“All right,” said Hill. “Comrade Ridgeway, I will be blunt. You are an extremely attractive girl, blonde hair, blue eyes, good slim figure, the very archetype of female beauty that men of all races in this society have been taught by Hollywood, the media, and the advertising industry to desire above all else. Please don’t mistake my reasons for saying this. I’m not hitting on you, this is all business. My understanding from Comrade Schumaker is that when you and Comrade Sellars here whacked that burrhead, you were planning originally to entice him into position through flirtation and the implied promise of a sexual encounter, over a period of several days. Is that correct?”
“Look, I know the NVA is against all race-mixing, and so am I, my God, especially after what it did to my sister Jan! Yes, I wanted to avenge her so bad, I would have done whatever I had to do. But I didn’t actually do anything!” protested Annette. “At first it was the only way we could think of to get that ape away from all his fellow baboons on the basketball team and his lickspittle white entourage, but Eric was able to figure out a way so I didn’t have to do it.”
“Would you be willing to do it?” asked Hill bluntly. “Don’t worry, we get it. We understand and we approve. This is a tactic that the NVA has used in the past to lure targets into position, away from their security. In fact, it’s one of the oldest plays in the covert ops book, for God knows how many centuries past. It’s called the Honey Trap. There have always been female spies, and the young and beautiful ones have always used the same weapons. I am going to ask you quite simply: would you be prepared to do such a thing if necessary? If a situation arises where it is needed, would you be willing to serve as a Lorelei?”
Bresler cut in to explain, “In Germanic myth, the Lorelei were like the Greek sirens, beautiful female spirits who sang and combed their hair on the banks of the North Sea and the Rhine. They enticed sailors to their deaths on hidden rocks.”
“I want you to understand before you answer, comrade, that this is a request, not an order, and it is a request involving a situation that may not even arise,” Hill told them. “The NVA is an army and usually an order is an order, period, but there are a few exceptions, and this is one of them. No female Volunteer is ever ordered outright to do this kind of duty. It would be not only wrong and immoral and horribly cruel to a comrade, but no matter how disciplined and professional she is, a girl who is a reluctant participant will inevitably at some crucial point let her reluctance and her repugnance show, and by doing so possibly blow the mission, and maybe get our own people hurt or killed. We have women comrades who are willing to do this, and we have others who are not. I have known female Volunteers who tell me they are quite willing to shoot an enemy between the eyes point blank, and who have proven that they’ll do so, but they won’t lure him to his death. That is entirely their personal decision and we respect it, as we will respect whatever decision you make.”
Annette glanced over at Eric; he gave a barely perceptible but definite nod. The other three NVA men caught the nod but said nothing. Annette took a deep breath and replied, “I don’t think I could do it with a nigger,” she said. “The Flammus situation was unique to me. I couldn’t have even contemplated it, if that beast hadn’t violated and killed my sister. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t think I could do it with a black, sir,” she repeated. “Probably not a Mexican, either. I could try if I have to, but they would probably sense something was wrong, like you said. A Jew I’d do it to in a heartbeat, because it was a Jew lawyer who sued the school and made them pass Flammus and keep him in school when the stupid ape failed all his courses, because flunking him violated his so-called civil rights. A white man—well, it would help if I knew who he was and why he had to die, but yes, I’ll do it if that’s what the Army requires of me.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Hill with a nod. “I will keep that in mind, and it may be that we never need to employ you in that capacity, but it’s good to know we’ve got another Lorelei on call if we need one.”
“You may recall that earlier I mentioned there was one exception to General Order Number Ten, when a Volunteer is allowed to drink under special circumstances,” said Jackson. “The one exception is a female Volunteer on Lorelei duty, and maybe someday a male Volunteer on gigolo duty if the target is some female fed or media Barbie doll in a power suit, although I haven’t heard of that happening yet.”
