“Hell, no!” Curt said. “Looks like plaid shirts, jeans, cowboy hats, and they’re carrying what look like old vinyl suitcases.”
“Congratulations, soldier!” Tim said. “You got yourself a couple of turkeys. Pull off at least two rounds quick-like to make sure you get both. Of course if you can line them up maybe you can get away with one shot.” Tim giggled.
“You want me to shoot them?” Curt asked nervously. He’d purposefully avoided thinking about this moment, especially since he was aware the men in his sights presented no immediate danger to himself. It wasn’t like a battle situation where he was confident he’d react by reflex. This was more like bushwhacking two unarmed people he didn’t even know. Curt could sense he was trembling since his field of vision had begun to jump around.
“No, I want you to walk out there and have an argument with them,” Tim said sarcastically. “Of course I want you to shoot them. Hell, it’s your right. You’re the one who spotted them.”
Curt felt perspiration appear on his forehead. He swallowed. An anxiety of indecision spread through him. He’d never done anything like this before.
“Come on, man,” Tim said. “Don’t let me or your country down.”
Curt had no intention of letting Tim down. The past month or so had been the first time in his life that he was a member of a tight-knit assemblage whose ideology he truly believed. He’d found a home emotionally and intellectually, and he knew he owed it all to Tim. Taking in a breath and holding it, Curt squeezed the trigger.
The rifle recoiled but not enough for Curt to lose sight of his targets. The lead man went down like he’d been tripped. He didn’t spin around or stagger as Curt had seen in the movies when people were shot. One minute the man was walking, the next he was gone. The second man had stopped, frozen in his tracks as the sound of the rifle echoed around the dark, harsh landscape.
Curt felt an orgasmic rush of adrenaline and a tremendous sense of power. Without another thought, he drew a bead on the second man and smoothly pulled the trigger. The gun again jumped and the second man disappeared. Curt lowered the rifle. For a brief moment there was a refreshing smell of cordite in the air before the breeze dispersed it.
“Well?” Tim asked expectantly.
“Both are down,” Curt said.
“Fantastic!” Tim said. He gave Curt a pat on the shoulder before reaching for the radio. He told the other teams that he and Curt were going out to dispose of a couple of targets. He told them not to fire on anything until they heard from him again.
“I don’t want those crazy guys shooting at us,” Tim said. He took the sniper rifle away from Curt, who gave it up without comment. Tim then got out a folding shovel and pick. “Come on,” he said to Curt. “But keep your Glock handy in case you just winged the bastards. We might have to give them a ‘coop de grass’or whatever the saying is.”
Curt stumbled after Tim without saying a word. After the initial euphoria, he was flooded by self-doubt. Now that he’d actually shot someone, he didn’t know how to deal with the idea that he might have killed another human being. The mental fog created by the many beers he’d consumed didn’t help. The fact that Tim was acting as if he’d merely swatted two pesky flies didn’t help, either.
“Come on, soldier!” Tim called over his shoulder when he became aware Curt was lagging behind. Tim had gone ahead with the flashlight, moving over rocky terrain in a slow jog.
Curt pushed himself forward and squared his shoulders. He was embarrassed that Tim might suspect his “candy ass” state of mind.
It took them almost half an hour to find the Mexicans since they had to crisscross the general area a number of times. As Tim’s flashlight beam played over their bodies, he whistled in admiration. “I’m impressed,” he said. “You drilled both of them through the head.”
Curt looked down at the corpses. He’d never seen a dead person before outside of a funeral home. Both bodies had small entrance holes on their foreheads but were missing large chunks of scalp in the back. The ground in the area was sprinkled with bits and pieces of brain. The man in the front still had his hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase.
“Oh my God!” Curt murmured.
Tim’s head snapped up and he glared at his recruit. “What’s the matter?” he demanded.
“What did I do?”
“You killed a couple of wetback illegal aliens,” Tim snapped. “You did your country a favor.”
“Jesus,” Curt mumbled as he shook his head. The Mexicans’eyes were still open, and they were staring at him. Curt swayed a little on rubbery legs.
Tim reacted swiftly. He stepped over to his partner for the evening and slapped him hard. Tim then swore at the pain and shook his hand as if it were wet.
Curt recoiled and for a moment he saw red. He touched his stinging face, then glanced at his fingers as if he expected to see blood. He glared at Tim.
“I’m right here, tough guy,” Tim jeered. He gestured with his tingling hand for Curt to come and try to hit him back.
Curt stared off into the black night. He didn’t want to fight with Tim because now that he’d had a moment to think, he knew why Tim had hit him.
“You were going soft on me,” Tim explained.
Curt nodded. It was true.
“Listen,” Tim said. “Let me tell you something you don’t know about me. I was ordained just this year as a minister in the True Believers Christian Church, which happens to be a local branch of the much bigger Christian Identity Church. You ever hear of that?”
Curt shook his head.
“It’s a church that has used the Bible to prove that we white Anglo-Saxons are the true descendants of the lost tribe of Israel. All the other races are spawns of Satan or mud people, like these spics here.” Tim nudged one of the Mexicans with his black boot. “That’s why we have white skin and they have black, brown, yellow or whatever you want to call it.”
