Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8) (13 page)

The doctor nodded politely. "I'm glad to be of help. Watch those extra carbs from now on. Ma'am, we should go. We have a lot to do."

"Yes," Ethel said, "thank you for stopping by." She looked at Aaron. "I'll expect your report later."

"Yes, ma'am," Aaron said. "I'll call as soon as we discover anything new."

He, the doctor, and the woman with brown hair left the room.

Seferis walked over to Haley. "Sir, you look flushed. Maybe a real doctor should check you out."

"I feel great." Haley pounded his man on the shoulder. "Never better. Let me just have a few seconds alone with Miss Pickenpaugh, and I'll go back to the party."

Seferis gave him a distrustful look. The Secret Service agents left and took their fallen man with them.

When Haley was alone with Ethel and Boreas, he said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she said. "I'm just trying to help."

"Loaning money to a friend is help. Given them a ride to work is help. A miraculous, life changing healing is in a different category entirely. I'm in your debt."

"You're embarrassing me." She looked down.

He glanced at Boreas. "Does everybody in your organization have crazy powers?"

"No," she said, "and stop asking questions. Let's go find another shirt for you."

* * *

Kamal was tapping a pencil on his desk in his science laboratory. The "super-stabilized plasma bottle" was still sitting on the workbench nearby. He hadn't cleaned it up.

His laboratory was full of the most advanced scientific equipment. Aaron had an open checkbook policy when it came to purchases for headquarters. Kamal had exploited that generosity and had bought the best toys available. Everywhere he looked, he saw gleaming stainless steel, glass, and computer displays, but compared to the twins' new invention, all of that shiny hardware was junk.

The bottle was a fundamental breakthrough, a bridge to the future. A practical form of fusion power would change the world for the better in so many ways. It might even allow mankind to travel to the stars. Kamal refused to believe God would disapprove.

Kamal turned to the computer on his desk. The
Institut de Recherche Nucléaire
in France was a world leader in fusion technology. He had read papers written by the scientists there. If anybody could make sense of the invention, they could.

Kamal couldn't send them the entire design for the bottle because that was too risky, but he could point the scientists in the right direction with a few specific suggestions. Kamal frequently communicated with outside scientists using false names. Staying up to date on the latest discoveries was part of his job. He knew exactly what to do.

He started typing.

Chapter Seven

Aaron studied the farm as he approached on foot. Red paint covered an old-fashioned barn. The main house was two stories tall and built from thick planks of wood. A small herd of cows grazed in a pasture, and he could smell their dung. Most of the farm consisted of fields of some bushy, green vegetable.

He turned to Smythe and Sheryl. All three of them wore blue jeans, boots, and button up shirts. Aaron also had a black cowboy hat with a little dirt artfully rubbed into the leather.

"Let's review," Aaron said. "You're Tom and Jessica Sonder."

"Yes, sir," Smythe said. "Married four years."

"I want to see some convincing hugs and kisses. Sheryl, act like you're attracted to men."

"Yes, sir," Sheryl said without enthusiasm.

"And I'm Tom's cousin, Rip Sonder," Aaron said. "Truck driver, recently divorced, bad attitude. Let's go."

The small team walked up a driveway to the farm. About forty people had gathered behind the main house. They were eating barbecue cooked over an open pit in the ground. The bed of glowing coals was about one yard by two yards.

A band consisting of a fiddler, a guitarist, and a drummer played on a white, wooden porch. Aaron wasn't a particular fan of country music, but these guys were talented.

A woman with curly, blonde hair spotted the newcomers and approached. She was wearing a tight-fitting, pink vest over a white dress.

"That's Julie," Smythe whispered.

Aaron nodded.

"I invited two people," Julie said, "not three."

"This is my cousin, Rip," Smythe said. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind."

She frowned. "I don't know..."

"Talk to him. Give him a fair chance. You'll like him."

Julie faced Aaron. "What do you do for a living, Rip?"

"Trucker," he replied with a bit of spittle.

"Are you a Republican or a Democrat?"

"None of the above. I'm a real American."

She cracked a smile. "You ever beat up a negro?"