“Once,” interjected Hill laconically. “Female U.S. Attorney in Seattle, and I was the man. I couldn’t get any weapons past the metal detectors at the Hilton, so I had to use my hands. I mention that, Comrade Ridgeway, so you will know that I’m not asking you to do anything I haven’t done myself.”
“Uh, okay,” said Jackson, looking at Hill oddly. “Anyway, a lot of these setups occur in bars or at cocktail parties and such affairs. It helps to get the target not just horny but drunk, so his judgment falters. The feds and most of our enemies know about our no-booze rule, and a woman who isn’t drinking alcohol might set off an alarm bell in the target’s mind. So you can have a few drinks if it ever comes to that, but you will need to be getting your target as drunk as you can while staying as sober as possible yourself. If you’re detected you’re in the same danger as any Jerry Reb on active service, so it’s not like it’s much of a vacation from the rules.”
“Wade said you guys now have a nine o’clock parental curfew on a school night?” spoke up Bresler.
“Yes, sir,” said Eric. “It’s not that our parents don’t trust us, they’re just afraid for us with all this horrible racist violence going on all over town. They’re scared we might get in trouble.” Annette giggled.
“Okay, it’s eight now, so you’d better scoot. Remember what I said about taking the long way back and checking for surveillance.” Bresler rose and shook hands with both of them. “In case we don’t meet again, comrades, welcome to the wild and wonderful world of domestic terrorism. For what you must do now in the shadows and the darkness, some day your children will walk in the light.”
“I’ll make sure they get back to their car okay,” said Jackson.
After the three of them had left, Bresler sat down on the sofa. “Thanks for sitting in, Wayne, but I know you didn’t come tonight just to check out a couple of preppy kids. I could have handled it, or Billy.”
“I know,” said Hill with a sigh. “I needed to talk to you alone, Gary this is top level confo. This place has been swept?”
“I did it myself, just before the kids showed up,” said Bresler “Nothing electronic in this apartment that’s not running off house current. I unplugged the TV and there’s nothing coming from it. The place is clean, I think. Do you trust me or do you want to do it again?”
Hill understood that no offense was meant and he took none. A Third Section operative could trust no one, and everyone knew why and accepted the fact. He didn’t take Bresler up on his offer to do a second electronic sweep of the apartment. “We have a problem, Gary.”
“That sounds bad,” commented Bresler.
“It is,” said Hill, taking a deep breath. “Gary, I think there’s an informer in First Portland Brigade. Most likely in your battalion.”
XIII
A Mouse In The House
“Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold,
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.”
Richard the Third—Act V, Scene 3
Bresler let out a long sigh and then buried his face in his hands. “Oh, Christ!” he moaned. “I know this will sound pathetic, but are you sure, Wayne?”
“You know I wouldn’t ever say such a thing unless I were convinced it were true, Gary,” replied Hill compassionately. “I’m going to run what I’ve got by you. If you can see something I’ve missed, if you can explain some of the things that have been happening, then I’m all ears.”
“You know I’m going to fight like the very devil to stand up for my people and prove you’re wrong?” said Bresler.
“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Gary, and
neither would your Volunteers. I hope you can prove me wrong. No one would be happier than me if that turns out to be possible. But I don’t think so.”
“First question. Who else have you spoken to about this?” asked the XO.
“My own boss at Threesec, Matt Redmond. Commandant Coyle. Now you.”
“Not Bud Lawlor?” asked Bresler.
“No. Captain Lawlor’s in the mix,” replied Hill grimly.
“Jesus Christ on a raft!” cried Bresler in astonishment. “You think the battalion commander might be a traitor?”
“No, I don’t, actually. I think it’s someone lower down, but I simply said that Lawlor’s in the mix, and so until we rule him out definitively, he can’t be brought in on it.”
“When we do, and he knows you talked to me first before him, I hope to hell he’s an understanding guy,” remarked Bresler.
“So do I,” agreed Hill. “But he’s a soldier and he knows how these things work, how they must work. I don’t like pulling rank, Gary, but I need to remind you that although we’re both lieutenants, I’m doing double duty as Brigade intelligence officer and political officer.”
