by P A Duncan
She’d put a good face on at dinner, but he could read her better than anyone. She was profoundly unhappy, partly because of him. If something happened tomorrow she could have prevented, he feared what it would do to her.
“Popi,” said Natalia, “people are going in. Where are the tickets?”
Alexei patted his pockets and gave her a dismayed face, eliciting her alarm before he produced the tickets with a smile.
“So not funny, Popi.”
Alexei gave her a ticket. “Go on in. We’ll be right there.”
He waited until Natalia disappeared into the theater and joined Mai on the patio. He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. She didn’t flinch. She had this knack of knowing when he was near.
“The play’s about to begin, Mrs. Lincoln,” he said.
She turned in time for him to catch the eye-roll. “Well, Mr. Lincoln, it won’t be a disgruntled actor who shoots you. It may be I.”
Alexei held out his crooked arm, and she took it to head back inside. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” he asked.
“Buttering me up for sex?”
“You bet your delightful ass I am.”
“Since you’re being honest about it, I suppose I can be buttered.” She elbowed his ribs and gave a soft laugh.
He took pleasure in the by-play, so customary for them but lacking for months now. She was back with him, where she belonged, as if after a long absence, and the cool evening air made his eyes water. Nothing more.
Natalia pretended she didn’t know them when they took their seats, as if fourteen-year-olds went to the Kennedy Center by themselves. Alexei sat between Natalia and Mai. Out of habit, he scanned the large theater for signs of trouble. The orchestra warmed up, their notes discordant. Around them, people chatted, creating a hum of anticipation.
Alexei sighed; it was going to be a perfect evening.
34
Strange New World
Mai knew the play well enough to respond with the audience at appropriate points. No one would know about the conversation she would have in her head. She brought forth John Thomas Carroll. Tall, thin, cold blue eyes. He “sat” across from her, and he leaned toward her, elbows on his knees, his long hands clasped.
“I’m here,” he said. “What’s happening?”
“Let’s talk.”
“Yeah, all you ever wanted to do.”
“That’s not the topic.”
“What is the topic?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Logical. Dates are symbolic for us right-wing nut jobs. April nineteenth is big, not only because of Killeen. We have a litany of reasons. Remember, your head. You’re supplying the big words.”
He smiled, the engaging one that could make you forget he was moving a bomb to its target.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said. “Recite the litany.”
“April 19, 1775.”
“The first battle of the American Revolution, but some say it was really 1770 in Boston, the Incident on King Street.”
“We call it the Boston Massacre. Remember, we’re unschooled cretins. What’s a little slip of history when it can be symbolic? April 19, 1943.”
Mai frowned. Eight days before Alexei was born. She smiled when it came to her. “That’s the day Heinrich Himmler announced the Warsaw Ghetto was to be emptied of Jews in celebration of Hitler’s birthday the next day. When the S.S. entered, most of the residents tried to hide in secret bunkers and behind false walls. A group calling itself the Jewish Combat Organization fought back with guns and small bombs. You guys hate Jews.”
“I, personally, don’t have an issue with them. Look beyond the obvious. Why would an uprising in the Warsaw Ghetto appeal to patriots?”
“A handful of people held off the Nazis with stolen guns.”
“Some might hate Jews, but we love the gun lore. April 19, 1985.”
“Too easy. That’s when federal agents besieged the Christian Identity compound Covenant, Sword, and Arm of the Lord.”
“Too bad they didn’t learn from that. No one got hurt. Let’s see. April 19, 1992.”
That took her a moment. “That’s when the right-wing nut-jobs think surveillance of Randy Weaver’s cabin at Ruby Ridge began. They’d like for you to believe the surveillance went on for months when it started on August 21 and lasted ten days.”
“You’re on a roll. Again, besides the obvious, what else is going to happen tomorrow?”
