A Mating of Hawks (14 page)

“A church!”

“You bet. Haven't you heard of the Posse Comitatus in Wisconsin or the Christian Patriots Defense League? They hold their own training courses.”

She said slowly, “So do the KKK and the American Nazis. The whole idea scares me, Judd. We have a mixed society with a lot of different interests. If each little segment starts arming itself and holding maneuvers, there has to be trouble sooner or later.”

“The idea's to prevent trouble,” he said, with an indulgent smile for her dismay. “And don't forget the Jewish Defense League and the Brown Berets!”

“It's scary that they've reason to feel they had to defend themselves!”

He shrugged. “Don't you get the picture yet, baby? Don't you know who's really threatened these days? The average white working-class American! Everything they've worked for is slipping away and they're damn sure going to fight for what they have left.”

Tracy stared at him as he took a road she hadn't yet been on. “People can vote, Judd. We've got laws—”

He said brutally, “What good did that do you the night that crazy got his hands around your throat?”

She flinched but retorted sharply, “Do you think we should make fortresses of our homes and cars and wear guns as if this was a hundred years ago?”

“That's what I do think.” He glanced sideways at her, golden eyes smoldering, gave a short laugh. “You'll understand after today.”

A hill formed a natural backstop for the firing range where a few people were practicing on a variety of targets, some stationary, others revolving. A long prefab served as a cafeteria and lecture hall. Every imaginable sort of truck, RV or camper was parked outside. As Tracy and Judd approached, curtains opened and a projector was switched off.

Standing in front of the screen, a rosy-cheeked white-haired man with pale-blue eyes raised both hands and cried to the score of people in the folding chairs, “Godless forces are surrounding the Children of Light everywhere on this sin-cursed earth! In this America, they are trying to take away your birthright, subvert a nation founded under God. Brothers and sisters, it is your solemn duty to defend yourselves and your country!”

A round of applause and shouts of approval. “Go to your training now,” exhorted the pink-cheeked leader. “Armor yourselves with righteousness and this thought: You aren't shooting to kill. You are shooting
to live!
”

Cheering him again, the people filed out. There were fourteen men and three women mostly under the age of forty, and three children aged about ten to fourteen. Tracy told Judd she'd like to interview the minister.

“All right, but watch where you're going when you come out,” he said. He slipped a whistle with a chain around her neck. “If you don't see me, just whistle.”

The Reverend Albert Pencker was gratified at the interview. “People need to be warned,” he said. “Terrible days, young woman. But we must make ready to resist Antichrist.” His church was called the Children of Light. “Based on the Gospels, young woman,” he emphasized, as he might have said “young serpent.” “Our doctrine is one hundred percent Jesus Christ and Him crucified.”

Tracy blinked. “I thought Jesus said to love one's enemies and do good to those who offend you.”

“We do pray that our enemies will see their errors and be saved,” Pencker said without fluttering a silver eyelash. “But I tell you the Beast, that monster of Revelation, is already among us.”

“Would you explain that, sir?”

“In the last days, the Beast will rule. No one will be able to buy or sell without having his number stamped on their forehead.” The minister's voice sank to a whisper. “Young woman, how often have you wanted to pay cash and been told a credit card was preferred?”

“Credit card?” Tracy couldn't keep amazement out of her voice. “You think the card companies are the Beast or Antichrist or whatever?”

“Not exactly. But what makes their use possible, what checks your tax returns, fouls up your bank account, scrambles your health records, swathes you in printouts? What makes mistakes that no one can unravel and is utterly unreachable by reason or entreaty?”

“Computers!”

“That's it,” beamed Pencker. “And when rioting and violence are so terrible that people will long for any kind of peace, the Beast will take control of the computers and rule the whole world.”

Tracy asked Pencker a few more questions. As the Beast haunted his future, so Communism, crime and inflation haunted his present. Flipping off the tape recorder, she asked him to let her take a few pictures, for which he posed with a beatific smile. Then he picked up a rifle and started to join his flock.

“What sort of weapon is that?” Tracy asked.

