Carl looked out over the audience that was staring back at him. Usually, at these kinds of engagements, there were people who recognized him and were extremely excited about meeting him. This evening, he was getting a much colder reception. It was as if they knew who he was, and resented that he was there.
He was at a support group meeting of service men who were suffering from Gulf War Syndrome. It was an appropriate group, considering the video that he was going to show and hand out.
A high official in the State Department, several members of congressional armed services committees, and a member of England's Parliament were having a discussion. These leaders were debating how to continue culling the population of nationalistic patriots, and religious fundamentalists.
The leaders were looking for ways to assure that more extremists and soldiers would die. The current approach wasn't working. The economic support (and weapons) they were providing to the Muslim extremists, weren't having the bang for the buck that had been anticipated. The death tolls were small, compared to the tens of thousands they wanted. They had been hoping for something more along the lines of Vietnam, which had effectively destroyed nationalistic patriotism in the United States, for almost two generations.
It was pointed out that the difference between the two conflicts was essentially a difference in morals. In Vietnam, the North Vietnamese used prostitutes, bars, and drugs to gather intelligence about American plans. They knew everything that was going to happen, before it happened.
Outside of drugs, the Muslims weren't doing that. Their prohibitions against women having any kind of contact with men, made the use of prostitutes unacceptable.
The leaders had attempted several tried and true methods of increasing the death count. One was to put more soldiers into areas where they were easily targeted. Unfortunately (from the leaders' perspective), that hadn't worked. The surge of troops in the current conflicts, had actually suppressed resistance, rather than increasing the death toll as had happened in Vietnam. The men in the meeting were trying to find some way to change that trend.
The last strategy that they had tried, had also failed. Wiki-leaks had not produced the backlash expected. Instead, it had allowed radical religious groups to gain control of countries that had been supportive of the group's efforts. They had more religious fundamentalists than before, and their supporters were dying off.
It was pointed out that nationalism was on the rise all over Europe. It was possible that a larger conflict could be introduced that would be on the order of another world war. They viewed that as a positive potential outcome, since it would clearly raise the body count. The one fear was that someone, somewhere, would unleash the weapons of mass destruction. That would solve some of their problems, but at the expense of the assets they wanted to gain out of the conflict.
Carl was about to introduce himself, although it was not really necessary, when a foghorn sounded. Without thinking, he dropped to the floor. He was just in time. A bullet hole appeared in the wall behind where he had been standing.
Hammond had sounded the foghorn the instant he had spotted the red dot that had appeared on Carl's forehead. The effect of the foghorn and the sudden appearance of the bullet hole was like hitting a hornet's nest with a stick. Even while drawing his pistol, he realized that every person in the room was drawing a weapon, as well.
"Oh shit! We fucked up," he muttered, convinced that all those guns would soon be directed at Carl.
Much to his surprise, there was a rush of people to the doors and windows. The doors were barricaded and windows cleared of glass. A large box was opened and rifles were being distributed out of it. Shots were fired. Shots were returned. A full out gunfight was suddenly in progress.
One of the men was standing by a door gesturing to them. When they approached, he asked, "What in the fuck are you doing here? Don't you know that we're under surveillance as a radical organization?"
"We didn't know that," Hammond answered furious that they hadn't known that important fact.
"Follow me. I'll get you out of here," the man said.
Without waiting to see what was happening in the street, Carl and the Waches in the room made their escape. They fled, leaving the stacks of CDs with the videos on them, on the table at the front of the room.
Hammond knew they were headed for the tunnels under the facility. They had already mapped out the escape routes.
While rushing through the boiler room, Carl asked, "Why are you suspected of being a radical organization?"
"We know too fucking much. You were going to hand out a video of the government assholes talking about how to kill patriots, right?"
"Yes."
"We know all about that," the man said. "We were about to release a bunch of videos next week. Now those plans are all fucked up."
"We didn't know," Carl said rushing down one of the tunnels.
The man said, "Once you get clear of here, get the hell out of town. We can hold them off for a couple of hours."
"They've probably got you surrounded," Hammond said.
"Bullshit. We got folks all around here. We're fucking warriors despite the shit they did to us over in the big sandy. They may have infected us with some nasty shit, but they didn't take away our ability to fight," the man answered.
At the exit of the tunnel, Carl held out a hand and said, "Good luck."
"Same to you," the man said. He winked and said, "I might not ever see you again, until we're both knocking on the gates of hell, but I guarantee you that a bunch assholes will be there before us."
"Right," Carl said.