When it didn’t come to mind, she almost shook her head. Something teased her, stayed out of reach of her memory. She looked at Alexei, and he turned to her, gave her a smile. She checked the stage to see where the play had progressed and concentrated harder.
An execution.
An execution, one important to the patriot movement.
Ira something.
Ira Wayne Mathis would be executed tomorrow in…
Where?
Arkansas.
Covenant, Sword, Arm of the Lord had been in Arkansas.
Ira Wayne Mathis belonged to Covenant, Sword, Arm of the Lord.
Was the bomb going to be in Arkansas?
To stop Mathis’ execution?
Why was Mathis being executed?
Mathis was a white supremacist.
He’d killed a shopkeeper he thought was a Jew and a black policeman for no other reason than he wanted to.
No, it wasn’t that simple.
The Turner Diaries.
Mathis was a fan. According to right-wing legend, he’d been caught for the murders while planning to blow up a federal building in homage to the book. The authorities had him tight for the killings and didn’t charge him with terrorism.
Ah, yes, Mathis had been cause célèbre at Patriot City.
“Good work,” Carroll said in her head. “Fill in the blanks.”
“Mathis loved The Turner Diaries like you. Mathis was important to Elijah. You’re important to Elijah.”
“Keep going.”
“Elijah preached about action, like in The Turner Diaries, like what Mathis planned. You were in Patriot City. Elijah has an action planned for you.”
She pushed her tired brain and got only frustration.
“What’s the other piece?” she asked.
“I can’t answer that. I’m only in your head.”
The Phantom began the play’s signature song, “Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange, new world…”
Mai closed her eyes, let her mind leave the Opera House, and ran through the disconnected threads again.
The missing piece wouldn’t fall into the puzzle.
She opened her eyes and checked the stage. Almost intermission. She touched Alexei’s forearm, and he leaned toward her. Lips at his ear, she said, “I’m going to the loo to beat the intermission crowd.”
He nodded, and she slipped from her seat.
In the restroom, Mai shut herself in a stall. The information she wanted hovered out of reach. If she could grasp it, she’d know where.
“Think,” came Carroll’s voice in her head. “Tomorrow is my Day of the Rope. You know where it is. Think.”
The bits of information formed an orderly line in her head, with one noticeable gap a dark shadow.
The restroom door slammed open. Voices from a multitude of women broke her concentration.
“Fuck,” she muttered. Mai used the toilet, freed the stall, and washed her hands. She forged against the tide back to her seat.
Alexei and Natalia stood by their seats, facing each other, Alexei with his arms crossed, head bent toward Natalia. Her hands flashed as she spoke. Mai stopped to watch. Natalia must have said something amusing, because Alexei gave his full smile. That smile had gotten Mai to do almost anything, usually in bed. She’d outgrown that, but that smile made him so human. She’d always hated how he masked his emotions, though now she was the one who compartmentalized. She had what she’d wanted almost twenty years ago, his love. That should content her. It didn’t. Most of it was his fault;
some was hers.
And Natalia. In a few months, she’d be fifteen, and she’d already passed Mai by a couple of inches. With her long, thick hair in a French twist and in her first adult dress—spaghetti straps, black, form-fitting, cropped above the knees—Mai could see the woman Natalia would become. The little girl Mai pretended was her daughter would soon leave her.
Natalia shifted her stance and body language, and she and Alexei were mirror images. The slight epithelial fold at the inner corners of their matching eyes made Alexei handsome and Natalia exotic.
“Whatever’s going to happen tomorrow,” Carroll said, “you should have stopped it for her. You really screwed up.”
“Fuck you,” Mai murmured, soliciting a glance of disapproval from a woman dripping in diamonds.
“Mums, tell Popi the Phantom is the sexy one,” Natalia said when Mai stood next to Alexei.
Alexei’s hand came to rest at the small of Mai’s back.
“Of course he is,” Mai said.
“He’s a stalker,” Alexei replied.
“He’s the proverbial bad boy,” Mai said, nudging Alexei. “Some of us go for that.”
