The Good Brother

24

Joe returned to the ranch by midafternoon. He left the pistol in his Jeep and joined Botree in the kitchen for coffee. The kids were making a map of the United States as a geography lesson.

“Get off early today?” Botree said.

“Not really. I sort of quit,”

“Sort of, huh?”

“Had a problem with some guys on the crew.”

She frowned out the window. Fire smoke dulled the sky to a sheen of gray.

“A job’s a job,” she said. “There’ll be more if you want.”

“It don’t bother you?”

“Long as you don’t hurt my kids,” she said, “what you do is your business.”

Botree’s shirt had horses embroidered above the snap pockets. Joe felt bad for concealing the truth, from her.

“I went to see Ty,” he said.

“After you quit?”

“Yeah, he’s leaving. He wanted me to tell Owen there’s a bunch of people on Skalkaho Pass. He thinks it’s trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He says the Feds. I guess they’re coming after Frank.”

“Ty Skinner talks more than anybody I ever met.”

“Maybe, but it scared him enough to where he’s leaving. He said I should go, too.”

“Are you?”

“Not without you.”

Joe took the Jeep to the bunkhouse and Owen met him at the door, wearing camouflage pants, a sidearm, and a walkie-talkie. Behind him stood the man with half an ear, holding an automatic rifle. The central room contained a long table on which lay several topographical maps, a stack of military field manuals, and a base unit for a CB radio. Bare bulbs lit the room, leaving shadows along its edges. Beside each window was a canteen, an automatic rifle, and stacks of ammunition. Joe smelled coffee and dirty clothes.

Coop sat at the table, his skin like paper that had lain in the rain. Across from him Frank worked at a laptop computer that was connected to a telephone jack. The only sound was his rapid fingers on the keyboard, like mice running through the ductwork of a furnace.

“You look better,” Owen said. “How’s the leg?”

“Only hurts when I laugh.”

“You’re in luck, then. We’re all serious here.”

Frank lifted his head from the computer and blinked several times. He stared at the far wall. The skin below his eyes was dark as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“Did you get fired?” he said.

“No, I quit. How’d you know?”

“It was radioed in that you left. We had three men get fired this week, including Johnny. I think they’re doing it on purpose, getting rid of the Bills. I got to find out who it is.”

He returned his attention to the tiny screen. The house was still cold from the night, and Joe wondered if it ever became warm.

“Why’d you quit?” Owen said.

“Had me a little run-in.”

“Who with?”

“I never knew his name.” Joe hoped his voice sounded casual. “Just some buckethead on a crew. Where’s Johnny at?”

“In town somewhere,” Owen said. “He dropped out of contact.”

“What made him do that?”

“Who knows?” Owen shrugged, “He got bent out of shape one day and left.”

“Who do you think fired those guys?”

“We don’t know exactly. We have their names, but they might be undercover ATE That’s what Frank’s working on.”

“Botree wants to know if you all need anything down here.”

“What I need,” Owen said, “is a three-day drunk in another town.”

Frank pounded the table with both hands. Rising dust shimmered in the glare of light coming through a window.

“Nothing,” Frank said. “Not a damn thing. The men who fired them are both clean. Either it’s coincidence or someone dropped a new set of numbers into every data bank available,”

“You checked them all?” Owen said.

“The three biggest credit bureaus — Equifax, TRW, and Trans Union. That’s over five hundred million files.”

“They could be using a cutout,” Owen said.

“They have the manpower,” Frank said. “Or it could be deep cover.”

“What’s a cutout?” Joe said.

“A middleman,” Owen said. “Somebody who doesn’t know anything except his Job. He takes an order from a stranger and reports to another stranger.”

“That way he can’t give anyone up,” Frank said.

He looked hard at Joe, who felt a quick tension swell within the dim room. He remembered Ty’s warning that the Bills would one day ask whose side he was on.

“Ty gave me a message for you. He’s leaving. Said the traffic was bad on Skalkaho Pass.”

“You sure about that?” Frank said.

“Said he thought it was the Feds.”

The men glanced at one another. Frank cleared his throat and spat on the floor.

“I was right,” he said. “There was a fire near my camp this week. It was in the crown and running, but it didn’t look right. Too small. The wind turned and it burnt itself out. I thought it was set but I couldn’t tell for sure.”

