Cobra Clearance (27 page)

“Perfect.”

Kruger asked, “Anything else?”

There was a pause. “Be certain that you fulfill your part of our agreement.” The phone went dead.

Kruger's face flushed as he turned off the cell with a sharp flick of a finger. “Who the hell does he think he's talking to?” He made a fist. “A little lesson, Eric. Always let A-rabs think they're bargaining from a position of power. Then they let their guard down and you take them out.” A bolt of anger flickered through his eyes but he forced a smile. “That was Amahl.”

“
The
Amahl?”

“The same.”

Amahl flung the cell phone into a CITY OF MONTREAL litter receptacle and left the barren park, blending with the downtown crowd while glancing often over his shoulder. He had once felt confident—but then he never imagined the Westerners would track him to Zurich. He supposed the surveillance of his son might have been a fluke; Europeans often scrutinize people of color, and Kalil held a taste for the melodramatic. Perhaps there had been no observation after all. But how to explain his own sense that evening that something was amiss? It's why he adopted the new disguise while awaiting Kalil's return. No. Something was not right. The Westerners knew where to look. But how? He exercised rigorous COMSEC. There were no emissions for the vaunted National Security Agency to lock onto, and Amahl felt certain they would focus on the Middle East, not Switzerland. He played devil's advocate: the NSA had intercepted and deciphered Kalil's message spurts from the terminal phones. There could be no other possibility. So he would use another communication method and move to a new motel each day. Better to be tired from running than be captured while sleeping.

Levi frowned. “Is that it? That's what we came all this way for?” It was plenty for him, of course—a major link, minor insight into the co-conspirators' relationship—and affirmation that Dragon Team had been correct to pursue Kalil.

Shifting in his seat, Kruger spoke tersely. “Let's go inside and do some recruiting. I want the white world to see my new Aryan soldier so they'll know we stand ready.”

This is crazy. Why risk exposing me now, with so much to lose? He's a narcissist, sure. But is it that? Maybe he's becoming unglued. Then again, he loves games. Maybe Amahl is actually nearby. Okay—game's still on
. He forced a look of confusion. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“I'm hungry. That's what it means.” He opened his door and stepped out.

“They're moving. North by east,” Hacksaw said into his headset seconds later. Earlier, he had zeroed-in on the GPS in Levi's phone, then down-linked it to Avwatch. Glancing at the screen for a birds-eye view from the plane, he opened a window depicting the mall's diagram. Seconds later he announced in a dry voice, “Main entrance.”

“We're on him,” Tucker said on their discrete open net. “Okay. Kruger's blending with the crowd.” Tucker swore. “It can't be a meet. There's no place to run.”

“Then it's a teleconference,” Michael said from another part of the mall.

Kruger led Levi toward a food court where Muzak, deep-fried chicken and cinnamon bun odors filled the air. Several people turned and stared at Levi's Swastika and supremacist clothes. All but a few scowled. Kruger found a table near an emergency exit and sat with his back to it, while motioning Levi to the chair at his left. Now they could both keep an eye on the crowds. “Fewer customers than last year.” He smiled and pointed at the food stalls. “Pick one. My treat.”

Levi noted Tucker and Monica standing in line at a nearby pastry counter. He also saw Dentz seated at a table reading a newspaper. But there was a guy at an adjacent table, a thirty-something white guy, and he was glaring at Levi.

The guy slid his chair back and stepped toward Levi with clenched fists. “Hey, you punk.”

Levi stood as others looked up from their food. “Walk away.”

“Negative. We're goin' to Duke City.” Then he charged.

Levi muttered, “Idiot,” and stepped to one side.

The guy pivoted and came at Levi with a left hook.

To avoid revealing too much skill, Levi let it connect. It was a solid hit. He saw lightning bolts, and instantly went into a Dieter close quarter defense stance. The system looked lame to untrained eyes, but it provided a base for lethal counter-attacks. The guy came at him again. Levi struck back.

The guy staggered; shook it off. He should have reassessed his opponent at that point, but his anger crippled him. “Nazi scum,” he yelled, and swung wildly at Levi.