“And he’s seductive,” Natalia said.
“What would you know about seduction?” Alexei asked, with mock sternness.
“Only what I’ve read in Olga’s romance novels. Don’t worry, Popi. That’s the only seduction I’m interested in right now.”
“Nevertheless, I may look into Ukrainian convent schools.”
“Mums, do I have time for the restroom?”
“Yes, but hurry.”
Natalia scurried away, a bit unsteady on the heels she’d pleaded for Mai to buy to go with the dress.
Alexei drew Mai closer. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.”
“The pre-intermission dash?”
“I had to pee.”
His eyes narrowed at her.
Shite.
“Are you here with me?” he asked.
“I’m standing right in front of you.”
He tapped her forehead. “I meant this part of you.”
She kissed him, longer than propriety allowed in public.
“Should we read one of Olga’s bodice rippers for inspiration?” Alexei asked.
“I would hope we could outdo any romance writer.”
The joy, hope, and, yes, lust on his face pushed John Carroll, bombs, and patriots from her mind. She kissed him again, savoring the feel of his mouth.
“Let’s make tonight a new beginning,” he said.
“Of what?”
“The rest of our lives together.”
The mission they’d set upon with their stroll onto the FBI compound at Calvary Locus had taken something from them both, left each doubting the other. They’d started over before. Mai wondered if she had the inclination to do so again.
He frowned when she didn’t answer right away.
“No better time,” she said. She slipped her arms around him, ear against his chest. Beneath her cheek, his heart beat elevated.
From behind Mai, Natalia said, “Oh, gross! And in public. You’re way too old for that.”
Alexei laughed, and Mai relished the vibration of it. She joined in the laughter.
“They won’t be laughing tomorrow,” John Carroll told her.
The house lights flashed, and they sat. Alexei clasped Mai’s hand, and she squeezed his fingers. When she tried to slip her hand away, he held on. In her head, she told John Carroll, “I’m focusing on this play and the man who claims to love me.”
35
Epiphany
The scene in the play where the Phantom lures Raoul to hang him brought Ira Wayne Mathis’ impending execution back to Mai’s mind.
Where again?
Arkansas.
“That’s where old man Addams screwed me over,” Carroll said. “Missouri, Patriot City, Killeen, Earl Turner, Ira Mathis, me. We’re arcs of a circle with one missing piece. What is it?”
“Something that connects Mathis to Killeen or Missouri.”
“Think. You know.”
The onstage characters exchanged a passionate kiss.
“I kissed you that way,” Carroll said. “To show you what I needed. Someone to give a fuck about me.”
Mai ignored that. “An ANFO bomb blows up the FBI building in The Turner Diaries. FBI. Hollis Fitzgerald was at Killeen. He’s FBI. Fitzgerald transferred to the FBI from ATF.”
“Think,” Carroll said.
“Fitzgerald worked for the ATF in…”
“Missouri.”
“When Alexei came out of Patriot City, he went to the ATF office in…”
“Missouri.”
“Ira Wayne Mathis wanted to blow up a federal building. Where?”
“Put it together,” Carroll said.
“Killeen. ATF. Killeen. FBI. Killen. Hollis Fitzgerald. Ruby Ridge. ATF. Ruby Ridge. FBI. Ruby Ridge. Hollis Fitzgerald. Ruby Ridge. FBI. Hollis Fitzgerald.”
“What’s the common denominator?”
“Hollis Fitzgerald.”
“Earl Turner, Ira Mathis, me. What do we have in common?”
“You’re bombers. One fictional, one caught before he bombed his target, one nascent.”
“What were the targets?”
“Earl Turner’s was FBI Headquarters. I don’t know yours.”
“Ira Mathis, darling of Patriot City, soon to be executed, what was his target?” Carroll asked.
“He was tried and convicted of murder,” Mai said. “They didn’t charge him for planning to bomb… Bloody hell. A federal building.”
