Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8) (11 page)

The landscaping was not an improvement. There were gardens of bare dirt and weeds. Train tracks ran twenty feet behind the back doors. Some of the trees were completely dead and had become a fire hazard.

"This is fucking depressing," Tawni said. "Do we have to go in there? I'm sure these losers are no threat."

"We don't know that," Norbert said. "When I was a monk, we were taught to be humble. This is certainly humble. It doesn't mean they aren't dedicated to their cause."

She rolled her eyes.

He went to the door of one of the homes and knocked.

After a moment, it opened, and a man with a shaved head peered out. He wore white robes that went down to the floor. The robes had a few stains and torn seams.

"How may I help you?" the monk said.

"We came a long way to learn the truth about the Antichrist," Norbert said in an eager tone. "Can we come in?"

The monk's eyes lit up. "Please."

Norbert and Tawni were ushered inside. He was shocked when he saw how many people were packed inside the home. Men, women, and children occupied every available spot, and some had to sit on the floor. Mothers were openly nursing babies. The odor of dirty diapers was pervasive. Everybody wore robes, but some were more yellow than white. Tall stacks of books suggested the cult spent a lot of time reading.

"Tell me," Norbert said, "please."

"Roy Haley is the Antichrist," the first monk said. "He was sent up from Hell to destroy the world."

"Oh?"

"His wife is a demon."

"I thought his wife died of cancer," Norbert said.

"No!" The monk leaned forward eagerly. "She was sent down to prepare Satan's army. If Haley is reelected, it will be the Apocalypse!"

Norbert sighed. "What is your proof?"

"His father lived in house number 969."

"So?"

"It's the number of the beast!" the monk yelled. "Just flipped around a little. And when Haley was in the Navy, he was wounded in the forehead. That's the mark of the beast."

"It's so obvious. What are you going to do about it?"

"Destroy him. Fate brought him to Chicago so he would be near us. We are the soldiers of God!"

"Obviously." Norbert looked around. "I don't see any guns. Soldiers usually have guns."

The monk looked down and clenched his jaw.

"You have a weapon, right? One strong enough to destroy the Devil's spawn? Can I see?"

"No stranger may see the divine weapon," the monk said.

That statement got Norbert's attention. Maybe there was something here after all. He looked at Tawni, and she nodded.

All the people in the room were staring suspiciously. Norbert wasn't worried. He was sure he could take the whole bunch without difficulty. Most of the cult members were obviously malnourished.

"It sounds like you're embarrassed," Norbert said.

"That's a lie!" the monk said. "The weapon shines with the Lord's glory."

"I'll see for myself." Norbert walked forward.

The monk grabbed his arm. "No!"

Norbert knocked him down with a brutal elbow to the jaw. The others became anxious, and some of the men started to get up. Norbert drew a gun and fired at the ceiling. The concussion rattled the windows. All the babies started crying.

"Stay where you are!" he bellowed. "I'm tired, I'm grouchy, and the stink in this place is making me nauseous. If anybody gets in my way, they'll get a taste of
my
divine weapon." He clenched his left hand so hard the knuckles popped.

He and Tawni proceeded to search the filthy home. The bedroom had so many sleeping bags on the floor it was a joke. If this place had been a prison, it would've been considered cruel and unusual punishment.

Norbert discovered a small shrine. Defaced pictures of Haley covered the walls. They showed the President with devil horns, tails, crazy eyebrows, and goatees. A thick haze of incense made it difficult to breathe.

A wooden chest was in the middle of the floor surrounded by white candles.
The divine weapon,
Norbert thought. There was a large padlock on the hasp.

He took out a knife and jammed it into the crack under the lid. He kicked the handle of the knife to break the hasp. He wasn't in a mood to fiddle with lock picks.

What he saw inside the chest made him laugh out loud.

Tawni came over and looked. "You got to be kidding." She snorted.

The divine weapon was a plastic water gun. It was dressed up with colorful ribbons and bits of shiny wrapping paper, but the decorations only made it more ridiculous. Wire was wrapped around the nozzle like an electromagnet, but there wasn't even a battery.

