by P A Duncan
If Ira Wayne Mathis had prayed to his racist god for him, Betnor decided he was an atheist.
“Please, Mr. Betnor, don’t let none of them liberal Jew groups do anything. I’ll sign something if I have to saying I don’t want no Jew help. You look upset, Mr. Betnor, but it’s all right. Don’t think the Jesus-murdering Jews and nigger animals have won. I’m on my way to sit with the white warriors who went before me. I welcome that. I don’t wanna be in this race-mixing hellhole no more. In heaven, I’ll be safe because heaven is whites-only. God is great!”
Betnor stayed a theist a while longer and gave silent thanks he’d never have to listen to this again. “Uh, Ira Wayne, we need to talk about your, uh, final arrangements,” Betnor said.
“Don’t worry ‘bout that, Mr. Betnor. My spiritual advisor will take care of everything, see I get my Christian burial with a white man’s honors. You contact him and give him the date.”
“I, uh, tried the number you gave me. It’s disconnected.”
“I got a letter from him with a new number.”
Betnor took a small notebook and pen from his briefcase and wrote the number Mathis recited.
“Mr. Betnor, when you talk to him, ask him to come see me. I need his blessing before I go to God.”
“Uh, sure. I’ll tell him. Do I need to notify anyone else?”
“Only my preacher. Thank you, Mr. Betnor, for helping deliver me to my God. I’ll continue to pray for you.”
Betnor went back to being an atheist when Mathis smiled. The beatific gleam in the eyes of martyred saints was echoed in Mathis.
“On the day, Mr. Betnor, my death will be marked by the mighty roar of angels here on earth, heralding my ascent into heaven, a tumult heard across the land in every home and hearth, in many lands, and the ears of the righteous will hear sweet music, and the ears of the damned will bleed. The blood of the innocent will stain the breasts of evildoers. My interrupted work will be done.”
Betnor wanted to run for his life. He closed his briefcase with shaking hands, his stomach churning. Mathis stood, his hand extended toward Betnor. The lawyer was sure if he touched that hand, the arm would turn into a snake and devour him. Betnor did his duty. They shook hands.
“Bless you, Mr. Betnor.”
“Uh, yes, Ira Wayne. Uh, let me know if you, uh, need anything.” Betnor headed for the door.
“Mr. Betnor?”
Oh, God, Betnor thought, fearing what he might see if he turned around. Over his shoulder, he said, “Yes?”
“What’s the day I go to heaven?”
“Oh, uh, it’s, uh, April nineteenth.”
“You sure, Mr. Betnor?”
“Yes. April 19, 1995.”
“Praise God and his only son Jesus!” Mathis shouted, making Betnor jump. “God is great, Mr. Betnor. That’s the perfect day to meet my God.”
Betnor clutched his briefcase to his chest and headed for the warden’s office. He had to detour to the men’s room so he didn’t shit his pants.
Betnor’s tossing and turning had forced him to sleep in his den, where his dreams showed him snakes and angels and burning crosses. The trilling of his mobile phone woke him, and he fumbled, dropping it before he put it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Is this Neil Betnor?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“You called me.”
“I was asleep… Sorry. Are you Ira Wayne Mathis’ preacher?”
“Yes. Why did you call me?”
“Oh, uh, the Supreme Court refused the appeal. Mr. Mathis asked me not to initiate further appeals. As his preacher, you could—”
“When will he die?”
“April nineteenth. Do you want me to file another appeal?”
“Why would I do that?”
“To, uh, try and save him.”
“Mr. Mathis’ role is to die. He knows that, as he knows his brothers in God will finish his work.”
“Okay. He’d like to see you before he dies, to, uh, bless him.”
“April nineteenth, you said?”
“Yes.”
“God is great. Perfect timing.”
“For what?” Betnor asked, but the man had hung up.
