wisps of doubt about the importance of and need for this mission, they were blown out with the gulp of air she took to keep from bursting into tears.
“You don’t have to do this.” Bronco took her hand in his. “I’ll go in alone, say we had a lover’s quarrel, you were worried about not being accepted. I’ll need the truck with the weapons. Take the bike, go home. Please. We’re dealing with dangerous psychopaths. I don’t want you to get hurt. This was my mission, not yours. Go home. Your family, your community needs you. I have no family, no real friends outside of work. Like a Pony Express rider, I’m an orphan, and I’m expendable. You’re not.”
Emma shook her head. “Now, more than ever, this is my fight. I’m not going home. Remember the women warriors I told you about? If they could ride into battle against their enemies armed only with a stick and a rifle, the least I can do is to honor their memories. I have guns, knives, you, Gaucho—and the Crow Nation and the U.S. government behind me. Semper fi!” She put the truck in gear. “I’m not giving up until every last one of these bastards is in jail or dead.”
****
Bronco dared not voice what he’d seen. Past and present had blended together along with dream sharing with another person—his brother, Jack. His first emotion had been to rejoice that his fraternal twin was still alive, because where there was life, there was hope. After spending time in Jack’s dream world, seeing his brother’s past and present through his twin’s eyes, Bronco’s optimism faded to grief and fear.
Heartbroken, Jack watched his mother take his brother and drive out of the compound in her husband’s beater pickup truck, leaving him behind. Running after the truck, he screamed, “I’m telling Daddy.” Jack collapsed to his knees sobbing. A hole ripped in his heart because his other half was gone. Over time, he filled that hole with hatred and swore vengeance on his mother, brother, and any group that opposed his father’s group. Time passed, and Jack watched his father’s underlings bring a drunk and high chubby blonde, named Pam, back to the compound.
His father kept Pam as his slave, showing Jack how to treat women with his brutal and controlling behavior. He beat the woman when dinner was late, or not to his taste, when she didn’t say “Sir”—basically for any small infraction. One day, she refused to obey. He killed her.
His father found out about the CIA’s mind control experiments, MK Ultra, and used the same drug and torture techniques on volunteers in his group—including Jack. The boy almost died from an overdose of LSD. When revived he told his father he saw everything they were doing. He also told his father he traveled outside of the compound in his mind and moved objects with his thoughts. His father assumed the LSD was talking and didn’t believe him.
When Jack turned eighteen, he enlisted in the army and became an unmanned aircraft systems repairer. He left the army after he learned all he needed to know about drones. Jack became the leader of the American SS. He used slaves to build the compound. A gifted tinkerer, Jack ultimately built his own unmanned drone from parts purchased from hobby shops and electronic stores. Over time, he built bigger drones with greater remote capacity, a visual guidance system and weapons—which he controlled with his mind.
Still cold and clammy from the vision, Bronco said in a shaky voice, “The attack on the kids is his latest victory. It was a practice run against human targets. He has a fleet of drones, and he’s ready to go after a town, to begin to bring America to its knees. Not just any town, but a symbolic one—Helena, the capitol of Montana. He’s practicing for his ultimate target—Washington, D.C.”
Gaucho moaned and head-butted his partner.
One hand on the wheel, the other on Bronco’s thigh, Emma asked, “Who are you talking about? Did you see who’s in charge? Is it the guy you said saw you when you went in last?”
Sucking in a deep shuddering breath, Bronco nodded. “Yes. He was asleep, so I was able to get in under his psychic radar.”
“Who is he? What’s his name?”
“My twin brother—Jack.”
Emma hissed. “Your identical twin?”
“Fraternal. He’s fair haired, with brown eyes, like my mother.” He covered his face and shook off the last vestiges of the dream. “He’s a remote viewer, too.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She pounded the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “Could this get any worse?”
“Yes.”
Gaucho yowled.
“Tell me before I have to pull this truck over and beat it out of you.”
“He can control objects with his mind.”
“Telekinesis?” She let out a low whistle. “That would explain why the things can’t be jammed. No satellite or radio signals required. He’s the remote viewer and the remote controller.”
“Exactly.” He stroked Gaucho’s head and rubbed his ears to calm the cat—and maybe himself, if he was lucky.
“You never told me you had a brother.” She glanced at him, her eyes wary. “You said you were an orphan.”
“I thought I was. I didn’t know my twin was still alive.” He shook his head. “I—I didn’t want to tell you about my family. I have feelings for you—wanted to see where this relationship would go.”
“Really?” Her tremulous voice held a hopeful note. “I thought if we survived, you’d be on the next road out of town.”
