An Element of Risk

by Don Easton

  Okay …

  Reverend Bob’s son finished pushing the door open and stood to one side. In the headlights Jack noticed a workbench at the far end of the hangar. His pulse quickened. There was a windshield leaning against the left side wall near the workbench.

  Jack leaned forward for a better look, but the SUV drove in and blocked his view. Zach pulled in beside it and they all got out.

  He wanted to hurry to the other side of the SUV on the pretense of meeting Reverend Bob so he could get a better look at the windshield. Overhead sensor lights had come on when they’d driven in and the hangar was well illuminated, but when he climbed out of the back seat he was too late.

  Before him stood a tall, thin man with protruding cheek bones. Jack guessed his age at sixty and noted that he was balding. He looks familiar … but from where?

  “Welcome to Eden, my friend,” the man said, sticking out his hand. “They call me Reverend Bob.”

  Jack slung his backpack over his shoulder and shook his hand. Okay, your grip is strong. Too strong to be polite. Telling me you have control issues, do you?

  “Pleased to meet you, Reverend Bob,” he said, matching the pressure in his grip while returning Reverend Bob’s unflinching stare.

  Reverend Bob’s jawline hardened as he applied more pressure, then he released his grip. “And this here’s my son, Jeremiah,” he said, gesturing to the young man beside him.

  “Call me Jerry,” he said, grasping Jack’s outstretched hand by the fingers and giving a solitary shake.

  Reverend Bob glared at his son, then spoke sternly. “There’s nothing wrong with the name you were given. Your mother wanted you to have that name, and even though she is with God, you dishonour her every time you reject it.”

  Jeremiah grimaced, then hung his head and mumbled, “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

  Jack eyed Reverend Bob. I remember where I’ve seen your face! That photo where everyone was giving closed-fist Nazi-style salutes — you were the speaker up front!

  “Okay, let’s get into the house where it’s warm,” Reverend Bob said.

  A side door to the hangar was on the same wall where the windshield was leaning. Jack hoped he’d have another opportunity to view it on the way out, but it was not to be.

  The sliding door was still open and Reverend Bob gestured for them to leave through the front. “Come, this way. I’ll pour us a drink and we can relax and get to know each other,” he said.

  Once outside the hangar, Jack used the pretext of helping Jeremiah tug the sliding door closed so he could take another look, but with the SUV parked beside it he did not have a large enough angle to see it properly. Then a hand grabbed him by his shoulder and spun him around.

  Reverend Bob released his grip and gave him a hard look. “Leave it.” He gestured toward the door. “Jeremiah can handle it.”

  Jack heard the door slide shut behind him. “Oh, okay,” he replied, then gave a friendly smile.

  Reverend Bob looked at him oddly, then glanced at the hangar door as if pondering something before turning back to stare at him.

  Damn it, I’ve heated him up. Is it the rain and the shadows across his face affecting my brain? No … I can see it in his eyes. He’s evil.

  Jack gestured toward the bunker. “Quite the place you’ve built. I’m anxious to see it.”

  Reverend Bob stared a moment longer, then turned and headed for the bunker while Jack and the rest silently followed.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Entrance to the bunker was gained through a heavy steel door. Inside was a mud room and off to one side was a laundry room. An open door at the end of the laundry room led into a washroom.

  As Jack took off his jacket to hang on a row of hooks along with his backpack, he saw Reverend Bob go into the laundry room and punch in a code to disarm an alarm system. Unfortunately, the angle and distance was too great for him to glimpse what the code was.

  Everyone entered the main living area. Despite the cold exterior, the interior felt warm and cozy. The living room consisted of a sofa and two reclining chairs placed in a horseshoe pattern around a black bearskin rug. The bear’s head, with open mouth to show its fangs, faced a wood fireplace.

  Opposite the living room was a kitchen with a ­picnic-style table. Stairs off the kitchen led to a lower level. Jack eyed the narrow windows strategically located to view all sides of the bunker. They were fitted with steel shutters, but a few were rolled up, which made them not look so obtrusive.