5
Too Many Ifs
Mount Vernon, Virginia
Alexei woke, happier than he’d felt in weeks, and reached for Mai. When his hand touched only her pillow, he rose on one elbow. A day and a night of indulging themselves was enough for her, it seemed. He sat on the side of the bed, rubbed sleep from his eyes, and checked the clock. Natalia wouldn’t wake for an hour yet. Plenty of time. He dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt and crept downstairs.
No surprise, he found Mai in the office, scribbling on a sheet of paper. She stopped and looked at him. After a quick smile, she said, “Good. You’re awake. You can read this.”
Alexei braced himself on the arms of her chair and kissed her, for some time. “That,” he said, “is what you could have awakened to.”
“Time for that later. I woke with an idea how to respond to Carroll’s message. I wanted to jot it down before I lost it.” She handed him several sheets of paper.
Alexei sat in his desk chair to read, extending his arms to their full length. He surrendered and donned his reading glasses. He read the letter, full of cross-outs and sentences in the margins, and handed it back to her.
“Harsh,” he said. “It could drive him further underground.”
“Or bring him out.”
“Don’t misinterpret what I’m about to say,” Alexei said. “You’re betting too much on his thinking he can’t live without you.”
“Yesterday you admitted I’d made an impression.”
“An impression is different from a commitment,” he replied, knowing that was risky water to navigate. “He gets what he might interpret as a Dear John letter from you, and that could push him closer to Elijah.”
“Well, what then? Conciliatory?”
“No. Don’t leave him with the impression it’s over.”
“Maybe that would anger him enough to lose focus?”
“Or he’ll want to prove to you and himself he needs Elijah more than he needs Siobhan.”
“I’ll check with the operatives watching the Duvals’ place to see if he’s shown. I could surprise him again.”
“That went over well the last time.”
Mai gave him a moue of impatience. “How about suggesting something instead of shooting down my ideas?”
“Go for the whole thing.”
Mai’s eyes widened and, for a few seconds, she was speechless. “You want me to fuck him?” she asked.
“Of course not, but telling him you will might draw him out.”
“I’m an operative, not a swallow for a honey trap.”
“Telling and doing are two different things, too. Call his hand. Make it obvious he has to choose between Siobhan and Elijah. Perhaps you were too subtle before.”
Her secretive smile made him ask, “What?”
“You didn’t see Carroll and me dancing in the bar before Elijah’s untimely arrival. Far from subtle.”
An image he didn’t want in his head.
“What a blow to my ego,” she said, “if he chooses Elijah. Again.”
Alexei smiled, slipping his bare foot inside the cuff of her yoga pants and rubbing her shin. “I chose you over Elijah. That counts for something.”
“You chose me over a racist, misogynist megalomaniac who thinks God talks to him. That must have been difficult.”
“You’re much more attractive. You know Carroll better than I,” he said. “Trust your instincts about the letter.”
“You’re right. I’ll re-write it. I was projecting my anger at Elijah.” She rose and straddled him in his chair, taking his mouth in a kiss.
“How about we move this to the sofa?” Alexei murmured against her lips.
“God, Alexei, be innovative.”
After a breakfast during which Natalia rolled her eyes at
their banter, Mai and Alexei took coffee back into their office. Alexei smiled down at his desk. “I’ll never think of this desk the same way again.”
“Get on with you,” Mai said, but smiled, too. “Back to work. Carroll’s gone off the grid. We need a plan to find him.”
“We know from that last message he was on the road,” Alexei said.
“I sent a transcript and a recording to Analysis yesterday. They couldn’t trace the call, but from the ambient noise, they suggested he was at a restaurant or a truck stop near an interstate.”
“We know his movements extend from Arizona to Florida, Wisconsin, Ohio, New York, Missouri, Oklahoma.” Alexei dug in a desk drawer and pulled out a road atlas. Inside its front cover was a map of the U.S. interstate highway system. “Does he use maps?”
“He had a local one for Enid, but when I searched his car and both his trailer and that house in Kingman I found none.”
