Undercover Bride. Kylie Brant
Читать онлайн книгу.
Parker waved a hand and the discussion immediately ceased. “Let’s move on. We need to discuss recruiting opportunities in the area. A structure is only as strong as its foundation. We’ve got to get new blood into the ranks. Ideas?”
The rest of the meeting passed without incident. The suggestions were frightening in their simplicity. Web pages, chat rooms, literature, student groups in high school and college…it occurred to her, not for the first time, that hatred had to be taught.
An hour later when the group was dismissed, Parker stopped Rachel before she could leave. “Grunwald. Sit.”
She obeyed silently, waiting until the door had closed for the commander to speak. He studied her without a word for a few moments, his eyes giving nothing away.
“How was your visit home this weekend?”
Not even by a flicker of an eyelash did she reflect her surprise at the question.
“Fine, sir.”
“And your mother? She’s doing well?”
Rachel didn’t have to feign her hesitation. The sudden knot in her chest was all too real. All too familiar. “She’s about the same, sir.” It didn’t surprise her that Parker knew about her bi-monthly visits to her mother’s nursing home in Philadelphia, but it did surprise her that he’d mention it. He’d never pretended to be a leader who cared about his members’ personal lives.
The man took his time taking a cigar from the wooden box on the corner of his desk and lighting it. After puffing for a moment, he said, “I’d like to hear more about what you said earlier. About this Carpenter fax.”
“I just wondered if an applicant from Comrades might be advantageous to us, sir.”
His gaze shifted away from hers and he leaned back in his chair. “That’s what I wondered, too. If we send someone who Carpenter doesn’t choose, what the hell. It’d be a goodwill gesture, the kind that might do us some good if The Brotherhood continues to grow. And if our applicant was selected as his wife—” he paused to exhale a stream of smoke “—well, that wouldn’t do us any harm, either.”
Voice carefully neutral, Rachel said, “Well, if you’re considering applicants, I would suggest Western or Bailey, sir.”
“I’ve already decided on the candidate, Grunwald. You.”
“Me?”
The man nodded, and she knew the deal was made. Once he’d reached a decision he never strayed from it and he’d just been led, neatly, irrevocably, to the outcome she’d arranged. “We have to think of the future. I’ve never met Carpenter, but I’ve been keeping track of him. And I think he has one thing right. He believes that all the militia groups in the country will have to join forces to effect real change in this country. Revolution will come with strength in our ranks, and strength can only come through unity. When that time comes, I want to make sure Comrades remains among the leadership. An alliance between you and Carpenter could ensure that.”
When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I know this probably isn’t the way you planned to serve, but change doesn’t come without great sacrifice. You have to consider the good for the Aryan race, not just about yourself. Think about how this step could advance our cause. Think—” his voice dropped persuasively “—about how your father would feel about your work.”
A faint smile crossed her lips, and her words were edged in irony. “Sir, I think about that every day.”
Two days later Rachel was in a private limo, approaching the fortress that housed The Brotherhood of Blood. Parker had wasted no time proceeding with his plan. Rachel’s candidacy, consisting of pictures and background, had been shared with The Brotherhood via faxes and phone calls. She’d been accepted for Carpenter’s consideration.
What kind of man, she wondered, arranged for a wife in this manner? One who thought himself too busy, too important, to be bothered with the social rudiments of what society politely referred to as dating? Or one who had so little regard for women, for their importance, that appearance and background were the most important factors to be considered? The answer, she suspected, was both. The e-mail response from The Brotherhood had made it clear that Rachel would stay at the compound for a thirty-day trial period, and that she would have no say in Carpenter’s final decision. She was content with the time frame. A month would give her plenty of time to determine the connection between Carpenter and Simon.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that it had been over three hours since they’d left the airport. They would be approaching the compound soon, but she didn’t bother glancing out the windows. The glass was so deeply tinted that she could make out little more than filtered light and vague shapes. An effort by The Brotherhood to protect the secret of their site, she imagined. It wouldn’t matter. Jonah knew exactly where the compound was located.
The limo slowed to a stop and the driver got out of the car. After a few minutes he returned to the vehicle, and began a slow approach. Security gate, Rachel guessed. She wondered just how protected the compound was. Certainly Carpenter believed in precautions. She was fairly sure that her bags had been searched at the airport, while she’d waited in the limo. However, she’d been undisturbed at the invasion of privacy. Though there were a few items among her personal belongings that should raise some questions, it would take an astute man, indeed, to find them, let alone identify them.
She reached into her purse and withdrew a compact mirror. With a critical eye, she smoothed her hair and renewed her lipstick. The beauty reflected in the mirror failed to register. It was a tool, nothing more. Looks could be as potent a weapon as any she’d ever wielded. She’d learned to use every weapon she had at her disposal most effectively.
The car pulled to a stop and she replaced the items she’d used in her purse. The back passenger door opened, and the driver extended a hand to her. Rachel accepted his help and stepped out of the car, blinking in the sunlight.
Hundreds of people were assembled at her side, facing a stage placed on a rolling green lawn. The troops were clad in black fatigues, and their voices swelled in unison as they shouted fervored agreement to the speaker’s words. Above the stage on either side flew black flags emblazoned with a fisted hand clutching an American flag, dripping blood. The banners seemed to frame the man on the center of the platform, the man who had the troops transfixed.
Caleb Carpenter.
He, too, was clad in black, although rather than fatigues he was wearing dress pants and shirt. He paced back and forth across the stage, speaking into a microphone, and every sentence he uttered seemed to send the crowd into a frenzy.
Anticipation pricking her nerves, Rachel ran her palm down the front of her pink skirt to smooth wrinkles acquired by the long ride. Her eyes never left the man who stood front and center. He resembled a big jungle cat, dark and lethal, prowling the stage, roaring intentions of certain death for its prey.
“And I say to you—” the words boomed out over the audience “—we will topple this illegal government. We will tear apart its carcass and feast on the carnage. And upon the ashes of the corrupt, upon the ruins of the decadence, we will build a new union!” He paused as the voices in the crowd swelled in agreement.
“There will be no mercy for those who have prolonged this moment—no compassion for our enemies. Those who defy us will be destroyed. The filth and unworthy will be deported or eliminated. Our new union will be untainted, and we will sustain it by strict adherence to the doctrine of The Brotherhood. We will set the standard for white purity in this nation.”
A howl of support came from the audience. Carpenter made no move to interrupt it. He stood with feet apart, fist raised, in a gesture of arrogant eminence. Despite the heat, Rachel felt a chill river over her skin. Carpenter was as vitriolic as any of the militia leaders she’d come into contact with, but he was clearly far more dangerous than most. He possessed a potent presence, one that reached out and gripped the minds of his followers. His words bared their deepest fears, fed the fires of their fanaticism. They were screaming