“You’re a minister?” Curt asked incredulously. The man had so many different sides it made Curt’s head spin.
“Full-fledged,” Tim said. “So I know what I’m talking about. The key thing is that God’s word in the Bible says that the means to bring about divine judgment is not limited to actions of the body politic. It means that violence is not only okay, but it’s necessary. The fact of the matter is that you’ve done God’s work tonight, soldier.”
“I’ve never heard anything about all this,” Curt admitted.
“That’s not surprising,” Tim said. “Nor is it your fault. The Zionist Occupied Government doesn’t want you to know about it. They keep it out of the schools, out of the newspapers, and off the TV, all of which they control. The reason is that they want to neutralize us by diluting us genetically. It’s just like in The Turner Diaries. Remember?”
“I’m not sure,” Curt said. He was impressed with Tim’s vehemence as much as his erudition.
“It was part of the Cohen Act,” Tim said. “It stipulated that the human relations councils it set up were to force Aryan whites to marry mud people. That kind of marriage is called miscegenation. Have you ever heard of that term?”
“No,” Curt said.
“Then you get my point,” Tim said. “It’s a ZOG conspiracy. They don’t even want kids to learn the term because encouraging miscegenation is the most insidious sin of all that ZOG is guilty of. And to God it’s an abomination. It’s Satan’s attempt to do away with God’s chosen people. It’s the Holocaust in reverse.”
“All right!” Curt spat, returning from his brief reverie. “It’s time we put the cards on the table.” He looked at Steve. Steve nodded in agreement. Curt looked at Yuri.
“What cards are you talking about?” Yuri questioned. He could tell that his guests were livid, particularly Curt.
Curt rolled his eyes in frustration. “It’s an expression, for crissake. It means explaining everything to everybody so there are no surprises.”
“Okay,” Yuri said agreeably.
“I mean like you
’ve shocked us tonight,” Curt snapped. “Not only are you married, but you’re married to a nigger woman. Calling that a surprise is putting it mildly.”
“I needed a green card,” Yuri explained.
“But you should not have married a black woman!” Steve barked.
“What difference does it make?” Yuri asked, although he thought he knew the answer. Over the four years he’d lived in the United States he’d become well aware of social prejudices.
Curt held his tongue despite the foolishness of Yuri’s question. He thought for a moment of explaining the whole issue to Yuri the way Tim Melcher had explained it to him some twenty years earlier. But he decided against it, because looking at Yuri with a more critical eye, Curt couldn’t decide if he was Aryan or not.
“Marrying between the races, particularly when one member is white, is against God’s word,” Steve said.
“I’d never heard that,” Yuri said.
“What’s done is done,” Curt said with a wave of his hand. “More important at the moment is the question of what we are going to do now. Your wife knows you are screwing around with bacteria downstairs and she knows that you worked in the Soviet bioweapons industry. Chances are she knows you’re making a bioweapon.”
“She doesn’t concern herself with what I’m doing,” Yuri said. “Trust me.”
“But she could suddenly change her mind,” Curt said. “And that would be very bad.”
“She could say something to her family,” Steve suggested.
“She doesn’t talk with her family,” Yuri said. “Except for her brother. He’s the only one who cares about her.”
“So, suppose she says something revealing to her brother,” Curt said. “One way or the other, we can’t take the risk. Like we mentioned earlier she might have to go. Do you have a problem with that?”
Yuri shook his head and took a healthy swallow from his tumbler of vodka.
“Okay,” Curt said. “At least we agree on that. The problem is how do we do it without calling attention. I assume she’d be missed if she were just to disappear.”
“She’d be missed at work,” Yuri agreed. “She’s a taxi dispatcher.”
“The key point is that we have to do it so that the police are not involved,” Curt said. “Does she have any medical problems?”
“Something besides obesity,” Steve added.
Yuri shook his head. “She’s pretty healthy.”
“Hey, maybe we could use her obesity,” Steve offered. “As fat as she is, no one would question it if she had a heart attack.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Curt said. “But how do we make her have a heart attack?”
The three men looked at each other. No one had a clue how to simulate a heart attack.
“I could make her die of respiratory failure,” Yuri suggested.
Both Curt and Steve raised their eyebrows.
“A lot of overweight people die of respiratory failure,” Yuri said. “I could say she had asthma when we got to the hospital.”
“How would you do it?” Curt asked.
“I’d use a large dose of my botulinum toxin,” Yuri said. “Hell, I need to test it anyway. Why not on Connie? This way I can be sure of the dose.”
“But wouldn’t the doctors figure it out?” Curt asked.
“No,” Yuri said. “Once someone is dead and you don’t know the initial symptoms, there’s no way to suspect it. And you have to suspect it, otherwise it’s not thought of. There are too many other things that cause respiratory failure.”
“Are you sure?” Curt asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” Yuri said. “I was involved with a lot of the testing of the toxin back in the Soviet Union. With a big dose the person just stops breathing and turns blue. The KGB was very interested in it for covert assassinations because what constitutes a big dose is actually a very, very small amount.”