  Reverend Bob glanced at Jack. “Bulletproof glass along with one-way glass on the inside,” he said proudly. “The shutters are also bulletproof, although with the glass, they probably don’t have to be.”

  “I’ll feel safe tonight,” Jack said.

  “There’s more,” Reverend Bob said. “I don’t know if you noticed the small decorative wood squares alongside the windows, but they cover steel hatches that open to the outside.”

  “Gun ports,” Jack guessed.

  “You got it.”

  “This place is fantastic.” Jack gazed around. “Gives me an idea of how our clubhouses should be built.”

  “It’s still a work in progress, but it’s coming along fine.” Reverend Bob gestured toward the sofa. “You’ll sleep there tonight. It folds out into a bed and we’ll get you a sleeping bag and pillow to go with it.”

  “Great, thanks,” Jack said. “I hope that bear is dead, though.”

  The Coggins brothers chuckled and Jack glanced at Reverend Bob. Will you lighten up or are you still brooding about me peering into the hangar?

  “He won’t be botherin’ you,” Reverend Bob stated. “Shot him myself.” He stared at Jack.

  Okay … if you’re trying to make me uncomfortable, you’ve succeeded.

  “The bear had two cubs, Dad,” Jeremiah interjected. “You should mention that you shot them, too.”

  “Little bears grow into big bears,” Zach said, seemingly offended. “You wouldn’t feel bad about it if some day one of ’em —”

  “It’s all right,” Reverend Bob said. He patted Jeremiah on the back and smiled at him. “You’ve got a big heart, boy. Nothing wrong with that. Your mother did, too. Perhaps that’s why I love you as much as I do.”

  Jeremiah looked embarrassed, but managed to give an appreciative smile.

  “Speaking of shooting things,” Jack said. “When do I see what I came for?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Reverend Bob replied. “Tonight let’s get to know each other a little better.” He gestured with a sweep of his hand toward the living room. “Y’all make yourselves comfortable while I round us up some Wild Turkey.”

  Jack took a seat in a recliner and moments later Reverend Bob provided everyone with a glass of bourbon on ice before taking a seat in the other recliner.

  Jack took a sip.

  I hate bourbon. To me it tastes and smells like dirty socks would.

  “That warm your belly?” Luke asked, raising his glass toward Jack.

  “Tastes mighty fine!” Jack exclaimed. “Perfect drink on a night like this.”

  “So,” Reverend Bob said, whirling his recliner around to face him. “Tell me … how bad is it up there in Canada?”

  “How bad?” Jack asked.

  “With all those immigrant sand niggers you let in?”

  “Uh, well —”

  “Yeah, we heard you let everyone in up there,” Zach added. “Must be a lot of terrorists.” He glanced at Luke and added, “You can bet that they’ll be itchin’ to come down here and do somethin’.”

  “Well, so far there haven’t been any big massacres, but —”

  “You got many of them jihadists?” Luke asked. “I heard they’re the worst.”

  “No, ISIS is the worst,” Zach claimed.

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Jack said, shaking his head for effect. “It’s like our government is blind.”

  “You’re lucky if it’s only your government,” Reverend Bob stated bitterly. “I think half
of America is blind, too.” He put his drink down on a side table and leaned closer, shaking his finger for emphasis. “Our whole country is rotten and it started at the core — our own government.” He then picked up his glass and took a large gulp.

  “That’s fer shore,” Zach stated. “As Reverend Bob often says, what we need is a real good cultural cleansin’ to clean the mess up.”

  “Yeah, they should all be sent back to where they came from,” Jack replied.

  Reverend Bob slammed his drink down on the table and his face became a mottled red. “They shouldn’t have been let in to start with!” he yelled. “First ones sneaking in should have been shot! They’d have gotten the message pretty quick!”

  Wow, it didn’t take much to light your fuse.

  “I guess that sums up why I’m here,” Jack said. “As I told Vath, we’ve got a real problem up our way.”

