“No problem. So what’s going on?”
“I need to know more about different anti-immigration groups-skinheads, Aryan Brotherhood, Minutemen.”
“Technically these days we refer to them as hate groups,” he said. “And this is for a case, huh?”
“It is. Why?”
“There have been some interesting rumors flying around the Web lately. Nothing too serious, but the chatter has definitely ticked up on some of the sites we monitor. One guy made a reference to something big brewing, and immediately got flamed by everyone else.”
“And that’s not normal?”
“The big claims are, but the flaming was surprising.” Mark sounded pensive. “Usually they love to get each other all riled up, kind of feeding off the hate. But they clamped down on this, went so far as to call the guy a liar and a troublemaker. Pretty out of character for that site. Made me think there might really be something in the works.”
Kelly flashed back on the blue powder. “Could any of the groups you monitor pull off something major?”
“Hard to say. Back in the nineties, a few redneck Klansmen almost succeeded in blowing up a natural gas processing plant in Texas. If one of them hadn’t got cold feet and gone to the Bureau, the explosion could have taken out hundreds, maybe thousands of people.” She heard the sound of typing in the background. “Can you tell me why you asked about those groups specifically?”
Kelly weighed what she could say without compromising the investigation. “There might be a connection between some ex-con Aryan Brotherhood members and some of the border militia guys.”
“Crap. That’s not good. What people don’t realize is that while hate groups have doubled their membership in the past decade, you people,” Mark’s voice turned harsh as he said, “have completely dropped the ball.”
“I’m sure that’s not true-” Kelly protested.
“It is,” Mark interrupted. “The attack on 9/11 initiated a complete reallocation of resources. Now you ignore the domestic militias we were all so afraid of in the nineties, instead it’s all about foreign nationals on our soil. When the truth is, we’re more likely to see another Oklahoma City before another twin towers.”
“Why has the membership doubled?” Kelly asked, trying to refocus him. That was one thing she’d forgotten about Mark, he went from zero to rage in seconds flat.
“Anti-immigration has been the great unifier,” Mark said, catching himself. His voice was more controlled as he continued, “And the Internet made finding like-minded recruits a hell of a lot easier. The good news is that, by and large, these people are all talk. They love to rant and rave, but when it comes down to actually doing anything about it, most of them are too disorganized.”
“But?” Kelly asked.
“But what we worry about is the possibility of someone smart and charismatic bringing all these disparate groups together.”
“Like an American version of Osama bin Laden?”
“Exactly like that.” Mark spoke in a rush, excited. “Imagine survivalists, skinheads and Minutemen. All heavily armed, all willing to fight. It would be like your own personal mercenary army. And if you had money to back it up, well…”
“Well?” Kelly asked when he didn’t continue.
“Let’s just say it would be really, really bad. People take for granted the stability of our country, but the truth is there isn’t a nation on the planet completely immune to a coup attempt. Given the right circumstances, someone could seize power and overthrow the Constitution.”
“That sounds a little far-fetched,” Kelly said.
“Does it? In the last decade alone there have been more than thirty coup attempts worldwide. Thirteen of those succeeded. Our government has only been in power for two-hundred years, not long at all in the grand scheme of things. The Romans ruled in one form or another for nearly a thousand years, and look what happened to them. And the people assigned to defend us, the National Guard and most of our military units, are currently overseas. At the moment, the United States has a very limited homeland defense.”
“Still…” Kelly tried to think of an appropriate response. Much of what he was saying was true, but the thought of a bunch of skinheads taking over the government still sounded preposterous.
“Still nothing. All it would take was some sort of cataclysmic event to coalesce people. Remember that 9/11 could very well have gone another way. Rather than rallying behind the president, people could have blamed him for not keeping the nation safe. And imagine the outcome if that had happened, and people took to the streets.”
“You were born in the wrong era, Mark. Should’ve been a ’60s radical,” Kelly teased.
His voice lost some enthusiasm as he said, “Maybe you’re right. I know you can’t tell me much, but please, if you learn anything…”
“I’ll call. And, Mark, let’s keep this between us, all right?”
He hesitated before saying, “All right. But if things are in motion, I expect a phone call.”
“Definitely.” Kelly hung up and thought about what he’d said. She turned back to her laptop and enlarged a photo of Jackson Burke. He was wearing a tuxedo, the portrait of well-fed contentment, mouth half-open in a laugh. “An American bin Laden, huh?” she said, examining it. “You don’t look like someone who’d enjoy spending time in a cave.”
Madison sat next to Bree’s hospital bed, picking at her cuticles. Ironic that twenty-four hours earlier Bree had been sitting beside her. The guy who gave her first aid was right, Bree would be fine. She had conked out while they were bandaging her arm. Madison envied her. She’d never been so tired in her entire life, but every time her head nodded she jerked awake. It would probably be a while before she slept through the night again, if ever.
The doctors had examined her leg and changed the cast since it got beat-up during their escape. Her lungs had checked out fine, too, although they felt tight from the smoke. The nurse said that would probably go away in a day or two.
Madison glanced at the door. Her mother was talking to one of the FBI agents. For some reason she felt less safe having them as guards. The commando-boys had been scary, but that made them seem more effective. Her mother had her arms crossed over her chest and was examining the floor tiles, nodding occasionally while the agent explained something. She looked old, Madison suddenly realized. Her mother used to be so pretty, back when she and Dad were still together.
The agent left and her mother remained there for a moment. She turned to find Madison watching her and suddenly straightened, forcing a weak smile.
“Any news about Dad?” Madison asked, as her mother leaned in and smoothed the covers over Bree.
“Not yet, sweetie. But they’re checking planes and trains to see if they can track him down. I’m sure he’s fine.”
She can’t even make that sound believable, Madison thought. It was just like when she told Madison they’d never get divorced. Then three months later, boom. “What about his credit cards? Are they checking those?”
“Yes. I think so.” Her mother slumped into the other chair. “They know what they’re doing, Maddee. They’ll find him if…”
“If what?” Madison pressed.
“If he wants to be found.”
Madison processed that. Her mother was implying that maybe her father hadn’t been taken by the bad guys, maybe he’d left on his own. But he’d never leave without them. Her mother, maybe, but he’d take her and Bree along. Wouldn’t he?
“We should try to sleep for a bit,” her mother said. “The nurse said the bed in the next room is empty. Would you like to lie down?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Well, I’m going to try.” Her mother used the arms of the chair to push herself up. “If you need anything one of the agents will get it, okay?”
“Okay.”
On her way out she placed her hand on Madison ’s head, then bent and kissed her. It had been a long time
