11. Atomkrieg
I took a slow sip of wine, keeping a steady gaze on Daffy. That took willpower. Learning that a terrorist network had targeted me for execution was a new experience. I just wouldn’t reward Daffy’s theatrics with the reaction he might have hoped for. But as his words sank in, I felt I was sinking, too.
The arrival of our meals took the air out of Daffy’s balloon and gave me the chance to surface and breathe. I stole a glance at Katz. She looked more curious than worried. More steel in her backbone, perhaps. But I figured I knew more about Atomkrieg than she did.
I’d ordered a lean beef filet, conscious of my waistline since Katz’s remark about rich clients. She’d ordered a grilled fish. Daffy had an elaborate tower of steak tartar, and Doug Land had got himself a T-Bone as big as his head. If our choices revealed our characters, I wasn’t learning anything that surprised me.
Once our dishes were laid out, I said, “I take it Atomkrieg hasn’t disbanded?” I’d seen a recent claim to that effect, after the FBI had arrested several of the organization’s leaders.
“No, sir,” said Daffy, gleefully. “These are boom times for domestic terrorists. Since the President made statements that could be misconstrued as calling for insurrection, domestic terrorist recruitment is through the roof.”
Daffy made a gracious gesture toward his lieutenant. “But I’ll let Doug tell it. He’s well steeped in neo-Nazi arcana. He was in the National Security Branch before joining my team in the CID.” Then he set to his raw beef with gusto.
Land uncurled himself like a sleepy desert lizard raising its head. “Dr. Arklow, you have a Top Secret security clearance because of your earlier consultancy work for the Bureau. I’ll take the liberty to caution you that what I will say now is classified.”
It was the first time Land had spoken since introducing himself earlier that evening. His voice was gravelly, his way of speaking as deliberate as his movements. Now I could place the accent better. I guessed Texas.
Land continued. “The Bureau has arrested six Atomkrieg commanders so far this year. Despite that, the US organization has tripled its membership. They used to rely largely on university campus recruiting, so they had a young, zealous, but unskilled membership. The members spent more time prancing around in replica Nazi uniforms and debating eugenic cleansing than on direct action. Since you helped us disrupt Atomkrieg’s campus activities, they’ve changed their tactics.”
Land was referring to consulting I’d done for the FBI over the past two years. It pleased me to hear the effort had been of some value. But I had a sour premonition about what he’d say next.
“They’ve re-focused on recruiting former and current armed services personnel. Their message has become overtly political, and more aligned with right-wing conspiracy theories.”
Daffy’s face rose from his crumbling tower of raw beef. “It’s terrific stuff,” he said, grinning. “Covid is a Chinese invention to kill Whites. Chipped vaccines are a Jewish invention to turn you into a gay liberal. 5G is a deep state invention to disable your guns by remote.”
I could tell from his tone that Daffy felt only dismissive contempt for the people who bought into such notions. It’s a common response from educated professionals—even those who believe some conspiracy theories themselves. Daffy’s contempt would make it harder for him to deal with conspiracists. That’s why he needed me.
Truth is, the human mind is naturally prone to irrational beliefs, and we all have them. We differ only in the direction, intensity, and flamboyance of those beliefs. And beliefs are sensitive to emotions. Dislike your boss? The more you dislike her, the more willing you are to believe any negative thing you hear about her, no matter how crazy. Information that directly contradicts your beliefs is taken as evidence of a coverup and a vaster conspiracy. That emotional bias is the bedrock of conspiracy theories.
“Well, the pitch is working for Atomkrieg,” said Land. “They now have some two hundred members with military training. The new recruits have little education otherwise, and they’re not dreamers. They’re resentful men who want to blow off steam by killing people. The organization is becoming less ideological but more immediately dangerous.”
And now my previous effort to interfere with them looked like time wasted. I examined my steak without appetite.
“Did Atomkrieg post that picture of Dr. Arklow?” asked Katz. While Land spoke, she’d worked steadily at her fish as though it was a necessary chore. But her eyes, when she glanced up, shone with interest.
Land turned his gray-eyed gaze on me. “The picture Barston had on his person was originally posted to a social media feed by an admiring private client of yours.”