“Fucking ATF,” Owen said. “They infiltrated the fire crews. Easiest damn thing in the world to do. They probably set all the fires just to get at us.”

“It’s the government style,” Frank said, his voice calm. “But more CIA than domestic. The ATF traditionally goes straight at its objective, like the FBI or the army.”

He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, aiming his face at the ceiling. He could have been a banker explaining interest dividends.

“Maybe they got smart,” he said. “Maybe they shifted tactics after Waco blew up in their face.”

“Shifted how?” Owen said.

“They’re treating us like a third-world country. Infiltrate and destabilize. Setting a forest fire is right up their alley.”

“What’s their next step?” Owen said.

“Neutralize support systems.”

“Like firing those men?”

“Exactly. And anyone else who’s visible — Rodney, Johnny. Next they’ll disrupt communication and shut down supply routes.”

“And then?”

“Attack.”

“By air?” Owen said.

“No way,” Frank said. “Vertical envelopment doesn’t work. Six thousand choppers shot down is the lesson of Vietnam. They’ll come on the ground. They’ll come hard. And they’ll come soon.”

He turned off his laptop and began dismantling the equipment. The men were quiet. Joe watched, surprised by the effect of Ty’s news. Frank stowed the computer in a small case and walked to the window. The sunlight framed his silhouette.

“Our time has come,” he said. “The forces of evil are upon us. Owen, mobilize the men. Use the CB and the codes. Move all caches to Camp Megiddo — commo, weapons, food, water. We need to be done by dawn.”

He bent to Coop and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Coop, you can serve us best at the ranch house. You’ll be radio liaison between Megiddo and the world. Monitor emergency channels, police band, and the Feds. Owen, you help him set it up.”

Frank gazed at Joe.

“I need to talk with you.”

Joe followed him into a small room containing two narrow cots. The walls were coarse, having been painted with undercoating years ago and never completed. There was no window. A layer of grime covered every surface.

“I know none of this is your lookout,” Frank said. “You can leave if you want.”

“I have a reason to stay.”

“You’re wanted by the law somewhere.”

“Not exactly.”

“We’ve been here a long time, fighting for this land. Now that we got it tamed down, the government’s bringing back the wolf and the bear. My great-grandfather was killed by a grizzly and now I’m supposed to let them wander around my land.”

“I can see how that would be hard.”

“If a wolf takes a calf, it goes free. If a rancher shoots the wolf, he goes to jail.”

“Is that what you’re fighting for?”

“We’re not fighting anyone, Joe. The truth is, we’re waiting for someone to come fight us.”

Frank stood close enough for Joe to smell him. Dandruff lay like frost along his shoulders.

“I hate to ask you for help,” Frank said. “But there’s two things you could do.”

“No promises.”

“We got to bring Johnny in. He’s a loose cannon, and nobody knows it more than you. Eight now, we can’t afford to have him running around on his own.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“Coop’s not doing good. He’s losing weight and he’s not always there, if you know what I mean.”

“You want me to babysit.”

“It’s a noncombatant role, Joe.”

“Are Botree’s kids safe?”

“I think so.”

“You think?”

“None of this is a hundred percent. For all I know, Ty’s an informer planting disinformation. Maybe the Feds are running the same truck back and forth over Skalkaho Pass as a decoy. Maybe you’re a spy. Maybe somebody got to Johnny, and that’s why he left and hasn’t come home. But none of that matters now.”

“I’ll watch out for Coop,” Joe said. “But I don’t have control over Johnny.”

“Good man,” Frank said. “Any questions?”

Joe shook his head and turned to leave. In the corner beside the door were stacks of paper bound by haystring. He slipped the top one free of its bundle. On the cover was a drawing of Montana’s state borders filled with tombstones. At the bottom, flanked by swords and rifles, was a quote from Deuteronomy. “I kill and I make alive; I five forever when I whet my flashing sword.” He opened it to a bull’s-eye target. In the center was a picture of Uncle Sam with a Star of David on his hat. One arm was around the shoulders of an Indian and the other around a dark-skinned man.

Joe held the pamphlet away from his body like a dead snake that still scared him with its fangs.