  “Yeah, we hear you got chinks, a-rabs, rag-tops, and apes from all over up there,” Luke chimed in.

  “You name ’em, we got ’em,” Jack replied.

  “It’s the same everywhere,” Reverend Bob seethed. “It won’t be long.”

  “It won’t be long?” Jack questioned.

  Reverend Bob looked at him like he was daft. “Until the race wars start!”

  “Oh yeah … right,” Jack responded, trying to sound like he knew that.

  Reverend Bob shook his head, perhaps imagining the horror he imagined. “It’ll be utter chaos. We won’t be able to depend on our soldiers because there’s too many of those monkeys in the military.”

  “Fuckin’ alligator bait is what they should be used for,” Zach suggested.

  “Nobody will know who they can trust,” Reverend Bob continued. “It’ll be every man for himself.”

  “My father wants to organize,” Jeremiah said. “He said we need to form our own militia.”

  “I see,” Jack replied. “It makes sense.”

  Reverend Bob’s face came back to its normal colour as his rage subsided. “You’ve got that already,” he noted. “How many chapters of Satans Wrath do you have in Canada?”

  “Nineteen,” Jack replied. “We’re looking at adding two more before the year is out.”

  “How many in the States?”

  “We have about the same number in the States, but mostly out west. We’ve had some issues with other clubs back east, but we’ll get there eventually. Worldwide, we have chapters in over forty countries.”

  “Over forty countries,” Reverend Bob repeated. “And your club is all white. No coloureds allowed, right?”

  “Right,” Jack replied. “That’s written in our club’s constitution.”

  Reverend Bob turned to the others. “You see how they’ve organized themselves and have like-minded people all around the world?”

  Zach, Luke, and Jeremiah all gave grunts and murmurs of understanding.

  “That’s exactly what I was talking about the other day,” Reverend Bob reminded them. “If we are truly going to survive, we’re going to have to organize and form allegiances right across the whole country.” He eyed Jack, then added, “Or better yet, the whole world.” He paused. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Jack tried to look reflective, then said. “Something needs to be done, that’s for sure.”

  “Exactly.” Reverend Bob pointed his finger at Jack. “God brought you and me together for a reason. We need to fulfill that reason.”

  Good, you keep thinking that.

  “Don’t you agree?” Reverend Bob asked.

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Jack replied. He nodded thoughtfully. “You could be right.”

  “I know I’m right!” Reverend Bob said angrily.

  Yes, how dare I question anything you say?

  “How riled are the people up your way over what’s happening?” Luke asked.

  “Some more than others,” Jack replied.

  “If a bunch of white folk got murdered and it looked like one of them ethnic groups y’all spoke about were to get blamed for it, do you think folks would rise up an’ go after ’em?”

  “You mean would it be possible to start a race war up in Canada by killing some people and then framing a certain group?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean,” Luke said.

  “I don’t think so,” Jack replied. “We don’t have that many guns up there to start with. Personally, I think my club is in the best position to deal with the problem.” He looked at Reverend Bob. “With your help … and God’s help, of course.”

  “Amen,” Reverend Bob replied.

  The next few hours dragged on, with racial slurs and violent ideology bubbling to the surface with each glass of bourbon consumed.

  At 2:00 a.m. Reverend Bob announced that it was time for bed, and Zach, Luke, and Jeremiah headed downstairs.

  Reverend Bob unfolded the sofa bed and Jeremiah then returned momentarily to toss Jack a sleeping bag and a pillow.

  “There, I think that about does it,” Reverend Bob said. “You can use the washroom off the laundry room.”

  Good, go downstairs to bed so I can sneak out for a look at that windshield. He then saw Reverend Bob rearm the alarm system. Scrub that idea … for now.

  Later, as he lay on his back on the sofa bed staring up at the ceiling, he thought about Ferg’s final moments. Who drove over him and whose face did he see looking down at him when the trigger was pulled?

  His thoughts drifted to Betty. The funeral is less than two days away. She has a right to know what happened — but how do I find out who did what?