Hammond whisked Carl out of the tunnel, through a door, and into a waiting truck. A minute later, they were ten blocks from the gunfight. The radio station was reporting that a major gunfight between right-wing radicals and government forces was taking place in the downtown area.
Slamming a fist against the wall of the truck, Hammond said, "That was a disaster."
Half of the members of the Wache family who had been present inside the building had stayed behind to deter anyone from following them. He wasn't looking forward to hearing about what would happen to them. Most likely, they would hear about ten men committing suicide on the news the next day.
"In more than one way," Carl said.
"We should have known that they were under surveillance," Hammond said angrily.
This had been a major intelligence failure in a lot of ways. He should have guessed that an audience of military veterans would be carrying. All it would have taken, was for one of them to decide to kill Carl for the reward. It would have been hard to stop.
The man driving the truck said, "We've got a report that a helicopter is in the air. I don't know if they're following us."
"Shit. This is a fucking mess."
Carl said, "Calm down. We screwed up. So what? We go on."
Hammond said, "This was a disaster. We just left ten men behind who are going to have to kill themselves if they get captured."
One of the others who had left with them said, "I'm pretty sure that most of them will get away. Those vets expected something like this and I don't think they're the type to give up."
"I saw the ammo those guys were using. They were loaded with cop killers."
"I got a glance out one of the windows when we were leaving. There were a dozen cops down. I'd bet no one is left in that building by now," one of them men said.
"There were three dead cops in the alley. The vets had that escape covered."
"This is going to be all over the television."
"I know that. That's not the only problem. We just gave the government a reason to declare open season on veterans everywhere," Carl said.
"Shit, I didn't even think about that," Hammond said.
"Well, there are going a bunch of dead cops and feds tonight. I've got a feeling that there are going to be a bunch of dead elected officials by the end of the week."
"When I went to pull out my pistol, the guy sitting next to me already had his gun pointed at me. He wanted to know what I was doing there and then he grinned when I said that I was there to protect Carl. He told me I was doing a shitty job. He ran off after telling me that the feds had no fucking idea of what they had done," one of the men said.
"I got the same treatment."
"Me too."
"The hounds of hell have just been released."
Hammond rested his forehead on his arms. He kept swearing in a low continuous mutter. Worried, Carl watched Hammond wondering if the man was about to have a nervous breakdown.
He asked, "Are you okay?"
"I'm tired," Hammond said. "We have started making mistakes, and we can't afford to do that."
"Then let's take a break," Carl said.
It had been a grueling schedule. He had put in twenty-five appearances in twenty-five cities over thirty days. He would spend the whole night cooped up in the back of trucks and sleep days in cheap hotels. They were living on a diet of soup and sandwiches. Everyone was tired. Jennifer and Samantha were already on their way to the next stop.
"How?" Hammond said.
Carl answered, "I'm sure someone owns an isolated hunting lodge where we can hide out for a week and recharge our batteries."
Coming to a decision, Hammond said, "Tell the driver we need to head to a safe spot for thirty minutes. I've got some calls to make."
Forty-five minutes later, the truck pulled up to the loading bay of an old red brick building. The men got out of the truck and looked around. The area where they were standing had a concrete floor, but the rest of the huge room had wooden floors.
An elderly woman greeted them, "Welcome."
"Hello," Carl said. "I'm..."
"There's no need to introduce yourself, Carl. You're famous," the old woman said with a twinkle in her eye. "I'm Mary Naparstek."
"Nice to meet you, Ma'am," Carl said. Gesturing to his surroundings, he asked, "What is this place?"
"This is an old textile mill that my father owned. He passed it to me. Now, I use it for storage, but it was once filled with young woman turning thread into fabric," Mary answered.
"It's an amazing building," Carl said.
In a way, he was envious of the building. It had a nice stately feel to it despite the years that had passed since its original construction. His pickle factory was going to be a thoroughly modern building. It would be plain and architecturally uninteresting. Some of these old factories had features that might have been common in their day, but were totally absent in modern times.
"It was build by Charles Carpenter," Mary said.
Carpenter was one of the family names of the Wald's. He wondered if that meant that it was constructed in a manner consistent with the specifications in the Pfand X. He assumed that he would find out, soon enough.
Carl said, "I didn't think that textile mills were this large."
"It wasn't large, for its time. It seemed very small once you put a bunch of looms in here. The high ceilings were necessary since the looms were driven by leather belts powered by a steam engine. It was loud in here when everything was running," Mary said.
"Do you have pictures of it in operation?" Carl asked.
"Yes, I do. I'd love to show them to you, sometime," Mary said.
Hammond interrupted, "I'm Hammond Steward."