“He’ll stick to routes he knows well from traveling to gun shows.”
“Why interstates? Wouldn’t back roads be better for hiding?”
“Interstates offer anonymity,” Alexei said. “His is one of thousands of vehicles. On state highways or back roads with an out-of-state license plate, he’s a target for local police trying to make ticket quotas.”
“And lots of low-priced motels along the interstates.”
“As paranoid as he is, he’ll go for Mom and Pop places that take cash and are more likely to succumb to his bargaining. As long as he isn’t caught for speeding or doesn’t do anything else to attract attention, he’s well-hidden.”
“Patriot City’s network is still in place. Like you said, he’ll make use of that.”
“If the houses on that network are either urban or rural, that would work. Small town people are too nosy. They’d notice a stranger. He could mix it up. Use motels along the interstate and switch to the network. Makes his movements more unpredictable. He’s going to be close to impossible to trace. If he had a credit card…”
Mai looked over the interstate system map again. “Think about the potential targets along the routes he’s traveled. State capitals, large cities, most of which have a federal facility.”
Alexei nodded and said, “Point one for Analysis: a two-ton ANFO bomb, a major federal facility.”
“Tied to the Killeen event.”
“By the end, agents from all over the country participated.”
“All right,” she said. She set her coffee aside to pace, wheels turning. “Federal law enforcement facilities where the key personnel at Killeen now work.” She stopped, looked at Alexei. “I’m overanalyzing. He could go for the obvious.”
“FBI or ATF headquarters in D.C.?” Alexei shook his head again. “Security is too tight.”
“Delivery trucks large enough to carry a big bomb are near those buildings, day or night.”
“The bomb would be more effective if set off in the parking garage or a loading dock, but you can’t get a vehicle like that in a D.C. federal building without a lot of paperwork and security checks.”
“Park it on the street.”
“Less damage to the object of your hate and more collateral damage to bystanders. I think he’ll stick to somewhere he knows well. From what we’ve seen, that’s not D.C.”
“Somehow, we’ve got to narrow this down,” Mai said. “He has the fertilizer, but even if he uses those plastic barrels I saw in Enid, that’s a lot of materiel to move around alone.”
“He won’t be traveling with the ingredients. He’ll bring them together at the last minute. The fertilizer is the heaviest ingredient. He’s stored that close to wherever the bomb will go. He’ll bring the other parts there when he’s ready to build.”
“Why not rent a truck on a long-term lease, build the bomb inside it, and store it until you’re ready? No, wait, once it’s out of its bag, fertilizer absorbs ambient moisture. That can make for a big dud.”
“He’s a young, strong, healthy man. It would be hard work, but he could do it alone. If Elijah is with him, he can always call on the Patriot City network for help.”
“We know the fertilizer is in a storage unit in Enid, Oklahoma—”
“Unless they’ve moved it.”
“Stifle the Russian pessimism.”
“Maybe they’ve already moved it to where they intend to use it, but we should have Analysis factor in the fertilizer you saw Carroll and Parker buy in Oklahoma.”
Mai paced again for several minutes and sat at her desk.
“Assemble the bomb at the last minute and drive who knows how far with a bomb a few feet from your back? The IRA had casualties that way,” she said.
“They also had a weakness for mercury switches. The KGB warned them. We only know of detonator cord and dynamite at that one storage unit, which I emptied, but given the level of Lewis’ planning, a redundancy is likely. Somewhere. Here’s how I envision it would play out: position the truck, light the fuse made from the det, and walk away. I’d use a main fuse and a backup, but you still have to be willing to go back and set it off manually.”
“Mixing the fertilizer and fuel will be messy. Dust on your clothes, your skin, difficulty breathing in a confined area, like the back of a rental truck.”
“Leave the rear door open for ventilation.”
“Someone could see.”
“Use a secluded area.”
“Bloody hell,” Mai said, sighing. “We’re so clever we can figure out how this will happen and when. Why is where elusive?”