Instead of backing away, Levi closed the distance and rapidly pummeled his attacker's head with the knife edges of his hands. The guy covered-up, but too late. Levi drove a Krav maga-trained knee into his groin. The man collapsed. Levi knew he wasn't getting back up. He turned to Kruger and calmly said, “Let's go.”

A Muzak ditty followed them as Levi shouldered his way through a mob of muttering spectators. Several jeered him. He flipped them off.

They were in the sunshine a minute later and Levi felt the pain.

“Let me see.” Kruger inspected the left side of his face. “You'll have a shiner. We'll ice it.” He started for the truck and growled, “Why didn't you finish him off? Hell, you had him on the ground.”

Levi dissembled. “You didn't see the cop?” When Kruger's eyes opened wide he said, “Yeah, he was coming through the crowd. I'm armed but I got no permit. I don't need to be locked-up. Not now. We got a job to do.”

A smile crawled to Kruger's lips and curved itself like a snake. “This is why I chose you. You're disciplined.” He punched Levi's shoulder. “And you like to fight.”

“Damn. My cheek hurts.”

“Damn. My leg hurts.” T.J. Jackson aimed the impotent, unloaded .25 pistol at the porn images flickering across the TV and jerked the trigger. The hammer clicked and he said, “Bang” to an empty room. He re-cocked the hammer and fired at the copulating couple again and again as he considered another beer. It would be his fourth and it was not yet 11:00 a.m. Pulling his cowboy hat low over his eyes, he pointed the muzzle at his right temple. His finger experimented with the trigger.

“No. Not me. Him.” He put down the tiny pistol. He had liked Eric from the beginning. Sure, Eric moved in on Brenda, but T.J. had to admit that he waited too long and didn't hold it against him. Then Eric kicked that coon's ass, and T.J. was instantly drawn to this pothead who wouldn't back down when the spook shot at him.

He gave Eric his loyalty but Eric paid him back with kicks and threats of imminent death. He flushed red as he remembered soiling himself in front of the others. But he had other concerns. He'd completed his tasks: quality control of the ordnance, the Semtex and the platoon weapons. Sure, he was on Brian's mortar crew but he knew too much, and Brent Kruger didn't tolerate liabilities.
Brent acts like everything's cool because we're cousins. But I know him. He's gonna kill me. Probably a matter of days
. T.J. came to a grim resolve. He would take control. He would shoot Eric and Brent, then turn the insignificant pistol on himself before Potts and Bronk reached him with their flensing knives. Either way, he was going to be dead.

Kruger said as they drove east in I-40, “Amahl and I made an arrangement. He killed Melchior for us, and we're to get rid of Cohen for him. This way the Feds focus on him, while we do an
end-run and take out the Jew. By then it won't matter who did what, because the civilized world will have collapsed, and we will be in control.”

Levi whistled softly. “That's some plan.” He paused, then dug a little. “Why didn't you do this when the first blackie got elected?”

“We thought that election was a fluke. We were convinced that once America saw the fallacies of letting a colored person attempt a white man's job, they'd come to their senses. But the second election convinced us that they're trying to take over.”

“Never thought of that.” Time to probe. “So, how'd you hook up with Amahl?”

“I met him in Iraq during our first expedition into the Arab lands. Our troops took him prisoner and I happened to be assigned to the unit that took custody of him. I engaged him in conversation, and once he understood my fervent support of the war against Zionism we struck a bargain. Not that I liked the bastard, but…” Kruger smirked. “He somehow managed to escape, and we somehow remained in touch.”

“I'm impressed. Now what?”

“Insurrection.” He slowed for the Highway 41 exit. “With Cohen gone, the white militias can rise to the call to action.”

Dream on, Kruger
. Levi knew that when the Confederates invaded Antietam they thought the Marylanders would join them against the Federal troops, thus putting D.C. into enemy territory. But when the locals saw that the Confederates had no underwear, lacked food and that most were barefoot, they stood down. The same error repeated itself in Oklahoma City. Allegiance to a cause is one thing, killing kids another.

Levi said, “Yeah, the white world's gonna stand tall.” Sensing the moment was at hand to appeal to Kruger's vanity he said with relish, “Yeah. Pretty soon we'll be saying, ‘
Heil Kruger
.'”

Kruger nudged the wheel and merged onto the exit. “You'd have fit in well on Nixon's staff.”