"Hammond? That's an odd first name. You don't run into many men named Hammond. In fact, I think you're the first one I've ever met with that first name. I once knew a Don Hammond," Mary said.
"I was named after a man who saved my mother from drowning when she was a young girl. He made quite an impression on her. She thought his first name was Hammond because everyone called him that. It was years after she named me, that she learned it was his last name," Hammond replied.
"That's an interesting story," Mary said.
Carl hadn't given any thought to how unusual Hammond's name was. Even if he had, he never would have thought to comment on it.
Hammond said, "I don't tell it very often."
"I have such a common name. Growing up, it was like every other girl was named Mary or Margaret. I always wanted to be a Mercedes or Minerva."
"Interesting," Hammond said. "I hate to impose upon you, but I need to make some phone calls. Is there a 'private' place I can do that?"
"How rude of me. You're in a hurry and I'm prattling on about names," Mary said. "Follow me."
In a conversational tone of voice, Hammond said, "I don't know if you are aware if it, but there was a bit of trouble in the city."
"I heard all about it on television," Mary said.
"It was on television?" Carl asked.
Mary said, "Oh my lordy, yes. There was a huge gunfight in the city. Twelve police and federal agents were killed and another thirty were wounded by a bunch of right-wing extremists. The man on television said that a bunch of disgruntled veterans had set an ambush for the police. Not a single one of those 'bad guys' was found."
"They all got away?" Hammond asked hoping to find out how his people had fared.
"Yes. The reporter said that that evil man, Carl Plante, was there. He had convinced them to attack the police."
Carl shook his head at the kind of lies that emerged about him. He had convinced the veterans to attack the police? What a laugh. If he hadn't ducked, he would have been dead. He hadn't even opened his mouth before the attack had taken place.
Hammond said, "I feel sorry for the men and women who died tonight. They were poor saps who showed up to work and died because of it. It's a shame. They were being used as pawns in a game they didn't even know was being played."
Mary stopped in a little room off to the side of the main floor.
She said, "Could you push that metal plate towards the back wall?"
Carl and Hammond knelt down and pushed. They expecting it to be heavy. They nearly fell on their backsides when the plate moved with almost no resistance. Mary covered her mouth in a polite attempt to hide her amusement.
"We go down, here."
The trio entered the tunnel that had been revealed by moving the metal plate.
After a couple of steps down, Mary said, "You can slide the plate closed."
Now that they were in the tunnel, it was possible to talk a little more freely. Still, discipline kept them from saying anything too revealing.
Walking quickly through the tunnel, Mary said, "This tunnel leads to my house, and to a little metal building, which was built alongside the stream that once powered the mill."
"It's old," Carl said.
He paused to examine the walls. The walls were lined with red brick, somewhat brighter than the brick that had been in the textile mill. He wondered if the reason why was because these bricks had not been exposed to the sun and retained their color better. He'd have to look up how bricks aged, sometime.
Mary said, "Yes. It was put in when the mill was built. It used to have another exit, but that was blocked off when the building it connected to burned to the ground. Some folks speculated that it had something to do with prohibition. We let them think that."
"Interesting," Carl said.
Mary stopped and gestured to a door. "Open it."
Hammond opened the door and entered the room at a gesture by Mary. Carl followed him. Mary brought up the rear and closed the door. She turned and punched a code into a security panel.
"We're secure. What in the hell happened?" Mary asked.
All of the sweet old womanly charm in her voice was gone. Carl reached into his pocket and pulled out a CD in a 'jewel' case. He handed it to her.
"We were going to show the video on this CD to them. When I got up to the front of the room, someone from outside the building shot at me. Then all hell broke loose. I guess the guys there were expecting trouble, tonight. They had set up an ambush in case they were attacked. They were better prepared for what happened," Carl said.
Mary grabbed the CD and put it into her computer. She then watched the first minute of it. Steam was coming out of her ears when she heard about killing of nationalistic patriots. She shut it off in anger.
"I can imagine how much they loved this. I bet they were furious," Mary said.
"They didn't see it, but they already knew what was on it. We didn't know that. They've got videos of their own that they are going to release," Carl said.
"I don't approve of killing cops. However, the men in that video deserve to die," Mary said.
Hammond said, "I don't approve of what they did, but I can't blame them. Running around killing people isn't our way."
Mary said, "I'm glad you feel that way."
"I understand why they did it," Carl said flatly.
Not only did he feel that he understood why they had acted the way they had, but he felt they were justified. He doubted one man there would lose a minute of sleep over their actions.
Curious, Hammond asked, "Why do you think they did it?"
Carl answered, "They are sheepdogs."
"And?"