“You read that right. That was me.” He grabbed her free hand and kissed it. “Not anymore. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m part of a huge, caring network. I never had a big family. My mother didn’t have any more children—and we were in the witness protection program. So no one in our extended family knew where we were. They were told we died at the compound, no bodies retrieved, no funerals.”
“Good God. If I didn’t have my family, every crazy one of them, I’d feel like I’d lost my arms and legs—not to mention my heart.”
“You and your family have begun to fill that hollow part of me. I hope what I’m about to tell you won’t ruin my chances with you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
He took a deep breath and told her all about his father, his job loss, his descent into hate and attraction to the survivalists in remote rural Idaho. When he described how his mother escaped after attempting to persuade Jack to come with them, he stopped. Raw with emo
tion, he needed to take a breath.
“That’s what you were afraid to tell me? That your father was a maniac and your mother escaped taking you with her? Your mother is a heroine. She rescued herself and you. Jack was clearly confused and didn’t understand the consequences. If she had stopped—”
“My father would have killed her,” he said in a flat voice. “He demanded blind obedience. She knew he’d not only murder her, but probably make her boys watch to ‘teach us a lesson’.”
“She did the right thing, a terrible choice, but the right decision,” Emma stated. “I’m sure it haunted her to the end of her life.”
He nodded, recalling his mother’s deathbed request. “If you ever find Jack, please tell him I’m sorry and I miss him every day. Tell him I love him.”
“It did,” he said out loud. “She married the ATFE agent who helped her escape. Special Agent Thomas Winchester adopted me, raised me as if I was his real son. I joined the ATFE as soon as I could, started as an analyst, tracking hate groups.”
“How appropriate.”
“Yes, I was highly motivated and had personal insights on the brainwashing techniques. I was an excellent computer nerd employee. When Thomas died in the line of duty, I applied to be a field agent.”
“And the biker persona?”
“They thought I was too close to the hate groups I studied, so they decided to put me undercover to get Intel on arms trafficking. I found Gaucho and discovered I had a latent talent—remote viewing. No drugs required.”
She shot him a quizzical look. “Drugs? What’s that got to do with it?”
“For my brother, everything.” Relieved to be sharing his nightmare with someone, he told her about his visions.
She blew out a long breath. “Change of plans?”
He shook his head. “No. At dawn, we knock at the front door, just as we planned. If I read the scenario correctly, they won’t bring us to him immediately. Jack has layers and layers of people between him, including slaves.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Slaves?”
“When I was an analyst, we thought it was only an urban myth. But it’s true. The American SS not only runs guns and drugs to raise money, it also traffics humans. Smugglers recruit desperate people from Asia, bring them in through Canada—some in seafood containers—then tell them the price of the trip has quadrupled. If they don’t agree to be indentured servants, paying off their huge bills, they tell them their gang will kill their family back in Asia.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She squeezed his hand. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you. You got that? One pissed off warrior woman coming up.”
“Thank you for not pushing me away. I was ashamed to tell you the truth about who I was, where I came from. It’s an ugly seam of my life, one I wish I could erase, but it’s part of me and who I am.”
Guilt, shame, and outrage battled within his chest. Guilt and shame for leaving his brother behind to the devices of his sociopath father. Outrage at being accused of abandoning his other half, the brother born two minutes before him, the one who taught him how to climb a tree, catch a frog, and cross his eyes. The brother who cried with him and bandaged his cheek when his father decided his son should learn how to spar with a knife, the real source of his scar. The brother he missed every day when he woke and when he went to bed at night. Once again, his rational brain reminded him that he had been a child of seven when they escaped from the compound. His mother had tried to save Jack, too, but the boy’s emotions were in control that day. He craved his father’s love and refused to leave. As a child, he had no control over the circumstances or the events leading up to Jack’s abandonment. But as an adult, maybe he could save Jack from his own burning rage and hatred—if it wasn’t already too late.
Chapter Fourteen
“We have entered SS country,” Emma called out and pointed at the hand-lettered road sign.
NO TRESPASSING!
You are hereby notified that you are entering sovereign territory established by the rightful owners of this land. Public officials must abide by the law of this land and the Constitution of the United States of America and the Bill of Rights.
If you are interested in becoming citizens of the Sovereign Territory of the American SS, you are hereby advised to apply in person for inspection to be sure you are the right kind of people for our state.
All others may reach us via Post Office Box 1888, in Billings, MT.
“Isn’t that special?” Bronco shook his head. “They requested and got, it would appear, the symbols for Adolf Hitler, Heil Hitler for their mailbox. Nice.”