“Yeah, I know, you got the biggest dick and now you’re swinging it,” said Bresler bitterly. “Okay, next obvious question. How do you know it isn’t me?”
“For one hundred per cent certain? I don’t,” admitted Hill. “But you’re not in the mix, so far as I can tell. The series of red-flagged incidents I’m querying, specifically nine of them, began back in the late summer of last year, before the two Portland brigades split into battalions. The first three red flags affected three companies in what was then the original First Brigade, A, B, and G.”
“That would indicate someone with cross-company access and information,” said Bresler.
“Theoretically, yes, but you know as well as I do that out here in the real world, where the bullets are flying, compartmentalization breaks down all over the place. Companies help each other out on operations, guys who are on the bounce from one company hide out with people from other units, boyfriends and girlfriends split up and one gets transferred, so forth and so on. But there is another more significant tip-off. The split into battalions took place in early October, and the subsequent six incidents involved the Second Battalion’s A, C, D, and H Companies. No problems in First, at least none that aren’t clearly explicable.”
“Third Battalion? Zack Hatfield and the Wild Bunch?” asked Bresler, still stunned by the revelation of possible treachery.
“No, Zack’s boys don’t seem to be affected, at least so far. Just the urban crews. It looks like our bad apple went with Second Battalion when the brigade divided.”
“Beautiful,” muttered Bresler. “Sorry, man, this has knocked me for a loop. I’m not thinking straight. Go on.”
“You came over from Second Brigade in December, and you didn’t move up to the XO position until January when your predecessor was arrested,” said Hill. “That’s one of the questionable incidents, by the way. So far as I can tell, you’re clear on five of the nine red flags, since you weren’t in First Brigade when they occurred and you had no way of knowing the information the enemy got hold of. Plus there’s one final situation besides all that, where we honestly don’t know what the fuck is going on, but it looks damned odd. I’ll tell you about it in a bit, but I’m positive you didn’t know about that one, so you couldn’t have spilled the beans to anyone. I’ve got to have someone I can trust to help me on this, help me sift through it all, find common denominators, pinpoint who knew what and when they knew it. That has to be you. Sure, I have the authority to start hauling everybody in for sit-downs and interrogations, but if I do that, then the word will be all over the Second Battalion in twenty-four hours, and not only will everybody start covering their ass whether they’ve done anything or not, but if there is an informer, and repeat that I am certain there is, then we’ll tip him or her off, and they’ll bolt. I hate like hell to ask you to investigate your own guys, Gary, but this has to be done, for everybody’s safety and for the mission of the Army. Besides, it’s an order.”
“I get the picture,” said Bresler with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll put some coffee on and you lay it on me, from the top.”
“All right,” said Hill. “I don’t have to tell you that while we’ve been hitting the bastards hard and scoring some major points, the Portland command has been having a run of bad luck for some time now, especially First Brigade. Casualties, arrests, and quartermaster losses are higher here than any other unit in the NVA.”
“You know there are reasons for that!” protested Bresler, spooning coffee into the paper filter for the coffee maker. “Portland is a very densely populated city, due to all those lefty-yuppie anti-development and anti-suburban sprawl ordnances they’ve had for a generation. We’ve got almost the same population as Seattle, in one-third the square mileage. Compared to the Puget Sound area, and certainly compared to anywhere else in the Homeland, we’re packed in like sardines here. That makes it a lot easier area for ZOG to control and monitor with their closed-circuit TV cameras on every goddamned street corner, their other electronic surveillance, and their loyalist vigilante neighborhood Hatewatches. That means more nosy neighbors and potential security leaks cheek by jowl wherever we operate, more potential informers who fancy some of those $50,000 dollar per head Domestic Terrorist rewards, more spics and gooks and Mexicans and red, white and blue assholes around every corner to drop a dime on us. God, I envy the Wild Bunch all those wide open spaces and forests they’ve got down Highway 30! Of course, all that means there’s more targets for us to take down, so this is where the NVA has to be. We’re active as hell, we float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, we bitch-slap ZOG someplace around this city every day, but more street action also means more things that can go wrong. Any time we come out to fight we’re risking some kind of capture or compromise or betrayal, because by doing so we feed the enemy intelligence analysts more information, more pieces of the puzzle they can fit together. Cross your fingers and knock wood, but I’m amazed Cat-Eyes Lockhart hasn’t been nailed yet, especially as casual as he is about walking around the streets. I don’t know if he’s completely fearless or if he’s a little nuts.”