"They believe that too many members of law enforcement are wolves disguised as sheepdogs, so they took care of the wolves. They don't realize that what really happened was that they attacked a bunch of sheepdogs who didn't know they were working for wolves."
Hammond said, "That's an interesting observation. Are you sure that you're not a Wache?"
"I'm a Bauer. All I really want to do is open a pickle factory," Carl said.
"I don't understand what you mean about wolves and sheepdogs," Mary said.
Carl said, "I'll explain it while Hammond's making telephone calls. It'll give me a chance to get my mind off of the events back in town."
Hammond said, "You did a good job back there. If you hadn't ducked, you'd have been dead. It was just a split second difference."
"Thank you for the warning," Carl said.
"You're welcome."
Carl asked, "How did you know that I was about to get shot?"
"A red dot appeared on your forehead. Believe it or not, every guy in the room was pulling a gun by the time I hit the foghorn. I was sure they were going to shoot you," Hammond said.
"I don't think we should go to public places where everyone is carrying a gun," Carl said.
"I agree. Now, let me make my calls."
Carl and Mary chatted about the nature of sheep, sheepdogs, wolves, and stags. By the time he was done explaining the differences, Mary agreed with his explanation as to why the soldiers attacked the police so ruthlessly. She even questioned if some of the sheepdogs who were killed weren't really wolves in disguise. There was no way that a sheepdog should open fire on him like that.
Carl just shrugged his shoulders. To him, it wasn't important enough to pursue. In a way, he felt that the wolves had been whispering half-truths in the ears of sheepdog for decades. The war on drugs was a large part of it. Labeling sheep by painting 'wolf' on them had slowly inured law enforcement folks from fears of harming sheep. Now, it was getting easier to treat sheep as if they were wolves.
Hammond returned after two short phone calls. He sat down and said, "The Watchman is looking for a place for us to rest. He has a request of you that I'm not very happy about."
"What?"
Hammond said, "You're not going to like it."
"What?"
Hammond said, "He wants us to deliver a talk at the National Sheriff's Convention in Vegas."
"No. I'll get killed," Carl said vehemently.
He could just imagine what would happen if he were to show up in front of a room full of law enforcement officers. He was on the FBI's most wanted list. Every law enforcement person in the country would recognize him. He imagined there would be a wolf or two in the audience who wouldn't care if he was 'killed while resisting arrest.'
Mary said, "Just record a talk and let them play it."
"I'm sorry. That sounds a lot like 'bear baiting' to me. All we'll do is piss them off," Carl said.
Hammond said, "You don't understand. We've got some videos that show how law enforcement officers are being used to kill innocent civilians. I don't think they are going to be very happy to learn how they've been manipulated, for the past four decades."
"Maybe," Carl said.
"We need to get the average cop on the beat on our side. This could do it," Hammond said.
Carl said, "What's on the video?"
Hammond answered, "According to the Watchman, the videos show the orders being given for tonight's raid on the veteran's meeting. The FBI SAC was given orders to make sure that every veteran there was killed."
"If the Watchman had that video, then why were we sent there?" Carl asked angrily.
"He didn't know they were going to attack that meeting. There are dozens of VFW meetings every night. Other veteran's groups meet, too. He only put it together when the FBI SAC on the tape, showed up on television, after the raid," Hammond answered.
Carl said, "I want more than that on the CD, when it gets delivered to the Sheriff's Convention. I want them pissed off at the people pulling the strings."
"I'll let him know that," Hammond said.
He rose from his chair, and turned to make some more calls.
Mary asked, "Are you concerned that you're getting used?"
"No. I know that I'm being used. I volunteered to be used. I'm a lightning rod. I'm just worried about getting struck by lightning one time too many," Carl said.
"I can understand that," Mary said.
"You can?" Carl asked doubting that anyone in the clothing industry could understand what he was going through.
Mary said, "I know that you think that being a Weber doesn't seem very dangerous"
Carl said, "I don't see how it could be dangerous. I mean, you design, manufacture, and sell clothes."
Mary nodded her head in agreement with his characterization of what the Webers did now. The idea that the clothing and fashion industry was relatively safe was an easy assumption to make. It ignored that organized crime had once had a major hand in the garment district.
She replied, "I don't see how farming could be dangerous. I mean, you plant crops, you harvest them, and you sell food."
"I see what you mean," Carl said properly chastised.
She said, "Believe it or not, there was a time when the Weber women served the Pfand in much the same way as the Damensterns."
"You engaged in 'congress of trade'?" Carl asked, earning himself a dirty look from Mary.
She replied, "No. We were spies.