“Where did these come from?”

“I thought you knew,” Frank said. “I thought somebody told you by now.”

“Told me what.”

“Those are what sent me to the mountain.”

“I thought you sold a rifle with a bayonet mount to an undercover guy.”

“You know how many people were killed last year by a bayonet attack?”

Joe shook his head.

“None,” Frank said, “But there’s a warrant out on me over it.”

“What’s a bayonet got to do with these damn things?”

“The Feds were going to drop the charges if I rolled over on Coop and Owen, No way I could do that.”

“Coop and Owen?”

“Sure, Joe. They print them and take them to town.”

Joe couldn’t speak. He threw the bundle onto the pile. Dust streamed away from the impact.

“Welcome to the real world,” Frank said.

“That stuff’s not real, it’s made up. It’s bad.”

“This isn’t about good or bad, it’s about politics.”

“Politics.”

“You bet. You should have seen the leafleting we did in “Vietnam, Iraq, and Nicaragua. It’s just a tool, same as my rifle and computer.”

“Those pamphlets are full of lies.”

“How do you know, Joe? How do you know the Jews don’t run the world banks? Are you sure there are no video cameras on interstate highways? Can you tell me that UN troops aren’t building detention centers in Michigan? Answer me that. Can you for sure say no?”

“It’s hard to believe, Frank.”

“Of course it’s hard to believe. Nobody believes what’s going on until it’s too late. I shed blood for this country and look what it’s become — a multicultural welfare state run by FEMA and the UN. We have to stick together.”

“Who?”

“You get blood in your face, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you blush, you turn red.”

“I reckon.”

“That’s what makes you a white man. And white men got to protect their own because the government’s busy protecting the mud people. Don’t look so funny, Joe. Everybody knows you’re on the run. Let he who is innocent cast the first stone.”

Joe stepped away from Frank. He felt smothered, as if the force of Frank’s words were a fire that had leached the oxygen from the room. He inhaled deeply but was unable to get enough air in his body.

“Let me ask you something, Joe.” Frank’s voice was conversational, as if they were fishing buddies. “Did you know that this country’s been in a declared state of national emergency since 1933?”

Joe shook his head.

“Oh, yeah. Roosevelt did it. That’s not in the pamphlets. There’s a lot that’s not. Do you have a dollar?”

“A dollar?”

“Yeah, a dollar bill. The fake currency that’s not worth the ink it’s printed with. Do you have one?”

“Yes.”

“Take it out.”

Joe opened his wallet and removed a dollar.

“Now look on the back. See the pyramid and the eye? Good, now below is some writing in Latin. Novus Ordo Seclorum. Know what that means?”

Joe shook his head.

“New World Order. This has been coming for a long time, Joe. It’s not new, it’s old. What’s new is public knowledge and armed resistance.”

He smiled and leaned close.

“I am the New World Order.”

Joe stepped backwards and Frank moved with him.

“Do you have a warm coat?” Frank said.

“Not really. A jacket.”

“I’m glad to hear that. In Luke it says to sell your cloak and buy a sword. I get cold in winter sometimes, but my sword keeps me warm. The problem is too many people stay warm the wrong way, know what I mean?”

Joe nodded, willing to agree with anything to leave the room.

“You’re a good soldier, Joe. Now I want you to take some of those pamphlets with you up to the house. Go on and grab some. Don’t be shy. Take a whole pack.”

Joe crossed the room to the stacks of paper.

“Read them, Joe. Educate yourself.”

Joe tried to figure a way that the pamphlets weren’t as bad as he knew them to be. He told himself that having killed a man removed his right to judge.

“Take them, Joe.”

Joe faced Frank. He was very scared.

“No,” Joe said. “I won’t. You all got some good ideas, but those things are evil.”

“What do you know of evil? The Four Horsemen are riding black helicopters over Skalkaho Pass.”

Joe left the room and hurried outside. The valley opened before him, calming him with its vast presence of space and light. The landscape instilled a tremendous sense of loyalty, and he understood the desire to defend it.