He patted the barrel. “An AR 18. I like it because it fires faster than the Heckler & Koch 91. Manually, it can get off twenty rounds in five seconds but this one's automatic. I just squeeze the trigger and it rips off twenty rounds in one-point-eight seconds.” He smiled again and went out.

Tracy reran a little of the tape to check the sound level and, satisfied with the quality, grabbed her camera and hurried out of the prefab and into—a nightmare.

The sun was dazzling, yet darkness kept filling Tracy, an enveloping horror that made her see the world around her in dizzying flashes, like speeded frames of a movie, sound coming and going in bursts. People blazing away at man-shaped targets that spun and dangled crazily. Faces hard or eager or fearful. Children shrieking: “I hit him! Look! Right in the heart!”

She almost screamed as a man loomed over her. Her own terrified face stared back at her, tiny and distorted, from reflecting glasses that turned the black face into an eerie mask with a tuft of sparse beard. Spotted camouflage clothes made the apparition seem a huge serpent.

Shrinking back, she was braced by Judd's hard arm and his deep voice. “This is Pardo. Learned his trade in Nam. He was Infantry, extended to be a helicopter door gunner. Pardo, Tracy's just taking photos today but she'll be back for some personal coaching.”

The impenetrable mirrored glasses came off. Now that she could see his eyes, she liked something about his face even before a smile warmed it. “Pleasure, Tracy. Anyone messes with you, I can sure show you how to blow 'em away.”

He sounded his whistle. Everyone hurried over, all with rifles or pistols. Some had both. Children gripped .22's. An almost tangible odor of excitement filled Tracy's nostrils, a dull sickening taint like that of old blood. Again swirling darkness clouded the bright day. She lay pinned to the driveway in Houston, gasping, struggling …

Pardo's voice. Her brain fumbled, could not decode words. When she could see again, Pardo had vanished but the group was surging forward.

“They'll try to track him down,” Judd said. His mouth seemed full and fleshy. “Come on, let's see the action.”

Six times in the next hour, Pardo rose up from thickets, dropped from trees, emerged from hollows in the earth. Never was he seen till he chose to be. Frustration grew, especially among the men.

“Next time he pops up like a jackrabbit, I've a notion to crease the inside of his pants,” muttered a husky, sunburned, blond young man.

Judd said pleasantly, “Mister, you stifle that kind of talk or you can turn around and leave.” He added gently, though his stare made the blond man's drop, “You may be behind Pardo, but I'm behind you.”

Pardo ran them back from the creek, fanning them out and telling them to hunker behind the nearest cover at one whistle, drop flat on two, and fire at three. By the time they got back to headquarters they were dusty, scratched and hot.

During the break for coffee or soft drinks, Tracy talked to several women. One was a fragile brown-haired girl with pansy-velvet eyes. She was a nurse. Leaving a Tucson hospital one night, she'd been forced into her car by an armed man who'd made her drive out in the desert. He'd raped and beaten her, left her for dead in an arroyo. She had crawled to a house. That was over a year ago and her body had healed but her dark eyes filled with tears as she said brokenly, “I still have bad dreams. I sleep with the light on and have to use sleeping pills.”

“If you'd had a gun, could you have gotten it out and used it before your attacker could have shot you?” Tracy asked.

The small woman stiffened. “I don't know. Probably not. But when I work the night shift now, I keep my gun in my hand while I'm walking to my car.”

“What if a friend startled you and you shot before you recognized him?”

“Any friend of mine had better know not to come up on me suddenly,” the young nurse said. She shivered, hunching her shoulders. Tracy knew exactly how she felt.

An older woman, overweight and breathless from exertion, said she was taking the course because she and her husband ran a neighborhood store that had been robbed twice that year. “It's awful,” she sighed, wiping her face with a tissue. “Used to be we knew everybody who came in. Gave credit, delivered free to shut-ins. People were more than customers, they were friends. But these days—” She made a gesture of bewilderment.

The men were examining each other's weapons. Pencker's AR 18 and the similar-looking but manually fired Armalite 180 were in high favor, with the Heckler & Koch 91 heavy assault rifle also popular. The most popular handgun was the Colt Commander .45. A licensed dealer was offering to get anyone interested a deal on Remington 870 Bushmasters.