"It used to be, that ladies of influential men would have us come to their houses, to make their clothes for special occasions. They talked while we worked. We were privy to gossip, rumors, and stories that even the men wouldn't talk about with the Damensterns.
"We learned many dangerous secrets that could have gotten us killed, if we hadn't been careful.
"It was almost an art to hem a dress while appearing invisible to a group of ladies talking about what their husbands were doing. We couldn't react to anything anyone said. It may have been a Damenstern listening to Napoleon's battle plan, but it was a Weber who learned who Napoleon trusted. Combining those pieces of information cost Napoleon the war.
"The world has changed. Seamstresses no long grace the boudoirs of woman married to the rich and powerful. It doesn't matter. We remember those times. We still listen, in case we should hear something from a customer that is important."
Carl said, "That's good."
Mary said, "You might want to mention to Hammond that rich and powerful men still have occasion to use tailors."
"I'll be sure to do that," Carl said.
"Please do."
Hammond returned, looking a little distracted.
He asked, "Mary, can you fix us up with some painter's clothes?"
"Why?"
Hammond said, "There's a place that is going to be closed for a week due to repairs. We are going there as painters."
"Well, you'll need more than clothes as disguises. I'll see what I can do," Mary said.
Carl asked. "What about Jennifer and Samantha?"
"They are going to meet us there. I guess we'll need disguises for them as well," Hammond said.
"I can create a couple of disguises for all of you. I'll just need a little time to pull it together," Mary said.
"I hate to impose upon you more than already we have, but can we stay here for the night?" Hammond asked.
"Of course you can. You can use the security quarters in my house."
Hammond said, "If you'll let me out, I'll send the rest of the men to stay with a Grun."
"Sure," Mary said stepping over to the control panel.
"I'll wait here for you," Carl said.
After Hammond left, Mary said, "You're a brave man, Carl."
"No I'm not."
Surprised by his denial, she asked, "Why not?"
"There's nothing brave about trying to survive, and that's all I'm doing."
The rush of danger had passed, and Carl was getting tired. Sitting slouched in his chair, he looked like a worn out old warrior, who had seen one battle too many. Mary rose and went over to where he was seated. She put a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm nearly eighty, and this is the closest to danger I've ever been. I'm not terribly worried that men dressed in black will come bursting in here and take us away, but I am a little afraid of the possibility. I can not imagine how it must be to live like this for months."
"I'm sorry to have brought danger to your doorstep."
"There's no need to apologize. I'm pleased to have played a part in this battle, however small it might be."
She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
"You are brave. You're the bravest man I've ever met."
"Thank you."
"Now, we'll wait for Hammond to return. Then I'll take you to where you can rest. I have two bedrooms for security personnel."
"Thank you, Mary."
She looked at the puzzled expression on his face.
"What's the problem?"
"Why do you have two bedrooms for security personnel?"
"There was a time when organized crime was trying to take over our industry. We had a few occasions where security was a key concern," Mary answered.
"I don't know anything about your industry, back then."
Mary said, "My father used to tell me stories about the early days here. The days of the local mill were coming to an end by the time I got into the business."
"What was it like?" Carl asked.
"Are you really interested or just being polite?"
"I am interested," Carl answered.
Mary told him about what it had been like back in the days when the garment industry was at its height in America. She talked about how a lot of small towns had one or two mills that produced thread or fabric. Often, the mills were the best made buildings in the entire town. They often set the standard for the other buildings.
Fascinated, Carl listened to her describe the process by which raw bales of cotton or wool became cloth. Each step required specialized machines and those machines evolved in complexity over time. She talked about how patterns were woven into cloth. It was hard to imagine that machines of such complexity existed more than a hundred years ago.
She described what the working conditions had been like. In the early days, young farm women were happy to get a job in a mill. It was a demanding job, but the pay was good. Very few women could earn as much money in any other way.
Of course, by the time she had been born, the working conditions in mills had degraded markedly, and unions started impacting the business significantly. There were owners, not Webers, who took advantage of the workers. They demanded longer hours, and greater productivity, at lower pay. The big cities, like New York City, had large populations of immigrant workers. It tended to be the location for the garment shops that made clothes for the masses. The working conditions, there, could be absolutely dismal.
All of that was before things had gone overseas. Some Webers had gone overseas with the factories. The rest of the Webers had adjusted to changing economics.
Rather than manufacture clothes, they entered the fashion industry, and designed them. They opened shops that sold clothes. They now owned chains of high-end boutiques, and also the more common clothing stores. They had also gone into home decorating, since fabrics played such an important role in that industry.
Edited By TeNderLoin