He drove past the ranch house and up a rough slope to a clearing that overlooked the river. Sparrow hawks glittered in the field. He wanted to give Owen enough time to set Coop up and leave before Joe returned to the ranch. His sense of disbelief settled into confusion and fury. He wondered if Botree was aware of the pamphlets, then realized that she had to know. He felt as if he’d been betrayed by everyone but Ty. The Bills had duped him all along. Maybe he really was a dumb hillbilly.

Botree met him at the door. Coop was asleep in her childhood room, surrounded by feather and bone. The radio equipment glowed on a card table beside the bed. Botree went into the living room, and the couch creaked in the dark. Light from the stars slid past the curtains.

“I saw the pamphlets,” Joe said.

He sat in a rocking chair that faced the fireplace. His body was very tired. He felt overwhelmed by his feelings for Botree, undercut by loss and shame. The house hummed with quiet.

“I’m glad,” she finally said.

“You knew what they were doing?”

She nodded, a shadow moving in darkness.

“Were you in on it?” he said.

“No.”

“But you went along with it.”

“They’re my family.”

“What’s in those things is wrong.”

“It’s covered by the Bill of Rights.”

“Please.” Joe lifted his hand as if to ward off a blow. “I can’t hear any more of that right now. The only people who get to be free are the ones who think the same way as Frank.”

“I don’t think that way.”

“If those things aren’t against the law,” he said, “why did the ATF want to know who was making them?”

“Other stuff was happening all over the state. Idaho, too. People weren’t paying taxes. One family killed a deputy who came to serve a foreclosure notice on a ranch. Another man went in the bank and shot the loan officer. Some people got thrown in jail for buying antitank weapons. The Feds were looking for anything on anybody.”

“Were Coop and Owen part of that, too?”

“No, they’re not bad people. You know that. Somebody could have got them saving wetlands or spiking trees, and they’d have jumped on it. They were ready for whatever came along.”

“This is a whole lot different.”

“I know, Joe. I came back from Texas in bad shape. I didn’t know what to do.”

“How’d it start?”

“Frank. Nothing but Frank. He grew up here, and joined the service. After the war, he stayed gone another twenty years. He worked for the government, you know, one of those outfits he hates now. When I got home, he was here. He was fun and he was powerful and he could talk for hours. We were a big family. Frank thought the country was in trouble and people needed to protect themselves.”

“When did they start making the pamphlets?”

“Frank bought a handpress and they made flyers against the Brady Bill, and the assault-weapon ban. Then Frank gave them stuff from the Constitution and things the Founding Fathers said. When that ran out, they used quotes from the Bible. Next it was about Indians and Jews.”

“Anybody but themselves,”

“That’s why Johnny left the bunkhouse. He came and told me they wanted him to make new pamphlets. But he wouldn’t. Coop and Owen don’t really believe that stuff.”

“So what. They put it in the world,”

“It made Frank like them, Joe. That’s all any of us wanted. It was important.”

“You, too?”

“All of us. You have to understand, it felt good for people to be together. It’s been hard for small ranchers. All the new people moving in drove up our property taxes. They keep trying to pass bonds. They want to make Highway 93 four lanes wide now. We can’t afford to live here anymore.”

“That’s got nothing to do with the pamphlets.”

“What happened up in Idaho started it at Ruby Ridge. Then the gun laws. Frank didn’t talk about anything else. No more picnics or ballgames. He bought guns and everybody else did. Then we started burying them. They’re in PVC pipe all over the place, twenty-four inches below the surface. We put a decoy above them.”

“What do you mean, a decoy?”

“A piece of metal. That way, when the Feds came, their metal detectors would find the decoy. They’d dig to that and go on. They wouldn’t be able to get our guns later, when it happens.”

“When what happens?”

“It’s happening now, just like he predicted. After he sold those guns to the ATF man, people really believed him, because everything he’d been warning about started coming true. Then they killed all those kids in that church down in Waco.”

Thoughts flitted through Joe’s mind like blinks of light. Boyd could have lived easily among the Bills, enjoying the camaraderie of weapons, the flirtation with being a small-time outlaw. He’d have burned his driver’s license and Social Security card in front of the group. Under the right circumstances, he might have helped produce the pamphlets.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Joe said.

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“I was afraid you’d leave me.”

He went to Botree and swung her legs onto the couch and lay beside her. Their arms twined and he could feel her breathe. They held each other for a long time while outside the hillsides burned.