Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series (12 page)

Popeye appointed Horace as the head of one team and Rand in charge of the second.

Sam wondered how dedicated these two were to Oliver.

Popeye stepped to the wall and drew down a map. “All right. Gather around.” There was more shuffling of feet as the group moved to where Popeye stood.

Many sneaked glances at General Oliver while they walked to the map.
Jeez,
Sam thought,
Oliver’s really got them under his spell.

Popeye cleared his throat. “Team A is to take two trucks and maneuver four miles to approach Hill 114 from the west up this road.” His finger traced a farm road on the map.

Horace squinted at the map, made a note in his book, and nodded.

“Team B is to take one Jeep and one truck and approach Hill 114 from the east.” He pointed out the road they were to follow. “Once you’re in position, notify me with a double click on your mic. We’ll push off at 1840 hours. Any questions?”

The team leaders shook their heads and motioned for their men to follow them outside. The group hurried to the weapons racks, grabbed their rifles, and moved outside. Drivers had brought vehicles to the door of the barn, and the men loaded in rapidly. The team leaders took their places in the cabs with the drivers.

After walking up and down the line of vehicles, Oliver turned to Sam. “What do you think?”

“Loaded quickly and smoothly. I think we need to concentrate on leadership so the men know who’s in charge of their team.”

Oliver nodded. Rose blew a whistle and called for the men to disembark from the vehicles, which brought on some grumbling.

“Knock off the bullshit,” Sam called.

Popeye gave him a dirty look.

Rose blew the whistle again. “Inside.”

The men gathered in a semi-circle around Oliver near the front of the room. He looked at each of the men before he spoke. “You loaded in an orderly manner, ready to go. That’s important. I thought the briefings were done effectively.”

Sam sensed a collective sigh of relief.

Oliver looked around. “I was disappointed the other night. You all know better than to drive up to an objective and start walking up the hill. At least you should now if you’ve been listening to Colonel Thorpe this past week.” He paused. “Some have learned that lesson the hard way.”

Sam turned away. Everyone knew what Oliver was talking about, the murdering bastard. Why didn’t these guys rise up against Oliver? He’d killed their friends. But Sam knew the answer. They were scared to death. None of them wanted to be next.

Oliver motioned with his hand. Popeye walked to the front of the room and saluted. “The time is close. No more mistakes, or I’ll have to replace you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Popeye’s hand trembled during his salute.

Popeye waited until Oliver left the room; then he turned to the men, his face flushed. He looked ready to explode. “You disappointed General Oliver. That means you disappointed me. We were to demonstrate our skill the other night. You looked like a bunch of rookies. We’ll redouble our efforts so we’re ready. Anyone wants out, tell me now.”

Albert Grimes, his orange hunting cap pulled down over his ears, stood in the back and raised his hand.

Popeye pointed to Specialist Rose, who remained in the back of the room. “Take him outside.” Rose grabbed his arm, opened the door, and pushed Grimes through it.

A rifle shot sounded; then Rose reappeared with the ever-present smirk on his face.

“Anyone else?”

The men looked down at the floor.

“We’ll meet tomorrow night at 1800 hours. Be here, or I’ll come looking for you.” Popeye stalked toward his office. When he reached the door, he called back, “Rose, take care of the traitor! And don’t forget his family.”

That comment chilled Sam.

The rest of the men waited until Popeye left the room; then they filed out into the dark night, eyes looking down at the floor.

Sam walked into his office and shut the door, pulled out the cell phone, and punched in the number Alex had given him. The phone rang three times, and a recording came on: “Your party is not available; leave a message.”

Sam whispered into the phone, “Nine thirty tomorrow morning.”

He disconnected the phone and decided to take a walk outside to cool down. When he pulled the door open, Popeye stood about ten feet away, looking down at a book in his hand and tapping his boot.

“What do you want?” Sam asked.

“I’m stretching my legs before bed. Something wrong with that? Why, are you trying to hide something?”

A
lex Prescott smiled at Sam over the rim of her coffee cup as steam rose from the hot liquid. They were sitting at a round iron table in the bookstore, which was quiet now at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning.

Sam had spent an extra hour circling Harrisburg before he’d arrived in the parking lot. He’d driven down to the state capitol, then back and forth across the Market Street Bridge. If he had been followed, he hadn’t spotted the pursuer.

He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then lowered his voice. “Popeye had the guy taken outside. His name was Albert Grimes. The poor bastard panicked and raised his hand to get out. It cost him his life. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old. Rose, one of Oliver’s Black Shirts shot the poor bastard.” Sam lifted his coffee cup and placed it back down on the table without taking a drink. “I couldn’t believe it.”

Alex tapped her spoon. “They’ll probably charge it off to a hunting accident. No one will be the wiser.”

Sam shook his head. “At point-blank range? Poor kid must have a family. It seems to me this should raise a red flag with the local police or someone.”

She pulled a notebook out of her folder and scribbled a message. “I’ll see what I can find out about Albert Grimes, as well as the other two they shot. Do you think this weird kid, Specialist Rose, shot all three of them?”

“Don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Do you have a first name for Rose?”

Sam shook his head. “He must have worked with Oliver at some point in the past. We need to figure a way to bring him in.” Sam paused for a moment. “I’ll talk to Rose when I see him. See what I can find out. The guy stays pretty aloof.”