“I like it,” Curt said. “There’s a certain poetic justice to it. After all, Connie is threatening the security of Operation Wolverine. When could you do it?”
“Tonight,” Yuri said with a shrug. “One thing I never have trouble getting her to do is eat. Later on, after she calms down, I’ll just call in some pizza and that will be that.”
“Well,” Curt declared while allowing his first smile of the evening. “With that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, let’s go on to greener pastures. What’s the good news you have for us?”
“I tested the anthrax,” Yuri said eagerly. He moved forward in his chair. “It’s as potent as I expected.”
“Who did you test it on?” Curt asked. In light of current events involving Connie, security was Curt’s first concern.
Yuri described how he’d picked Jason Papparis, a rug merchant, who was at risk for contracting anthrax from the merchandise he imported. Yuri explained that by doing so he’d certainly avoided any possible suspicions by the authorities for what they were planning.
“Very clever,” Curt said. “On behalf of the People’s Aryan Army, I commend your shrewdness.”
Yuri allowed himself a self-satisfied smile.
“We’ve got some news for you as well,” Curt said. He went on to describe the visit he and Steve had made to the Jacob Javits Federal Building that morning. He told Yuri that it was set up perfectly to put the bioweapon in the HVAC induction duct.
“Will you need an aerosolizer?” Yuri asked.
“No, not if the weapon comes in a fine powder,” Curt said. “We’ll use timed detonators to burst the packaging. The circulating fans will do the rest.”
“That means you’ll have to use the anthrax,” Yuri said.
“That’s all right by us,” Curt said. “Is that a problem? You told us both agents would be equally potent.”
“No, it’s not a problem,” Yuri said. “It’s just that I’m having trouble getting the bacteria that makes the botulinum toxin to grow fast enough. I’m less than a week away from having plenty of anthrax, but more than three weeks away from having enough botulinum toxin.”
“I don’t think we want to wait three weeks,” Curt said. “Not with the security problems we’ve been having.”
“Why not just go with the anthrax for both targets?” Steve said. “Forget the toxin if the bacteria aren’t cooperating.”
“Because with the amount of anthrax we’ll only have enough for one laydown, not two,” Yuri said.
“Maybe Providence is telling us we should only hit the federal building,” Curt said. “How about forgetting Central Park?”
“No!” Yuri said with emphasis. “I want to do the park.”
“But why?” Curt asked. “The federal building is going to make a much bigger statement against the government, and it’s going to get at least six or seven thousand people.”
“But it’s only government people,” Yuri said. “I want to strike just as much against the fake American culture, particularly all those Jewish businessmen and bankers who’ve caused all the economic turmoil in Russia today.”
Curt and Steve exchanged a disgruntled glance.
“This is a rootless culture,” Yuri continued. “People are supposed to be free, but they’re not. They’re all scrambling for status and identity. We Slavs may have had some trouble down through history but at least we know who we are.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” Curt said. “Why haven’t you voiced this before?”
“You never asked me,” Yuri said.
“America has some problems,” Curt agreed. “But it’s because of ZOG supporting gun control, miscegenation, nigger drug dealers, welfare cheats, and queers, all of who are eroding our original roots. That’s what we’re fighting against. We know we’ll have some civilian casualties in the struggle. It’s to be expected. But it’s the government we’re targeting.”
“There are no civilians in my war,” Yuri said. “That’s why I want the laydown in Central Park. With a proper wind vector it will take out a large swath of the city. I’m talking about h
undreds of thousands of casualties or even millions, not thousands. That’s what a weapon of mass destruction is supposed to do. Hell, for your narrow objective you could use a regular old bomb.”
“We wouldn’t be able to get a bomb big enough into the building,” Curt said. “That’s the whole point. We’ll have no trouble with four or five pounds of flour-like powder. I mean, that’s how you described the weaponized anthrax.”
“That’s right,” Yuri said. “A very, very fine flour that’s so light it stays suspended.”
For a few moments the three men stared at each other. All were aware of the tension.
“All right,” Curt said, waving his hands in the air. “We’re back to square one. We’ll do both laydowns. The problem boils down to getting enough stuff.”
“Where’s my pest control truck you guys promised?” Yuri asked.
“The troops have located one,” Curt said. “Don’t worry.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s parked behind a pest control company out on Long Island,” Curt said. “It’s used for the potato crop in season. There’s no security. It’s there for the taking.”
“I want it in my garage,” Yuri said.
“What’s this new belligerency?” Curt questioned. “With the surprises you’ve had for us tonight, we are the ones who should be mad.”
“I just want the truck in the garage,” Yuri demanded. “That was the deal. It was supposed to be there already.”
“I think you’d better watch your tone,” Steve said. “Otherwise we’ll be sending the shock troops to pay you a visit.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Yuri said. “Otherwise you won’t get anything. I’ll sabotage the whole program.”
“Hey, hold up, you guys,” Curt said. “This is getting out of hand. Let’s not argue among ourselves. There’s no problem here. We’ll see that the truck is procured, brought into town, and put into your garage. Will that make you happy?”
“That was our agreement,” Yuri said.
“Consider it done,” Curt said. “Meanwhile on your end you’ve got to take care of Connie. Fair enough?”