Norbert took the plastic gun back to the main room.

He held it up to the monk's face. "This is it? You're going to kill the President with this piece of garbage?"

The monk nodded. "It's very powerful, but you have to believe."

"Show me." Norbert handed over the toy.

The monk held it awkwardly.

Norbert pointed at his own chest. "Shoot me right here. If that thing can take down the Son of Satan, it should have no trouble killing a regular guy like me."

"But..."

"Do it!" Norbert yelled. "Let everybody see."

The monk pulled the trigger. A little stream of water dampened Norbert's chest.

"That's what I thought," he growled.

He grabbed the toy, threw it to the floor, and stomped on it. The cheap plastic broke easily. The monk stared at the remnants in horror.

"Belief is a dangerous thing," Norbert said. "It can blind you. It can consume you. It can make you unable to admit you're wrong."

The monk looked up at him. "You don't understand."

"Yes, I do. I chased the Antichrist for years. That quest was everything to me. Over two hundred good men lost their lives before it was over. And I was successful, too. I had my gun pointed at his skull."

"Did you shoot?"

"No," Norbert said. "I opened my eyes and saw the truth instead. I had made a terrible mistake. There was no reason for all that bloodshed."

"But we have proof!" the monk said.

"A few numerical coincidences are not proof. Garbage you find on the internet isn't proof. For God's sake, wake up! There are women and children here. Can't you see what you're doing to them?"

Norbert couldn't take it anymore. He stormed out of the home and took a deep breath of fresh air.

Tawni joined him outside. "Nice speech."

"Thanks." His blood was pounding in his temples.

"Do you think it will do any good?"

"Very little." He sighed. "I'll call Aaron and find out what our next assignment is."

Chapter Six

Smythe knocked on the front door of a white brick house. While he waited for an answer, he looked around for signs of trouble. It was a poor neighborhood in the south-west corner of Chicago. A few apartment buildings were mixed into a sea of small, single-story homes. The lots were so narrow there was hardly enough room to walk between the buildings.

The door opened a few inches. A woman with curly, blonde hair and very fair skin peered out through the crack. She was wearing a modest beige dress that went down to her ankles.

"Can I help you?" she said.

Smythe smiled. "We want to join Pure America. We were told you might be able to help us. You're some kind of local representative."

"Yes! Come in. I'm Julie."

She opened the door all the way and stepped back. Smythe and Sheryl walked into the little house. The front room was barely large enough for a couch, a coffee table, and a television. The place was clean at least. He didn't see any dust in the corners or stains on the coffee table. Clear plastic covered the couch.

"I'm Tom," Smythe said, "and this is my beautiful wife, Jessica."

"Nice to meet you both," Julie said. "I love your red hair. You must have Nordic ancestry."

"I probably do. Pure America?" He raised his eyebrows.

She hurried off. She returned a moment later with a short stack of white pamphlets. She gave several copies to both Smythe and Sheryl as if they needed more than one.

He looked at the material. He knew what to expect but it still shocked him. The pamphlet stated that all "foreigners" should be deported immediately. Furthermore, only specific kinds of white people should be citizens. Viking ancestry was the best. Pure America wanted everybody else to become slaves in effect.

Smythe fought the urge to become violent. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Sheryl smiled convincingly. The more he worked with her, the more her acting skills impressed him.

"This is very interesting," she said. "Tell me more."

"The human race is divided into ethnic pools," Julie said. "Some pools include natural leadership genes, and some don't. The leaders should make all the decisions. It's what they were born for."

"Are Tom and I in a leadership pool?"

"Probably. You look right. We'll have to check your genealogy, of course. All members of Pure America are required to submit a family tree for review."

Sheryl nodded. "Makes sense." There wasn't even a hint of irony in her voice.

"The people in the other pools need to obey the decisions. They're not qualified to think for themselves. They're instinctive followers. Nothing wrong with that. They're just different from us."

"Like black people?"