“For the where, we’ll need Carroll. Or Elijah. The target could be an unlikely one not associated with his previous travels, or he could lay a false trail to detract from an obvious target, like Dallas, close to Killeen. I think Elijah chooses the target.” Alexei wondered if she’d paid attention. Her gaze was far away, beyond the view from the windows. “Mai?”
“I remembered something from the IRA. The fuel cuts down on the moisture absorption, and if the mixture is confined, sealed in those barrels I saw, it’s less likely to be a dud.” She blinked, looked at him. “The dynamite you disposed of, was it enough?”
Alexei considered; when he’d laid the sticks in the bottom of the dumpster, he’d counted fifty-seven. Twenty plastic barrels for two tons of fertilizer. Not quite three per barrel. Another problem for the bomb experts in Analysis. He couldn’t make the call.
“If he doesn’t have a second stash of dynamite,” Alexei said, “acetylene tanks will do. He can get those without a federal permit.”
His raid on the storage unit may not have set Carroll back at all, but it would leave Carroll wondering when he checked on the storage unit’s contents.
“Everything comes back around to finding him,” Mai said.
“This may be a case where later rather than sooner is better,” Alexei said. “The closer we come to April nineteenth, if we take Carroll out of the equation, the harder it will be for Elijah to find a replacement. In that case, the symbolic moment would pass, and that buys us time.”
“Taking Carroll out has to be a last resort. Put aside my personal concern for him. His father is a decent man. I don’t want to take his son from him.”
“Good thing I don’t have that impediment.”
“I thought I had a final chance to turn him.”
“You do. One chance only. If you can’t, to stop him I’ll kill him.” Alexei knew he shouldn’t offer the question he had, but it begged asking. “What would that mean for us?”
She frowned at him, as if confused. “Why do you even ask that? It means you did what you had to do. I’ll remain an optimist, however.”
“I’ll repeat what I said yesterday. The John Carroll who left you in that motel room in Kingman may not be the same man you’ve cultivated a relationship with. You’ve always acknowledged the dichotomy: the affable, likable man versus the dark, angry one.”
She turned her chair away from him, but he caught the arm and stilled her.
“Listen to me, please,” Alexei said.
“To go underground, he’s reduced his belongings to the bare minimum—”
“Alexei, I know how to go off the grid,” she said.
“Yes, of course, but I’m personalizing this. He’s left his guns with someone he trusts. Maybe Duval. He’s only got one or two with him, ones easy to conceal on his person or in his vehicle. Elijah has likely given him a lot of cash. Eight or nine thousand for a few months. Carroll’s not a big spender. He can stretch that. He’s meticulous about his clothes and appearance, has good personal hygiene, says ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ when he needs to. All anyone will see is a polite young man. He’ll have his favorite music in his vehicle, maybe a Walkman for the motel rooms. He’s got the telephone card he thinks is untraceable.”
“No. Nathan’s people can trace them.”
“I didn’t see the number in your mission notes.”
“Never found it in any of my searches. Jesus Wept, if I’d found it, this discussion would be moot.”
“Don’t have a pity party yet. I know Nelson has Nathan working on a way to trace them without knowing the number. We’ll get him working on the incoming calls to Irish Charities and see what he can do. Think of it as being stymied by the limits of technology.”
She smiled at him. “Sometimes, you cut me too much slack.”
“I have to. I sleep with you.” He released her chair and winked at her.
“All right,” she said, “an abundance of clean, inexpensive motels to choose from. The rooms will have satellite or cable TV, movies to order, maybe a VCR for him to play his favorites, which I know he brings with him everywhere.”
“He’ll cut out the excess to move faster, but he’ll keep things meaningful to him, things that comfort him.”
“His guns, his music, his videos.”
“Elijah along to keep him programmed. He can’t afford for Carroll to have second thoughts, especially the closer he gets to the big day.”
Mai’s gaze went to the windows again. “I should have shot him.”
Alexei wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