“Both, I think. Yes, I know it’s like you say, and I agree,” said Hill. “But still, the fact remains that casualties and losses of arms and premises and equipment in Portland, and especially in First Brigade, are inordinately high. Seven men gone, two dead and five arrested, plus dozens of vehicles, over a hundred weapons, thousands of rounds of ammunition, and over forty thousand dollars in funds seized. There is an unusual pattern developing with those losses.”
“What do you mean?” The coffee maker gurgled merrily in the background.
“Let’s go over each red flag,” Hill spoke without notes, from memory, since notes of any kind would have been a fatal thing for him to be found in possession of. “In September, a safe house in St. Johns was raided, with loss of weapons and ammunition and cash. The Portland Police Bureau talking head told the media that an alert local Hatewatch member called in suspicious activity to the cops. We tried to get confirmation from our own people in Portland PB but couldn’t, which isn’t surprising since those computer files are guarded like Fort Knox and we haven’t been able to get in that deep so for, or find any way to hack in.”
“I’m not surprised, since we’ve whacked out eight or ten of those treacherous shabazz-goy fucks,” said Bresler. “What’s their pay up to now?”
“Four hundred a week, tax free,” said Hill. “A nice little bonus to that nice old Mr. Beasley down the street for a little part-time amateur spying, but our information is ZOG is getting fewer and fewer takers since Hatewatchers started turning up dead.”
“Okay, that’s one,” said Bresler.
“On September 30th, an arms dump in a commercial storage unit in Gresham,” continued Hill. “Forty weapons, more cash and ammo gone. Portland PB spokesperson says the cache turned up when a maintenan
ce man went into the unit to look for water damage after a heavy rain or some such shit. Threesec got the name of the so-called maintenance man, some Mexican we can’t locate, presumably illegal.”
“That’s two,” said Bresler.
“October 20th, Volunteer Steve Bright from B Company arrested at his home in St. Johns by Running Rats. They broke in silently, caught him asleep and he couldn’t resist. Portland PB says he was originally sought on warrants for unpaid traffic tickets, of all the ridiculous things, and after his arrest they found weapons and material indicating he was NVA.”
“Now that has more than a whiff of bullshit in it,” agreed Bresler.
“It does. Like they’d send out a full Rapid Response Team in the middle of the night over traffic tickets! Those are the first three under the old Brigade structure. In late October the Portland command’s formation into battalions occurred. On November 8th a major arms dump and machine shop for EOD was raided in Hillsboro, and Volunteer Richard Petrone was shot and wounded before being arrested. The Portland cops’ story this time is that they busted a Mexican gang-banger who ratted out some suspicious gringos to save his own ass on a dope charge.”
“I’m always nervous about doing anything in Hillsboro these days, it’s become such a barrio,” said Bresler. “But that’s four.”
“Number five. November 30th, the Second Battalion finance officer Roger West is arrested, his hard drive seized, and three covert bank accounts sequestered. Fortunately our finances were at a low ebb and we only lost about forty grand total, but another week and there would have been over two hundred thousand dollars in those accounts, Portland’s cut from that Indian casino heist up in Washington that Tank Thompson’s crew out of Dundee pulled off. Portland police spokesperson says a routine audit at one of the banks spotted something fishy. Now, do you begin to see what I mean by a pattern here, Jack?”
The Brigade Page 43