“Fires the same round as the M-16,” he explained. “There's a $200 federal tax and you've got to be checked out and given a permit by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and firearms, but I can still give you a bargain if three or more of you take one.”

With a blast on the whistle, Judd announced there would now be instruction in the care of weapons and individual marksmanship coaching. Advanced students could practice with the Remington or one of the other Stronghold machine or sub-machine guns.

“Now,” said Judd, steering Tracy over to face a man-shaped target twenty feet away. “Try for accuracy first, then for speed. Remember, you've got six shots. It takes just one.”

Only one of the first load hit the target, and in the foot, at that. Judd blew his breath through his teeth. “Boy, do you need practice! Load up and try again.”

Ten minutes later, she was hitting the target half the time, though she still had a tendency to shut her eyes and lower the barrel when she fired. When she hit the valentine pinned where a heart would be, Judd gave her a hug and a boisterous kiss.

“That's the way, doll. Told you you could learn!”

“An apt pupil,” came a cold voice behind them. “I doubt if she's the hotshot I've come to see you about, though.”

They whirled. Tracy flushed, for some reason feeling judged and guilty at Shea's icy stare. Judd grinned hardily. “Why did you come, little brother?”

“Someone shot a deer on my place the last day or two. Field dressed it and packed the meat over here.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Someone's eating venison.”

Judd said testily, “It's out of season, even if your place wasn't posted, so do you think whoever did it is going around telling people? Hell, no! He'll have it stowed away in ice chests.”

“Let's have a look at those ice chests, then.”

Judd's eyes blazed. “You're not a game warden and damned if you can do that to my students!”

“Why not? Call it a man practicing to defend his property.” Shea started to saunter toward the parked vehicles.

“Pardo!” Judd yelled.

The tall black strode over, eyeing Shea, who had turned back. “Yeah?”

“Did you cross the fence and get a deer?” Judd's voice was tight.

Pardo shrugged. “When I start huntin', I don't pay much mind to fences. Did get me a deer yesterday. What about it?”

“You know darn well it's not deer season,” Judd growled. “Part of our agreement is that you keep your nose clean! I don't want a bunch of Fish & Game people running around out here.”

Ignoring him, Pardo lazily surveyed Shea. His attention sharpened. “Hey! That you, Sergeant Scott?”

He put out his hand in the brotherhood grasp and Shea responded, though his face was still grim. “What the hell are you doing here, Leopardo? Thought you were going back to Detroit and make gas guzzlers!”

Pardo's grin faded. “Lost my job, man. You know. Nerves. Got to drinkin'. Wife split, took the kids. Drifted awhile. Then I saw this ad for an instructor.” He grinned. “I tell you, sarge, there's not much market for what they taught us in the war and it's tough to settle down to what you used to do. What you doin' for yourself?”

“That's a good question,” put in Judd. “He's sure not ranching!”

“I've got a place right over the fence,” Shea said. “If you get tired of this job, you've got one with me.”

“Doin' what?”

“Trying to get the range back to what it should be. Raising dry-land food crops, stuff like that.”

Pardo's jaw dropped. “You
own
that place?”

Shea nodded.

“Then how come you were just an enlisted man? How come,” Pardo asked savagely, “you were in the friggin' army at all?”

“He's got a noble soul,” drawled Judd derisively. “Wouldn't take special privileges.”

Shea looked past Judd to Pardo. “Come have a drink when you have a chance. And that job's open.”

Pardo shrugged, a hint of puzzled suspicion in his eyes. “Sounds pretty dull, sarge. But I'll take you up on the drink.” He chuckled. “Won't shoot any more of your deer, either.”

He went back to his trainees. Shea gazed after him, regret and bitterness emphasizing the lines in his face. In that moment, he looked much older than Judd, who said amiably, “Anything else we can do for you?”

Slowly, Shea scanned the men, women and children who were practicing. “You could tell these people that the gun they have in their house is six times as likely to kill one of them as an intruder. You could tell them three-fourths of the crimes committed with guns are done with stolen weapons.”