Levi rubbed his jaw. “So how're we pulling it off?”

A hesitation. Then Kruger said, “I never discuss all the details with any one person. Not even Amahl. You know more than most of the others. They think we're raiding a rival club.” He checked his mirror. “The Jihadists have it right. Keep your cells small, compartmentalized and spread out. When it's time, they come together.” Pointing to a municipal airfield to the left, he said, “I keep a twin Navajo there.”

“For our getaway?”

“For our get
to
. We leave for D.C. in four weeks. Cohen's scheduled an awards ceremony on the South Lawn to pay tribute to VE Day.” Picking up speed he said, “I wonder if his staff realizes that the Ides of March can also fall on the eighth of May.”

Levi had most of the facts now, but wanted concrete evidence to bring before a judge. He ached to get at that notepad in the glove compartment and was considering several possibilities when Kruger abruptly pulled to the side of the road.

“Can't wait.” He left the motor running and walked off, unzipping as he walked into a shallow ravine and disappeared from view.

Acting instantly, Levi yanked out his cell, activated its video cam and grabbed the notebook. He was photographing the last page as Kruger entered his peripheral vision. Levi jammed the cell in his pocket, but still had hold of the notepad when Kruger appeared at the window.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Ignoring him, Levi rooted through the glove box with his free hand. “Thought you might have some alcohol pads. You know, from dee-luxe tubs a finger-lickin' chicken.”

Kruger's face flushed deep red. “What the hell do you need alcohol pads for?”

“Hey. Deep cleansing breath.” He pointed to his swollen cheek. “I want something to cool it down a bit.”

Kruger watched Levi's eyes for several long seconds before saying, “Okay.”

Putting the notepad away, Levi fumbled it so that his fingers brushed through the pages to justify his prints—although God help him if Potts checked his cell right now.

Brent pulled through the gate minutes later. Levi searched in vain for Jackson to make peace for kicking him, then sought out Brian. After explaining his black eye he said, “Let's talk,” and led the reluctant young man to the lone mesquite tree. Levi queried him at length about mortars while they passed a joint—with Levi taking light hits to keep focused. Later, Brian's face shone when he described the breakfast Brenda made for him, and how they'd talked and talked. Then a veil crossed his eyes. He fell silent and walked away. Levi stayed busy until four, when he checked in with the boss before leaving.

Kruger glanced at his swollen cheek. “I'd have wanted something for it, too.” Arching both brows into triangles, he added, “But ask permission next time. And get that nose ring.” After a brief pause he launched into a discourse on children—their merits, their understandable naughtiness that in his view should be celebrated as evidence of a child's spirituality, and their value before God. He ended with a sincere wish that each child should find love, even non-white kids, and wondered aloud why people abused children. “It's a crime,” he said, and his face turned grim.

Levi couldn't help but think that under different circumstances, he might have liked Brent Kruger. For one thing, he would have been a stellar FBI agent. He had the intelligence, the drive and the attention to detail that were the hallmarks of a good agent, and his uptight demeanor was the norm for many of the ones Levi had worked with. But most of all, Kruger's love of children could not be seen as anything less than sincere. For a sociopath, that said a lot.
Half an hour later, Levi pulled to the side of the state road. The compound's emission detectors could not reach this far. As the red and white Electra Glide chugged rhythmically, he got out his cell and emailed the video of the notebook to Hacksaw. There'd been five pages and he taped them within ten seconds—less than a megabyte of memory. It transmitted without a hitch and when he got a confirmation he sent a text message about mortars, trucks, the eighth of May and the South Lawn. Then he sent a text to Tucker. KRUGER KEEPS NAVAJO AT LOCAL AIRPORT. WILL USE TO FLY US TO MD. INSTALL TRACKING DEVICE. The Patriot Act permitted this action without a court order. Once the messages were sent he removed the phone's SIM card and destroyed it. He now had probable cause to arrest Kruger for his role in Melchior's assassination, but risked letting members of the other cells escape if he moved now. In any event it would be the Bureau's call. He knew how they operated. After receiving the down-linked photos and text from Hack, they would gather and discuss and wind their watches. But in the end they would arrive at identical conclusions—wait, think, and then act. Levi tapped the gear pedal and headed home.