The congregation sitting on the ground muttered, “Heil.” A few raised their right hands to chest level.
“That government,” Kriegel began without preamble, “which has committed treason against every true white citizen of these great United States.”
“White rights,” the congregation rumbled.
“Today,” Kriegel announced, “we are witnessing the beginnings of a great, new, worldwide revolution. Some might call it the reemergence of nationalism. It is the revolution of The Tribes! We all shall rise and do glorious battle against each other! I tell you, my brothers, we must be ready to rise as a white nation! As every tribe, as every nation in
this world is now doing, so must we purify ourselves, cleanse ourselves ethnically, rid ourselves of everyone who is not one of us!”
At the electronic console, Jack inserted earplugs before putting on his earphones.
Then he fiddled with some of the dials.
To his regret, it was a very pregnant woman who began vomiting first, then two children.
Very shortly, though, the men, all revelers the night before, were on their knees, puking on the ground. They tried to beat each other, their own women and children away from them with their arms as they crawled forward on their knees, to give themselves room to vomit and breathe.
On the porch, Tracy had disappeared again.
Commandant Wolfe had his hand on the screen door to the cabin when he doubled over and puked through the screen onto both sides of the door. His vomit dribbled down the door to the threshold.
Preacher Kriegel vomited sideways onto the porch’s floor.
Holding their heads and their stomachs, people stood when they could and staggered away. They headed toward their trailers, their campers, their carport bunks.
Several rolled onto the ground as soon as they reached shade.
So:
Lunch was not desired, prepared, or served;
Camp Orania fell into a retching silence;
The meeting between Commandants Wolfe and Kriegel did not commence until after three o’clock.
“Do you trust him?” Wolfe glared at Jack as he entered the room for the meeting.
“Oh, yes,” Kriegel said.
Wolfe growled, “I don’t think I do.”
Jack smiled at him. “Sure you do.”
“Jack is an answer to a prayer,” Kriegel said. “He hasn’t been with me long, but it was Jack who organized my escape from prison.”
“Ummm,” Wolfe said. “My son is one thing …”
“And I’m another, right?” Jack asked.
“Jack’s like a son to me,” Kriegel said. “Besides, you’ve seen his father.”
“That’s one of the problems,” Kriegel said. “His father has made no commitment to us, I’d say, from the things he said.”
“But he has,” said Kriegel. “It was Jack’s father who made my escape good. It was Jack’s father who hid me out, who disguised me, got me through roadblocks, who got me here safely.”
“I don’t like the way that Fletcher guy talks.”
“It’s not what a man says,” Kriegel said primly; “it’s what he does that counts.”
“I think I’ll look into all that,” Wolfe said. “I have my own resources, you know.”
In exasperation, Kriegel boasted, “Jack shot a cop. A woman cop.”
“Well, all right,” Wolfe said.
It was then that Kriegel unfolded the gasoline company’s road map of the city of Miami on the table.
“Gentlemen,” Kriegel said. “Be seated.”
They sat at the four sides of the table.
“Even though there are only the two of us here,” Kriegel said, “with our lieutenants, this is a most significant meeting. It will go down in history. Therefore I have asked Jack to record it.”
Jack took the small tape recorder out of his pocket and placed it on the road map of Miami. He turned it on.
He’d had every intention of recording the meeting, asked or not.
“Tracy,” Wolfe said. “Take notes.”
Tracy was ready with his clipboard and pen.
“Mine is a three-point plan,” Kriegel said, “which plan, byway of stating our goal, I shall describe to you somewhat backward.
“Our goal is to drive the people from Miami.”
“What people?” Wolfe looked down at the map as if it offered information other than the names of roads. “Why Miami?”
Kriegel asked, “Haven’t you ever heard Miami referred to as ‘the capital of Latin America’?”
Clearly Wolfe hadn’t. “It’s a mighty sprawly city.”
“Nearly all the people in it are aliens,” Kriegel asserted.
“Aliens?” Tracy looked at the map, willing to see aliens.
“How do you intend to attack Miami?” Wolfe asked.
“First, by Intelligence,” Kriegel answered. “Then by Sabotage. Only then by Force.”
“You mean to capture Miami?” Wolfe asked.
