Time Bomb

A flicker of impatience crossed Ahlward’s eyes.

I said, “The Walden folks traveled up to Bear Lodge with stars in their eyes. And you were waiting for them. Dayton Auhagen, macho hippie. Communer with nature. The kind of stranger who could skulk around without arousing their suspicions. You watched them. Surveilled them. Getting a fix on their habits, their routine. Same way you’d track any prey. Getting into that warehouse when they were gone and hiding explosive charges among all that combustible produce.”

Ahlward was smiling. Remembering.

I said, “Only some of the group was settled in Bear Lodge. The others were farther north, negotiating for lumber. But that other group was strictly second cadre. Without their leaders they were likely to cut and run. And if they did prove threatening sometime in the future, you could always pick them off at your pleasure- small game. So you fixed a date before the second cadre was scheduled to arrive, got into the warehouse again, poisoned their di

Smug smile on the blunt face. Nostalgia had never looked so ugly.

I said, “That was a good touch. No one mourned a bunch of urban terrorists blowing themselves up with their own nitro. Only one minor glitch: one of the second cadre people- Terry Crevolin- arrived early. A vegetarian, to boot. He didn’t eat the meat, was spared, and escaped the blast. But once again, no big threat. He had personal problems- drugs, a weak will- likely to sap his political energies. And his hatred and distrust of the establishment led him to believe the explosion was government-sponsored. To this day he doesn’t believe in Wa

Latch said, “They were scum. Fucking snobs.”

Spoiled-brat rage.

Not-invited-to-the-party rage.

I knew then that the idea of the blast had originated with him. That for him it had been personal, not political.

All those lives lost- the horror- because they’d been smarter than he was. Shut him out.

His idea.

More of an idea man than I’d thought. Their relationship was complex. Made the one between Dobbs and Massengil look wholesome…

Ahlward was sitting up straighter. I decided to keep the insight to myself.

“After Bear Lodge,” I said, “time to move forward. Pick a front man, sanitize him, and get him into public office- no matter how humble an office. You’re a patient man, D.F., know your history. All those years it took the first Führer to progress from a jail cell to the Reichstag.” I sat forward. “The only thing is the first Führer was his own front man. He didn’t need a dummy on his lap.”

Latch said, “Fuck you, you piece of shit.”

I thought I saw Ahlward smile. “Times have changed,” he said. “This is the media age. Image is everything.”

I said, “Thought the Zionists controlled the media.”

“They do,” said Ahlward.

“More irony, huh?”

He yawned.

I said, “Okay, granted, got to consider images. But is he the best you can do, image-wise?”

Furious mutters from the sofa. A hint of movement that Ahlward stilled with a sharp look.

As if to compensate, he said, “He’s doing just fine.” Mechanically. His gaze floated around the room. Not much of an attention span. I wondered how many classes he’d flunked in school.

I said, “Gordie and Miranda retreat to the ranch for a few years, confess their Vietnam sins, reemerge as environmental activists. Meanwhile the ranch is also used for meetings. Other conferences. Recruiting the sons and daughters of your dad’s old buddies. Just like the summer camps the Bund used to run. You also get a little publishing business going- all those boxes outside. Printed Material. Probably hate stuff shipped at discount rate courtesy of Uncle Sam, right?”

Another smug smile.

“Aren’t you worried someone’s going to trace it back to one of Miranda’s dummy corporations?”

He shook his head, still smug. “We write it here, print it somewhere else, then bring it back here, then truck it to other places. No way to trace. Layers of cover.”

I said, “And the other boxes: Machinery. What is that? Hardware for the revolution?”

Latch said, “Guns and butter.”

Ahlward coughed. Latch shut up.

The redheaded man played with his gun some more.

I said, “You picked L.A. for Gordie’s renaissance because Miranda had co

Latch snorted and said, “Smart baboon.”

I said, “Book research wasn’t enough for him. He tried to meet his rescuer, couldn’t get through to Crevolin, and went to the next-best source. Someone who’d also been a comrade of his parents. Another second cadre guy, but one who’d climbed. A public man.”

I turned to Latch. “What a bummer, Gordie. The timing, I mean. Here you are, having bought all that respectability. Sure, you’re only a sandwich sign for D.F.’s dreams. But sometimes you allow yourself to pretend it’s real and you’re the boss and that feels really good, doesn’t it? And sure, City Council is relatively pe

“So you play compassionate liberal for Ike, spin him a tale about Wa