  Sleep eluded him for the next couple of hours, but eventually he made a decision. I’ll confront Reverend Bob about what happened after I’m shown the weapons. He won’t be happy, but I’ll say I’m worried about possible loose ends and the fear that it might have garnered police attention.

  Having made that decision, his brain then fought the negative thoughts about whether or not his plan would get him killed.

  I’m an operator … it’s what I do. It’ll work. It has to. My life depends upon it.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Although Jack eventually managed to drift off to sleep, Dawson and his team, along with Corporal Frisby and Constable Willisko, stayed awake the entire night.

  Earlier the team had tracked Jack’s phone through GPS as it moved into a remote wooded area in the mountains. Then the signal said it had become stationary.

  Nearby, the team discovered a swath cut through the forest. It was intended for use to fight forest fires, but now it served to hide their vehicles out of sight of the road.

  Frisby and Willisko were unarmed, so Dawson made the decision to leave them, along with two of his agents, with the vehicles while he and Special Agent Ray Schneider along with the other two agents crept through the bush to scout the area where the phone had become stationary.

  Soon they came to a clearing and realized they were looking down at a logging camp that contained several modular trailers. Lights were on in a couple of trailers and movement of men back and forth from one particular trailer suggested to Wayne that it was the cookhouse.

  Dawson and Schneider took up a position in the woods on one side of the camp while the other two agents took up a position on the opposite side in the hope of being able to hear or see something in the event Jack needed urgent help.

  When two hours passed, Dawson set up a schedule to have one of the two teams in the bush relieved by the two agents in the cars every two hours. At 2:00 a.m. he nudged Schneider, who sat beside him on a log. “I think the rain is coming to an end.”

  “It’s about time,” Schneider replied. “My teeth are chattering so loud I’m afraid it’ll give us away.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Mine, too. It’s good. No chance we’ll fall asleep.”

  “Too wet and cold to do that even if I wanted.” ­Schneider gestured at two of the modular trailers that were side by side and had their lights on. “What the hell do you think they’re doing in there? Looking at guns?”r />
  “Tomorrow’s Sunday and I notice there aren’t that many vehicles around. Bet most of the guys in the camp get the day off. For whoever’s left to look after the place, I’d lay odds that they’re in there drinking whiskey, maybe playin’ cards, getting hammered, and tellin’ jokes.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Schneider muttered.

  “Yeah, what you said, but I don’t care how long we have to sit out here if it means we catch whoever murdered Ferg.”

  “You got that right,” Schneider replied.

  * * *

  Jack got up at 6:30 a.m. and after using the washroom, he stood in the kitchen and peered out the window at the lookout tower. It was perched on top of a rocky knoll about a half-minute walk from the bunker.

  The top of the tower was comprised of a small metal platform with waist-high metal sides and a tin roof, all of which was atop a steel pole with rungs leading to the platform. Support cables strung out from each corner of the platform offered stability.

  “I call it the crow’s nest,” Reverend Bob said.

  Jack was startled and turned around and saw ­Reverend Bob standing in his bathrobe. “Good morning. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I’m an early riser,” Reverend Bob replied. “I heard you so I came up to turn the coffee pot on, then I’m going to grab a shower.” He eyed the lookout tower. “You can go up and take a look if you like.”

  “Thanks. Being at the top of the hill like that, I bet it offers quite a view,” Jack replied.

  “You bet it does. From there, you can see most of my property and far beyond.” He paused, then added, “This also isn’t a hill. We’re over a thousand feet high. That qualifies as a mountain.”

  “Sorry, no disrespect intended,” Jack replied. “I was meaning more the knoll it is on.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “That’s okay. Sometimes I let the pride I feel about this place get the better of me. Go up and take a look. See for yourself.”

  “I will. Is anyone else up yet?”

  “No, I imagine they’re all still asleep.”

  Jack gestured to the tower. “Okay then, seeing as it stopped raining, while you’re grabbing a shower, I’m going to take a peek. I’ll hold off on the coffee and have it with you once you’re dressed.”