"Exactly." Julie nodded. "Negros, Indians, Spics, Jews, Asians. This neighborhood is overrun with the lesser ethnic pools."

"Why do you live here?"

"It was cheap."

"I guess we all have to make compromises," Sheryl said. "You must have strong feelings about President Haley."

"He's the worst thing that ever happened to this great nation. An abomination. Just hearing his name makes my blood boil. The minorities voted for him, of course. That's a good example of why we need to take away their privileges. When this country was founded, only white males who owned property were allowed to vote. I don't know why we ever changed that rule."

Smythe decided not to mention Julie wasn't a male.

"You're absolutely right," Sheryl said. "I wish we could do something about Haley. Just voting that bastard out of office isn't enough. Besides, the election is months away. We need to take action now."

Julie smiled. "Actually, we are doing something."

She suddenly had all of Smythe's attention.

"Oh?" Sheryl said.

"I shouldn't talk about that." Julie shook her head. "Hey, Pure America is having a barbecue today. The top brass will be there. I'm pretty sure I can get you an invitation. It's at a farm near Bolingbrook."

"That sounds great. We'd love to come!"

"I'll call ahead and make sure it's OK. Tom and Jessica, right? What's your last name?"

"Sonder," Smythe said.

He gave Julie a phone number so she could reach him. The special number was attached to his cover identity, but it routed to his real phone in an untraceable way.

"And write down the address of the party, please," he added. "We don't want to end up in the wrong place."

She found a pen and wrote the information on one of the pamphlets. "I'll see you there."

"I can't wait," Sheryl said. "We'll put on our Sunday best."

She and Smythe walked out of the house.

As soon as they were a good distance away, he said, "I have a feeling about this one."

"Yeah. Julie wasn't a flake like the others. Pure America might be organized enough to be dangerous. Are you going to call it in?"

He took out his phone and dialed Aaron's number.

The commander answered immediately, "Report."

"Pure America is a promising lead," Smythe said. "We were invited to a barbecue this afternoon."

"Be there. In the meantime, the legate wants you to meet the President. Sheryl can come, too."

Smythe was startled. "Why, sir?"

"Some kind of medical issue," Aaron said. "While you're there, you might as well tell us about Pure America if you really think they're a legitimate threat."

"My skin is still crawling."

"I trust your instincts. The President is attending a fund raising event at the Field Museum. Wear nice clothes. I'll meet you there."

"Yes, sir." Smythe said. He closed his phone and turned to Sheryl. "Guess what? You get to dress up and meet the President."

She grinned wide enough to have dimples.

* * *

Kamal pondered the device sitting on the workbench in his science laboratory. Superconducting coils were submerged in a pool of liquid nitrogen. A ring of lasers were aimed at a common point above the coils. A cage made of silver wire surrounded the device. The power supply had "HIGH VOLTAGE" signs all over it.

He had no idea what it was for. He had built it according to the twins' very precise specifications. According to his understanding of science, the device wouldn't do anything except suck up a lot of power and make a pretty light show.

Bethany and Leanna walked into the laboratory. As always, they wore white shirts, red skirts, and no shoes. Their arms and legs swung in perfect synchrony. Kamal wondered if that was intentional or just reflexive. The bright lights in the laboratory made their metal skulls gleam. Patterns of gray swirls looked like smoke.

"Is it done?" Bethany said.

"I think so," Kamal said. "I followed your instructions to the best of my ability. What does it do?"

"It's a super-stabilized plasma bottle."

"Oh." He had a vague idea of what she meant.

"You'll want to close your eyes when we turn it on."

"How hot will the plasma get?"

"The theoretical limit of this design is around one billion degrees," she said, "but for safety reasons, we'll only attempt ten million degrees today."

A billion degrees,
Kamal thought. That was much hotter than the core of the sun. Heavy elements would fuse at that temperature.

Leanna made adjustments to the electronic controls, while Bethany examined the device for defects.

"How does it work?" Kamal said.

"It's based on the principle of constructed symmetry," Bethany said.

"I've never heard of it. Could you explain that principle to me?"