“Oh, yes,” Kriegel answered simply.
“Capture and hold it?”
“Why not? You’re thinking of the armed might of the Zionist government of the United States, aren’t you?”
“I am giving it some thought, yes.”
“Once we have captured Miami,” Kriegel said, “the area will be flooded by white Americans eager to cast off the yoke of democracy, equality, and all that crap. We will fill up Florida like a boot. Our population will flood up the coast and west even as far as Texas, Colorado, and Nevada. Miami will be our capital.”
“Nice climate,” Jack commented.
Wolfe said, “You think big.”
“We will do this,” Kriegel promised. “And we will do this within three years.”
“But how? Where do we get the manpower?”
“Your organizations in this country report to me thirty thousand registered members. And I, at this moment, command half the prison population in the United States. Have you any idea how many men that is?”
Jack said, “Lots.”
“Besides, we are getting increasing numbers of followers among our student populations, our other unemployed … Oh, yes, we have the manpower, if we attract them, train them, and use them correctly. What we need are more and more training camps set up, using this marvelous Camp Orania you have established, Commandant Wolfe, as a model.” Wolfe tugged his shirtfront down and squared his shoulders. “Oh, yes, Commandant Wolfe,” Kriegel said, “I see you becoming an increasingly important figure in this movement.”
Tracy, glaring, grimaced at Jack.
“Intelligence.” Kriegel looked at the road map of Miami. “We need to know where the electrical power grids are that service Miami. How to turn the city’s water off. Sabotage the sewers. Sabotage the main bridges to the city to blow them up at the appropriate moment.”
“There’s the sea,” Wolfe said, studying the map diligently. “The ocean.”
“Yes.” Kriegel brushed that corner of the Atlantic Ocean with the back of his hand. “I expect the aliens to escape by sea. Back to Latin America. And New York.”
“But they can ship food and water, troops into Miami by sea,” Wolfe pointed out.
“There won’t be time.”
“Sir?” Tracy asked. “How can we attack Miami if we’ve already blown up the bridges ourselves?”
“That’s the charm of the idea,” Kriegel admitted. “Have you ever heard of a fifth column? The Trojan horse? Our troops will already be in the city. After the power and water are off thirty-six hours, first we seize the airport. And then our troops will proceed block by block, driving the aliens toward the sea.”
“Phew!” Jack said. “They will drive the aliens toward the sea!”
“There won’t be enough ships to take all the aliens away,” Tracy said.
“Then we drive the aliens into the sea.”
“Drive the aliens into the sea,” Jack repeated.
Wolfe asked his son, “Are you getting all this down, Tracy?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
Wolfe sat back. “Seems simple enough. Tell me, Commandant Kriegel: how do we get the money for all this, for all the training we will need to do?”
“Lots of little Miamis,” Kriegel said. “We shall establish a model. Within six weeks, I should think, after you train your men for this specific task, Commandant Wolfe, we will take just the men you have here—having chosen a small, fairly isolated city, in the Southwest, South, Midwest, West, it doesn’t matter—gather intelligence on it, turn off its power and water, attack it in force, and liberate from that town’s banks and other businesses what I think you Americans call ‘cash money.’ Millions and millions of dollars of cash money.”
“Ummm.” Wolfe studied the matter. “Plundering. I like that idea. Will we try to hold these small cities?”
“No,” Kriegel said. “Just plunder them. You’ll strike without warning, lock their police and other tiny town tyrants in their own jails, and make off, overnight, with every bit of cash and other valuables you can find.”
Wolfe slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “Excellent! I’m with you!”
“The rest of my plan concerns you and me, my dear Commandant Wolfe!”
“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me,” Wolfe said quietly.
“I intend to make my headquarters here, in this encampment, to which I have given the name Camp Orania.”
“You are most welcome.”
“Immediately, using whatever resources you have available, I shall need a handsome house built here for myself and personal staff. Large and beautifully furnished. And air-conditioned. Complete with swimming pool.”
Wolfe blanched. “Of course.”
“We must have the prestige of leadership, you see.”
“Certainly.”