She shook her head. “Even if you testified, it’d be your word against theirs.” She paused to stir her coffee. “They’d come after you.”

Sam clenched his jaw. She was right, dammit.

“What’s next?” She opened her notebook again. “I’m wearing the wire, so go over everything in detail.”

“Most of the men have worked hard this week. But they are beaten down, scared to death of Oliver and his Black Shirts.”

Alex nodded. “I would be.”

She looked down, then up at Sam. Their eyes locked for a moment.

“Ah, let me tell you about Popeye,” Sam stammered. “He’s number two, after Oliver.”

Alex listened to Sam’s summary. “I’ve heard of ODESSA,” she said when he’d finished, “but don’t know much about the organization. I’ll see what I can find out.” She paused, then placed her hand on Sam’s arm. “How are you doing?” she asked. Her hand felt soft and warm.

“I’ve been better. Oliver has to show he means business.”

She slipped her hand over his. “Hang in there.”

Sam nodded and took a sip of coffee, then pulled his hand back. “Tell me all you can about Waco.”

“I’ll give you the condensed version.”

“Before you start, I need another cup of coffee.” Sam rose and started toward the counter. “Get you one?”

“Please.”

“Black?”

She smiled. “Put a little sugar in it.”

“You mean you’re not sweet enough?” Sam wandered over to the counter, wondering where that stupid comment had come from.

He stood at the corner of a shelf housing computer books, watching Sam and Alex drink their coffee.

What was Colonel Thorpe doing at the bookstore? Who was the young woman? She looked like a freak case, hair sticking out all over and rings dangling from her left ear. The tight black T-shirt did show off her breasts. That didn’t interest him at all. Maybe Colonel Thorpe liked to look at them.

Moving around the display shelves, he took up a position at the end of the row behind Colonel Thorpe. He jumped back as Thorpe walked over to get more coffee. Grabbing a book, he started paging through it, keeping it in front of his face. What if Thorpe saw him? What would he say?

Risking exposure, he lowered the book. Colonel Thorpe stood at the counter talking to the clerk. The blonde glanced over and caught his eye. Had he been too obvious?

He hurried toward the other end of the store and pretended to browse through CDs.

Sam set the coffees on the table, trying not to spill the one in his left hand. “Go ahead.”

Alex leaned forward with her hand cupped to the side of her mouth. “There’s a young man, little under six feet tall, with shaggy, dishwater blond hair watching you. Kid’s paper thin.”

Sam’s heart picked up a notch. Had Oliver tracked him here? He’d been so careful. “Where?”

“The kid disappeared round the corner. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

Sam moved his head a notch, risking a peek.

“You just look at me. I’ll watch for the kid.” She laughed. “He’s probably some starstruck youngster looking at all your big muscles.”

“Yeah, right.”

Alex leaned back and reached up to fluff her hair. “Okay, here we go. After the fiasco at Ruby Ridge, the radical fringe got more and more blatant in their organizing efforts. Pastor Peters convened a conference in Estes Park, Colorado, which was attended by representatives of more than 160 groups.”

“Pastor Peters?”

“He’s one of the leaders in The Christian Identity Movement.”

Sam raised his eyes. “Oliver has mentioned the Christian Identity. He says that’s part of his destiny. Talks about a kingdom on earth where whites rule supreme. What can you tell me about the group?”

“They’re an offshoot of a nineteenth-century movement from England. These clowns believe that whites descended from Adam and Eve, but Jews descended from Eve and the Devil.”

Sam noticed that Alex kept looking over his shoulder, and he almost turned but caught himself.

“Get this,” Alex said. “Anyone who isn’t white is considered subhuman or, as they say, ‘mud people.’ Harming a mud person isn’t a sin, since they’re animals and don’t have a soul.” She smiled. “That’s almost as bad as being a woman in today’s hotshot FBI. Oops, better scratch that.”

Sam laughed. “It’s tough being on candid camera.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “all the shining stars attended the conference. They included Louis Beam, Grand Dragon for the Texas KKK, Richard Butler from Aryan Nations, and Tom Stetson with the skinheads, as well as various religious groups and a bunch of the tax protesters, just to name a few.”

Sam nodded. “Popeye’s a big deal in the Keystone Skinheads.”

Alex’s eyes got wide. “Do you know his full name?”

“No, but I’ll get his picture. Guy’s tricky.” Sam glanced up again.

“Goddamn it, keep looking at me. Do I have to take my shirt off to get you to glue your eyes on me?” She smiled. “Guess that makes more I have to scratch from the tape.”

Sam flushed. “Sorry, running a little tight.” He tried to imagine her without her shirt on. He liked the picture.

“All right. Now onward. They planned to develop a unified strategy for battling an unjust government. Then they’d take it on the road to various gun shows, emphasizing the need to battle a leadership that could kill Randy Weaver’s wife and son.”

Sam nodded again, focused hard on what she told him. He didn’t want to take notes.

“The various state militias were considered to be the principal defense. Initially, they played down the racism bit to broaden their appeal.”

Sam processed all this information. He needed another file drawer in his mental computer. A woman came in and sat down at the next table. Her gray hair was up in a bun, and she wore a long plaid skirt and thick black shoes. She looked familiar.

“Then came Waco. That fanned the flames even more.”

Sam turned his attention back to Alex. “Need details. Oliver’s giving me the other side. I might be able to use the information you’re giving me to turn some of the guys.”