“Very classy sign, too. The illiterates must have had a dictionary at hand while they did the lettering.” She slowed down to the posted speed limit of fifty miles per hour and jounced over frost heaved concrete and potholes. “Nice roads.”
“No need to repair roads in a ghost town,” Bronco said. “Look at these buildings. It’s just like I saw back in the hotel.”
Like watching a train wreck, Emma didn’t know which way to look first. She had taken notes as Bronco had completed the remote viewing, but nothing could prepare her for this post-apocalyptic town. Ramshackle houses, with paint peeling off the sides exposing wood beneath, and garage doors hanging at crazy angles, competed with tumbleweeds and rusted cars. Trees overran sidewalks, driveways, and lawns, as nature seemed intent on taking back the land. Behind the houses in the distance, a water tower leaned at a forty-five degree angle, as if waiting for a good blizzard to knock it down and put it out of its misery.
“How could the government just abandon all this property?” She slowed the truck down to avoid a missing paver. “There are homeless people, refugees looking for shelter away from war and conflict. They could use these houses, fix them up…”
“And do what?” He shook his head. “Once the base closed, there was no employment for the people living here. Shops closed, people took what they could and left.”
“Internet based businesses don’t require a local employer. Credit card companies have customer service bases in rural areas. Even healthcare can be conducted, in part, through Skype and other virtual applications. This is a total waste of resources.”
“You’re seeing it through your cultural lens of honoring the earth and not wasting anything.”
Shocked, she turned on him. “How do you know about that?”
“I may be a product of bad education, but that doesn’t mean I can’t observe and learn.” He waggled a finger at her. “I was a nerdy computer analyst, remember? Once a nerd, always a nerd.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me what you saw.”
“Your home is an homage to your nation, from the kitchen to the bathroom.” He smiled. “Each photo and decoration is from your tribe. You have herb gardens where you grow your own medicines, thank you very much, and your first aid kit is a composite of your encyclopedic knowledge of healing.”
Face on fire, she could only nod. He was good.
“You don’t just recycle, you re-use everything, including mayonnaise jars for herbal teas. The dogs play with deer antlers. Your freezer is filled with venison, but not overfilled. Your relatives do what you tell them to do, which tells me you are held in high esteem, which only comes when someone cherishes their family and community.”
“You should go on stage, you’re a mentalist.” Truly, the man’s power of observation was astonishing. She wondered what he had left out.
“In the field, my life depended on my being observant. If someone acted wrong, out of character, twitchy, it was time to get out of Dodge.” He touched his nose. “Thanks to Gaucho, my remote viewing, and my ability to sniff out a stinky situation, I’m still standing above the dirt.”
“And, I for one, am especially happy you are. Oh, look at that, we’re at the gates of Hell.” She nosed the car up to the red and white stop line and leaned back in her seat. Shiny new eight-foot tall fencing topped with a one foot of three strand barb wire rose up on either si
de of a closed four-foot high metal cross-bar entryway. Two men in olive drab camouflage uniforms, bearing large side arms raised their rifles, leaned over the entrance, and pointed the weapons at the truck. “With those ugly clowns, the stop signs posted on the gates are overkill, don’t you think?”
“Heil Hitler,” he whispered. “Time to get in the backpack, Gaucho.”
“Yeah, heil effing Hitler,” she responded and prayed to God they got out alive.
She smiled at him and took a deep breath. “It’s show time, my new husband.”
Bronco rolled his window down and waved a guard over. “Hey man, we’re here to support the cause.” He extended his driver’s license.
The lookouts exchanged glances. “Who sent you?”
“We sent ourselves, man.” He pointed at Emma. “My old lady here is a card-carrying member of the American SS.” He grinned. “Show ’em your card, honey.”
Emma waved her red and black card out the window. The men didn’t budge.
Bronco kept talking enthusiasm spiking each word. “She convinced me to join up. We came straight from Vegas, drove all night to get here at dawn. Symbolic, don’t you think? Our new beginning for an Aryan nation.”
The man in camo on the left said, “What are the fourteen words?”
Bronco shook his head. “Dude. That is a shit password, but here it goes. ‘We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.’”
“She don’t look very white,” remarked the sentry on the right.
“Saw that coming,” she muttered.
“She’s racially more pure than a lot of other folks. One hundred percent Native American.” Then as if an afterthought, he threw in, “The most powerful medicine woman you’ll ever have the honor to meet.”
The sentries looked at each other and had a brief excited exchange too low to make out the words. Then they lowered their weapons, opened the gates, and waved them in.
She breathed, “What the hell?”
Legacy of Evil Page 14
