Myrmidon

CHAPTER TEN

“So, this Favorov guy you keep mentioning,” Belcher said.

Chapel cut him off. “There’s no need to play coy. I have an eyewitness who puts you at his house on numerous occasions over the last decade. I know you know who I’m talking about.”

Belcher nodded. He was walking briskly, and Chapel could tell he was in good physical shape. He was taking his time, though. As they passed by the little white houses, he paused to wave at the people inside and give them a smile. To reassure them, perhaps, that everything was fine—that even though they’d been told for years that federal agents were bloodthirsty killers who would destroy their families, that this man here was under control, and Belcher was still in charge. “How did he die?” he asked.

Chapel frowned. “In prison. He was murdered by another inmate. We’re still not sure if it was the Russian mafia or one of yours.”

“One of mine?” Belcher asked over his shoulder. He glanced up at Charlie and Andre, who were following at a discreet distance, just out of earshot.

“Aryan Nation,” Chapel said.

“I have nothing to do with those thugs,” Belcher insisted.

“You recruit from their ranks,” Chapel said. “At least a third of the male population of the SAF were Aryan Nation members while they were in prison.”

“That doesn’t mean I have any connection with that group. And believe it or not, Agent, I don’t. They come sniffing around every once in a while, looking for a handout, looking for a place to hide a fugitive, looking to buy or sell guns and bombs.” Belcher shook his head. “We drive them off without being very ambiguous about it.”

Chapel wanted to growl in frustration. “So you just help former members of the AN pick up the pieces of their lives and get a fresh start. Great. Why do you need three thousand AK-47s to do that?”

“Assuming we even have such guns, and I’m not admitting to anything,” Belcher told him, “we have a right to defend ourselves.”

“Against what? Coyotes and grizzly bears?”

“Against government interference, maybe,” Belcher said. “My organization breaks no laws. We’ve never harmed a human being. But your government still spies on us. It treats us like domestic terrorists. They’ve been trying to infiltrate our ranks with undercover agents. All because they don’t agree with our beliefs. Wouldn’t that make you a little paranoid?”

“I’m not here to justify the actions of the federal government,” Chapel said. “I’m here to get those guns.”

Belcher laughed. “You do know that for free white men like us, that’s pretty much our biggest nightmare? That the government would roll in and take away our weapons?”

“I don’t want all of your guns. Nobody’s trying to take away that shotgun you’re holding, or Andre’s collection back there. I just want the AK-47s. The guns you bought—illegally—from Ygor Favorov.”

Belcher nodded agreeably. He stepped forward around the side of a house, and a huge smile crossed his face. He raised his free arm and gestured for Chapel to come see what he was looking at.

Around the corner, in the front yard of yet another white house, a bunch of children had gathered. They were sitting on the ground with big sheets of brightly colored posterboard and jars of paint. They seemed to be making signs. The children, boys and girls between maybe five and twelve, were incredibly intent on what they were doing, bent over with looks of utter concentration on their faces. Chapel took a step or two closer until he could read what they were painting on the signs.

Chapel’s eyes went wide in horror.

“You might be wondering what this is about,” Belcher said. “You see, there’s a man up in Pueblo, a judge in fact, who is getting married to a Latina woman next week. We’re going to send some of our children up there to stand outside the church and let them know how we feel about that.”

Chapel thought he might throw up. He turned to look at Belcher—

—and found the man already watching his face. Looking to see how he would react.

Chapel couldn’t help himself. “That might be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Belcher nodded, as if confirming something he’d already thought. “Even I have to admit it’s a little tasteless. But necessary.”

“Necessary? You think it’s necessary to send children—little children—to destroy the happiness of a couple just because their ancestors came from different parts of the world?”

Belcher said nothing. He just stood there with that giant smile, looking like the patriarch of some proud family.

“I don’t even want to look at this,” Chapel said. He turned away and started walking—at his own pace this time—toward the warehouses.

“Agent Chapel—” Belcher said, racing after him.

Chapel spun around and stared at him. Now it was his turn to stay silent while he read Belcher’s face.

“The First Amendment to the Constitution,” Belcher said, like a teacher laying out a lesson for a slow student, “guarantees our right to assemble and protest. But right now—you’re not thinking about rights or about freedoms, are you?”

“No,” Chapel admitted.

“No, you’re thinking how much you’d like to call in a fleet of bombers and level this place. Am I right?”

“Pretty much.”

Belcher nodded. “We get that a lot. Now do you see why we might feel the need to defend ourselves?”

Chapel shook his head. “Belcher, you can talk about freedom and rights all you want. It doesn’t matter.” The warehouses were just ahead, across a couple more streets. Chapel headed for them as fast as he could walk. “That’s not what this is about. I have a job to do here, and it’s to get those guns. We know you bought them. We know you have them here. We even have a pretty good idea where you’re hiding them. I am your absolutely last chance to save your repulsive organization, and if you don’t start dealing with me seriously, you’re going to blow this chance, too.”