“The membership, as it swells, won’t respect us without. I will need here a praetorian guard, men loyal absolutely to me and my safety. I will need similar domiciles in other parts of the country, with safe and well-planned escape routes out of and into each.”
Wolfe blinked several times.
“Come now,” Kriegel said. “Lieutenant Tracy has given me printouts of greetings from headquarters all over this great country and this great world. You must have my leadership. I insist things be done right. I shall have what I need.”
Wolfe considered this.
Jack said, “Also the helicopters.”
“Yes.” Kriegel said. “Obviously I will need to be transported in and out of these encampments around the country by long-range helicopters.”
“More than one?” Wolfe asked.
Kriegel said, “They have so much downtime.”
“Also he’ll need at least one escort helicopter,” Jack said.
Kriegel laughed. “Not to worry!” He put his hand on Wolfe’s arm. “You see why it is important to put my plans into effect immediately! First thing in the morning you must begin training your men for our first plunder of a small city! To build up respect for us! To build up our membership! To build up our coffers! To give me the freedom to get around, meet with the other commandants, organize, for you to initiate training according to this plan, to work toward our goal!”
“Miami,” Jack said.
Kriegel stood up. “To Miami!”
Tracy jumped up. “To Miami!”
“One last thing,” Kriegel said before leaving the room. “Something must be done about the sanitation of this place. Every time I begin a speech, people throw up. It wasn’t the way the cook cooked. They hung him. It certainly isn’t my speaking. It must be the water.”
“That’s right,” Jack mused. “It must be the water.”
“
P
ardon me, sir
. Are you Mister Fletcher?”
“I am.” The young man dressed entirely in white said, “One of our patients, Ms. Faoni, has expressed a wish to meet you. Would you mind?”
Fletch smiled. “Not at all. Where is she?”
“In her room. She’s been concentrating on her weight problem, but …” The young man shrugged. “Will you follow me, please?”
“Sure.”
Fletch followed the young man through the corridors of Blythe Spirit’s second floor. Fletch now knew the place had been built as the estate of a Wisconsin timber baron.
Cindy and Roger had met Fletch at O’Hare International Airport at about one-fifteen. Together they had driven in the Global Cable News van the 112 miles from Chicago to Forward, Wisconsin.
Roger drove at first, while Cindy, who would do the on-camera
work on the television feature describing Blythe Spirit’s therapy for those suffering food addictions, studied the material faxed to Fletch on both the problems specific to food addiction, and Blythe Spirit itself. Fletch had studied the material on the airplane from Nashville to Chicago. Together, in the backseat of the van, they worked on the script Fletch had drafted on the airplane.
After Cindy had absorbed the material, she drove the van. She said driving relaxed her.
They were warmly greeted by the staff of Blythe Spirit.
Staying off camera, Fletch helped Roger set up the exterior shots. Once inside, he helped both Roger and Cindy set up the interview locations, helped those to be interviewed, administrators, staff, and two or three willing patients, understand what was wanted from them, helped Cindy and Roger understand what points in particular the interviewees wished to make.
When Fletch was summoned to Crystal Faoni’s room, Cindy was just about to begin an interview with a patient in the sunroom on Blythe Spirit’s second floor.
There was little or no need for Fletch from that point forward.
To get to Nashville Airport in time, Fletch had skipped breakfast. He had eaten an apple in the car. There was no time for him to eat anything at the airport. Nothing but drinks had been offered on the airplane. He had not wanted to delay Cindy and Roger at O’Hare Airport by stopping to eat.
It was late afternoon.
Fletch was very hungry.
He did not know how to ask the staff of Blythe Spirit for food.
As they approached the door to Room 27, the young man in white slowed and spoke quietly to Fletch.
“If you can understand, sir, to ensure her privacy, Ms. Faoni has expressed the wish that she remain behind a curtain while she meets with you. You do understand, don’t you?”
“A curtain?”
“Some of our patients are more sensitive about their condition than others are.”
“Okay.”
Fletch’s stomach growled.
T
HE ROOM INTO
which Fletch was shown was a perfectly pleasant bedroom. The king-sized bed and its side table were lower than usual. Two upholstered chairs had uncommonly wide seats. There were paintings of farm scenes on the beige walls. The outer wall was a sliding glass door onto a small balcony.