"Sure," Aaron said. "Plenty. Some I messed up real bad. Never convicted."

That part was true in a way. He had killed men of all races during his career in the Society. In the heat of battle, the color of his enemy's skin was irrelevant. All were equally guilty in God's eyes.

"What's the worst thing you ever did?" Julie said.

That question made Aaron pause. The truth was the stuff of nightmares.

He decided to lie. "I ran over a guy with my truck once. A little Asian fucker. He was walking down the middle of the road like he owned it. He didn't even turn around when I honked my horn. Maybe he was drunk on sake or some other shit. I plowed into him and kept going. That was a good day."

She raised her eyebrows and appeared impressed.

"Can we eat now?" Aaron said. "I'm starving."

"I'll introduce you to our leader first."

Julie led Aaron, Smythe, and Sheryl into the noisy crowd. Everybody was pure Caucasian, of course, and more than half also had red hair.

Aaron smelled the roasting meat. Fat burst into flames as it dripped onto the coals. It looked like an entire cow had been slaughtered.

They stopped in front of a tall man who had the most impressive hair of all. A flowing red mane surrounded his head like a halo. Freckles covered his nose, reminding Aaron of his lover, Marina. The man wore a black shirt.

"This is Olaf Wagner," Julie said, "our great leader. Olaf, these are the people I mentioned."

"You told me to expect two guests," Olaf said.

"They brought a cousin." She nodded toward Aaron. "I talked to him. He seems OK."

Olaf rubbed the red stubble on his chin. "Go ahead and eat. I'll chat with you folks in a bit."

Aaron smiled. "Thanks. The meat looks good. Been a while since I ate proper barbecue."

"Take your fill. We have plenty."

* * *

Tawni was observing the Pure America barbecue from behind a line of weeds. She could see the faces through a pair of binoculars. Aaron and Smythe were easy to identify because they were the most muscular men at the party. Sheryl was the prettiest woman.

Tawni had read the Pure America pamphlet and was still simmering with rage. She couldn't believe people like that still existed in the modern world. How had they missed the last fifty years of social progress? She wanted to run over there and educate every one of those crackers with her fists and feet. However, Aaron had given her strict orders to stay back. He had repeated those orders three times loudly to make sure she had heard.

"You're doing it again," Norbert said.

"Doing what?" Tawni said.

"Leaking smoke."

She looked down at her hands. Greasy darkness enveloped her skin and made it look like they were smoldering.

"You should calm down," he said. "Being upset just makes it hard to think clearly."

She stared at him angrily. Both
legionnaires
wore green camouflage suitable for working in a rural setting in daylight. They carried weapons and tools openly on utility belts. They didn't plan on being seen, so there was no reason to conceal their equipment. Vests protected their chests in case they screwed up.

"What do you know about racism?" she said. "Were you ever discriminated against?"

"Just because I'm not a victim doesn't mean I can't understand the problem," he replied calmly. "I'm allowed to be sympathetic."

She snarled and went back to her binoculars.

Most of the people at the party were men. They were munching on barbecue, knocking back beers, and laughing at each other's jokes. A few wore revolvers in holsters like gunfighters from the Old West. Tawni could hear the band playing at a quick tempo. She didn't like the style of music, but she had to admit these musicians weren't bad.

"Damn it," Norbert whispered. "Look left."

She moved her binoculars. Two men in black body armor were creeping through the weeds. They had compact assault rifles, radios, and side arms. Their attention was focused on the party.

"Secret Service?" Tawni whispered. "Aaron warned us they might show up."

"As usual, his suspicions were correct," Norbert said.

He took out his phone and made a call. She saw Aaron react in the distance. The commander quickly walked away from the crowd.

Tawni leaned towards Norbert so she could overhear.

"What?" Aaron said softly through the phone.

"The Secret Service has arrived," Norbert said. "Two men."

"Crap. They'll muck up the operation. You have to scare them off."

"How, sir?"

"Escort them to a location where you won't be seen," Aaron said. "Then call the legate. She'll know how to handle this."

"Yes, sir."

"Do it quietly."

"Of course, sir." Norbert closed his phone.