“Think.”
“During the penalty phase of Mathis’ trial, an FBI agent testified,” Mai said. “About…about…”
“Evidence of Mathis’ intent to bomb a federal building. You’re almost there, Siobhan.”
“Patriot City’s lost cause, Ira Mathis. The FBI agent’s testimony convinced the jury to condemn him.”
“Yes.”
“Mathis was arrested before he gathered the bomb materials.”
“No, Siobhan. What did the FBI agent testify about?”
The music swelled, signaling the approach of the play’s end. She had to finish this now.
“What they found in his apartment,” Mai said to a nonexistent John Carroll. Her heart raced. “He wrote his plan down, notes on blueprints…”
John Carroll’s image faded, replaced by the image of a mid-rise office building.
“You got it, Siobhan,” Carroll said, as if from a distance. “You knew it all along.”
The music peaked and crashed, the audience applauding.
“Jesus Wept! I know!” Mai said aloud.
“What?” said Alexei.
“I know where.”
“Were you thinking about that the whole time?”
“Of course. How could you think I wasn’t? It’s Kansas City, the federal building where your girlfriend works. Interested?”
“How?”
“Because I stopped thinking about it for a while. I’m calling the White House. We can stop this.”
“Natalia—”
“Send her home with the driver. We’ll take a cab. Come on.”
She started up the aisle, running as much as her absurd shoes would allow.
Alexei took a deep breath. He stood, realizing he and Mai were only ones who hadn’t given a standing ovation. He took Natalia by the arm. “We have to go,” he said.
“Why?”
Alexei pulled her in tow and elbowed people aside. He tuned out Natalia’s questions and struggled to keep Mai in sight. Mai stopped in the lobby by the bronze Kennedy bust and took off her shoes. With them in hand, she ran for the main exit. Alexei hurried, hauling Natalia after him. Outside the building, he found Mai talking to their driver as she waved for a cab. When Alexei and Natalia reached the car, the driver held the rear door open.
“Natalia,” Mai said, “Harry will take you home. Something about work came up. Popi and I have t
o take care of it.”
“Now?” Natalia asked, pouting.
Alexei was far from fourteen, but he felt his own pout emerging.
“Yes, now. I don’t have time to argue.” Mai’s tone was so harsh, Natalia blinked away tears.
“Mai,” Alexei said, “easy.”
A cab pulled up, and Mai opened the door, turning to him. “Come with me or go home. Decide.”
Alexei urged Natalia into the limo with a promise to explain and ducked into the cab with Mai.
“The White House,” Mai told the cabbie.
He turned in his seat to stare. “Excuse me?”
“Sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue. One hundred dollars.”
“You’re the boss, lady,” the cabbie said and negotiated around the limos and other cabs.
Mai took out her mobile and dialed a number.
“Who—” Alexei began.
“Randolph’s private number.”
Alexei leaned toward her and whispered, “You better be right because I’m not happy about how we treated Natalia.”
“I’m not wrong. Mr. President? Yes, it’s Mai Fisher. Yes, I’m aware of the time. I have critical information regarding the matter we discussed before. My partner and I are on our way in a cab. About five minutes.” Mai hung up and turned to Alexei. “Be angry if you want, but I’m right.”
Her next call was to Nelson, and Alexei sat back in the cab and stared out the window.
36
Warrior
Somewhere
Early Morning, April 19, 1995
His aching muscles made John Carroll forgo sleep. He sat up and dug through his duffel, found, and dry-swallowed four aspirin. He was so keyed up. If he slept, the dreams with dead Iraqis chasing him would come. And exhaustion might make him oversleep. That couldn’t happen.
The work yesterday had been brutal, but once they’d finished, calm enveloped him. Looking at the device made it real, focused him on his mission. Jerry came midday to help but barely spoke. After this was over, Carroll would apologize for threatening Jerry’s family. Jerry would understand.