I glared harder at my steak. Now it looked downright unappetizing. I never allow pictures. Whichever client had done it must have staked me out. Some ditzy, middle-aged fashionista with the wrong fantasies, no doubt.
“Also, Atomkrieg was not aware of Dr. Arklow’s involvement in last year’s action against the ‘Kristall Knights’—their campus recruitment wing. He was an advisor only.”
I wasn’t as confident about that as Land was. You can build a better psychological profile of a type of fanatic if you actually meet some of them. But I said nothing. Best if the FBI believed I’d stuck to the script on that engagement.
Land continued. “For those reasons, we think Barston’s presence at the community hall was not necessarily an Atomkrieg operation.”
“Could Atomkrieg be co-opted by the same party responsible for the angel pictures?” asked Katz.
Land looked at her with a keen eye. “That’s an interesting hypothesis, but I don’t know enough to speculate. One thing I do know: when Barston posted the video of you two on The Final Solution, you became Atomkrieg targets, even if you were not before. A message accompanied the posting. Translated from neo-Nazi symbol code, it read: ‘The male is James Arklow, mind-raper, Jew-lover, Zionist Deep State enabler. Primary target. The female is probably FBI. Secondary target. Blood and honor. If I fall, do what you must do.’”
“Jesus,” I said. “Where’d he come up with that crap?”
Daffy’s face rose again from the rubble of his beef tower. “Just what we’d like to know. Especially if it’s from more of those inspirational pictures.”
Katz said, “And how’d he know Dr. Arklow would be in North Philly?”
Land kept his eyes on me. “How did you buy your train ticket?”
“I used a phone app on the way to the station.” Just saying it gave me that sinking feeling again.
“Did you pay for a car service or ride share?”
“Yes, the same way.”
“And of course you had your phone with you on the trip. That’s three possibilities, right there.”
“But that would need—” began Katz.
“A certain level of sophistication,” said Daffy. “Consistent with pictures created by AI and with the use of the Tor network.”
“We’ll start work on it tonight,” said Katz with determination. Like we hadn’t just spent hours going bleary-eyed.
Land smiled and held up a hand. “It’ll keep till morning, Agent Katz. The Bureau got an emergency court order last night to shut down The Final Solution. We disabled US Internet access to it immediately. The server’s in Finland. The Finnish national police obliged by seizing it and taking the owner into custody. We’re trying to trace anyone who might have seen the posting.”
Katz frowned. “That means they’ll all know we—”
“Too bad,” said Land. “Can’t have folk calling hits on our people on a public site.”
Hard to disagree with that.
Daffy added, “We used the incident to get a Homeland Security order to the NSA to share whatever they have on the Tor node your mystery angel used.” He sounded smug.
The noise level grew as a chopper drifted closer.
“Oh, look, here they come, right on schedule,” said Daffy.
He and I sat nearest the plexiglass barrier, so we had the best view of the street below. While the main body of protestors had moved northward, new people were arriving from side-streets, rushing the police barricades from behind. The new arrivals were dark-clothed, hatted and hooded, and carried no signs.
Below us, bright flashes, then bangs—loud even over the clatter of the choppers. Whether the police or the new arrivals threw the flashbangs, I couldn’t tell. Smoke drifted up, obscuring the scene.
“The pros show up after dark,” Daffy shouted over the noise. “Barston’s crew is probably down there. He came with four other men, but we’d nothing to hold them on. They’ll intimidate protestors, burn cars, break some shop windows. Usual routine. But if they can separate a cop or federal officer from the others, they might kill him.”
For a while, it got too loud to talk. I ate some cold tenderloin in the dutiful way Katz had eaten her fish. Respect the cow. But when my steak knife cut in, blood leaked out. It put me off.
Doug Land worked on his T-Bone, which he did in the same slow, methodical way he probably would have in the quiet of his home. Daffy polished off the remains of his tower of tartar while gazing longingly at the action below. If he were a tiger on a branch, his tail would be twitching.
My guess: Daffy would shoot a man sooner than Land would, and afterward, he’d argue convincingly that it had been necessary. But Land would use one bullet to Daffy’s three, and he wouldn’t need to argue the case at all.
Katz? Even odds she’d take a bullet and die with her eyes wide with surprise. Smart as she was, she hadn’t yet learned that, for some people, a bullet’s the only answer.