Tawni looked around and spotted a clump of trees between this farm and the next. "That looks like a good spot for a private conversation."

"Then let's meet our uninvited guests. I got the one on the right."

She drew a pair of VBR-PDW's, one for each hand. The black guns looked like oversized pistols, but they were fully automatic weapons capable of emptying a magazine in seconds. She had loaded them with armor-piercing rounds. Suppressors extended the barrels by six inches. Wicked recoil would make the guns hard to control, but she didn't need precision shooting for this job. She would be working at close range.

Norbert pulled out a KRISS Vector. It was a very sexy gun which could never be mistaken for a civilian weapon. The forward mounted magazine swept back at an angle. He unfolded the skeletal butt stock.

They proceeded forward through the brush and weeds. After months of intense instruction by Aaron, Tawni had finally learned how to move silently. Before taking each step, she tested the ground with her foot. She found the gaps between the twigs and dead leaves by feel alone. The process was so automatic it hardly slowed her down.

Tawni approached the Secret Service agent on the left with her guns aimed at his head. Norbert covered the one on the right.

"Gentlemen," he whispered, "turn around slowly. Hands up."

The agents turned with wide eyes.

The bigger man said, "We're federal agents."

"We know exactly who you are and why you're here," Norbert said. "See those trees behind me? Walk to them quietly."

"Why?"

"So we can have a private conversation. Move. Keep those hands up. I had a lot of coffee this morning, and my trigger finger is very twitchy."

Norbert and Tawni followed the agents to the clump of trees. Everybody kept their heads down and made good use of the shadows. Nobody wanted to be seen.

When they were safely behind cover, Norbert said, "I have to call somebody to get this straightened out. Don't cause trouble while I'm on the phone. I can fire my gun one-handed, and my partner will happily drop both of you in the blink of an eye. She's even twitchier than me."

Tawni winked at the two agents. They were trying to appear unconcerned.

Norbert took out his phone and made his call. "Hello, ma'am." He kept his eyes on the agents. "I can't say my name out loud, but I'm at the Pure America barbecue. I have a couple of Secret Service agents here, and my commander wants them gone. He told me to call you. Yes, ma'am. I'll wait."

During the silence, Tawni kept her heavy guns aimed steadily at the agents. She made sure they had a good view straight down the barrels.

Norbert handed his phone to one of the men. "It's for you."

The agent put it against his ear. "Yes? Who is this?" His eyes widened. "Mr. President!" He snapped to attention. "Yes, sir! Director Seferis ordered us to come here. Yes, sir. Right away, sir!" He gave the phone back to Norbert.

"You'll be leaving now?" Norbert said.

The agent gulped and nodded. "Yes."

Norbert pointed to the road. "Don't let us keep you."

Both men in black hurried off.

Tawni chuckled. "That guy was about to piss his pants."

"Yeah." Norbert nodded. "I'm starting to enjoy this mission. It's different."

"And we make a good team." She smiled at him.

* * *

Haley gave Ethel's bulky, gray phone back to her. The device was built like a metal brick.

"Thank you," she said. "That was helpful. I would've handled it differently, but your approach works too."

She was wearing a gray gown which was understated and elegant. The attire emphasized how little fat she had on her body. Every taut muscle stood out. He would've called her underfed except he had seen her eat. She wolfed down food as if every meal might be her last. Gaining weight seemed the least of her concerns. She usually ate two or three desserts, too. Lightly tinted sunglasses concealed her strange eyes and didn't quite match her attire.

They were aboard the
Queen of the Lake
. It was one of the large cruise ships that plied the waters of Lake Michigan. Normally, it was packed with tourists, but the Democratic Party had rented the whole ship for a fund raising event.

Formal dress was mandatory at this party. The men wore tuxedos and the women wore ball gowns. Even the Secret Service had dressed for the occasion. Haley's tuxedo had too much starch in the collar and too little room in the crotch. He ignored the discomfort and kept a smile on his face. The show had to go on.

"I should thank you for letting me handle the situation peacefully," he said. "It doesn't seem like you normally seek diplomatic solutions."