Firepower, John Cutter [best summer reads .txt] 📗

Qaeda. And from what Vince inferred, Gustafson was modeling the Brethren on international terrorist groups. Which would mean he had many cells, spread around the country. They likely each had certain orders…

He read a bit of the Goethe translation from Faust:

“I see my discourse leaves you cold;

Children, do not take offense;

Remember that the Devil is old,

Grow old yourselves, and he'll make sense!”

Maybe I’m not quite old enough to understand the Devil, Vince thought ruefully. What was Gustafson really up to?

The layout of streets, that rectangular building…

“Mr. Bellator — can I join you?” It was Deirdre, carrying a book to the table, a shy expression on her face. Like a lonely librarian wanting polite male company.

“Please,” he said, gesturing at the chair. He scribbled a quick note.

“I saw you had the Goethe out — I thought we could discuss it,” she said, sitting down. “I’m trying to use it to improve my German…”

He shoved the note at her: Any chance this room is bugged?

She shook her head. She was librarian here, and a federal agent. She’d checked.

He spindled the paper up and shredded it to tiny pieces as he murmured, “Couple things. First is, Gustafson showed me some street plans… Said it was a hypothetical for a battle. Wanted some tactical advice, how to get in, do the most damage, and exfiltrate. I said I’d need more information. He didn’t want to give it to me — though it was supposedly all just a thought experiment. I think it’s their target. And I’m pretty sure it’s the Lincoln Memorial.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh God.”

“He said something about a big gathering planned there.”

She glanced at the door. So far no one had come anywhere near the library. “Something’s coming up — the Black Caucus is planning some sort of pre-election presentation at the memorial. Lots of black senators, big shot endorsers. Public invited. And of course, the Brethren hate Abraham Lincoln…”

“Yeah. You’d better get a warning out.”

“Any more details?”

“I did get the impression he was thinking about using troops. He wants to create something like a real army.”

“That’s a big order, getting enough people there. But he probably has a lot of decoy activity planned. Simultaneous attacks in other places. I get hints of that from Wynn Foster. What was the second thing?”

“I’m supposed to prove myself before he’ll trust me and give me the lowdown on their big plan. And he wants me to do it by killing some people. Claims they’re white nationalists — but they’re some kind of hated rivals, who’ve been spreading dirt about him. Run by a guy named Dex Stirner up in a place called Cracker Barrell, Georgia.”

“Stirner! The leader of the Ragnarins?”

“Yeah, he mentioned Ragnarins.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment and said, “And you’re supposed to kill him?”

“Yes. I mean, if he’s what Gustafson claims, maybe—”

“He isn’t! Not anymore. He’s one of ours. He’s… I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“You just did.”

“Yeah.” She looked at him with a kind of bemused irritation. “I do not understand why I trust you so much. But I do.”

“I stepped in when the asshole had you down.”

“I’d have gotten out of that.”

“You sure? He was a pretty big guy and he had the jump on you.”

“Well — probably, anyhow. I meant to thank you for that.”

“Not necessary. How come they picked a woman to worm into this outfit? I’m sure you know your job, but the Brethren are mostly male.”

She gave a wry smile. “Because Gustafson’s pretty much an incel. Contempt for women. Uses them sometimes but he doesn’t take them seriously. He thinks they’re no threat.”

“He should meet some of the Kurdish women soldiers in Iraq. They’d kick ass on him and his men, easy.”

“I met them myself. The photo in the file wasn’t the first time I saw you. I was a heli pilot in Iraq.”

“Which service?”

“Air Force. I flew you and two other Delta Force into South Syria for a night mission.”

“Insert outside Al-Bukamal?”

“That’s right.”

“That was you! I knew the pilot was a woman, but under the goggles and helmet and comm gear…”

She nodded. “You couldn’t see me but I saw you and the other two. You were with a black noncom and a white lieutenant.”

“Yeah. Lonny Freeman and Chris Destry.” He thought about Chris’s hand buried under the cabin porch. “Chris was killed by cartel shitbirds in the Yucatan. He’s the reason I’m here. Bobby’s his brother.” She took this in, and he asked, “So from there you went to…” He lowered his voice a little more. “Defense Intel?”

“Yeah, for two years. Finished my tour in a basement at the Pentagon. Listen.” Deirdre lowered her voice a little more so he had to lean closer to hear her. “Dex Stirner is a Bureau asset. We turned him. He’s giving us a lot of good information. You can’t kill him. Could be that Gustafson wants to kill Stirner because he found out he’s talking to the FBI about him.”

“But I need Gustafson to trust me. Because just stopping one attack isn’t going to keep them from carrying out mass murder, Deirdre. If he trusts me… I can find out what the Bureau needs to know.”

Male voices in the hallway. Marco and Wynn walked by, not even glancing in the library. Deirdre opened her book, pretending to pore over it. Vince frowned over his Goethe. He and Agent Corlin were silent till they were sure the men were gone.

Then she said, “Stirner has been requesting a move to witness protection. He must know someone’s planning to kill him…”

“There is one possibility,” Vince whispered, leaning a little closer. “But I’ll need some information…”

*

It was the night of Erntefest. Overhead, a waxing moon went from shine to dulled