“What are you thinking?” McCaskey asked.
“How I want to kick a bunch of damn-fool ass for Thomas Jefferson.” Rodgers ignored McCaskey’s confused stare. He cleared his throat. “Did anything else turn up on the Pure Nation computer?” McCaskey went to the third and final folder. “No,” he said, “and we’re all kind of surprised how little new information there is.” “Bad luck or did they manage to erase it?” ‘I’m not sure,” McCaskey said. “Everyone at the Bureau is afraid to look this gift horse in the mouth. It looks like it’s going to be great PR, especially among blacks. No one was hurt and we’ve got some bad guys behind bars.” “But it was a little too easy,” Rodgers said for him.
“Yeah,” McCaskey replied, “I think so. And I think the Bureau thinks so too. The biggest question is why an outside group was sent in to attack the Chaka Zulu people. One of the most virulent hate groups in the nation, the Koalition, is based in Queens. That’s right over the East River, closer than Pure Nation was even in New York. Yet there appears to have been no contact between the two.” Rodgers said, “I wonder if this is similar to what the Axis used to do.” “What, disinformation?” Rodgers nodded. “Bob and I have a file on it. If you have time look it up— Das Bait. The essence of it is, if you want to mislead a foe, let them capture a unit loaded with misinformed soldiers. If the enemy buys into what they say, ten or twelve men can effectively tie up a division or even a whole army waiting for an invasion that never comes or hunkering down in the wrong place. The Allies refused to do this because of the harsh treatment accorded prisoners of war. But the Germans and Japanese did it regularly. And if the captured soldiers didn’t know they were lying, there was no way the information could be drugged out of them. You had to put your people in the field and investigate. How many people did the FBI have on the case?” “Roughly thirty.” “And now?” Rodgers asked. “How many people are checking down leads or investigating Pure Nation?” “About seventy or eighty nationwide.” “And those are the top experts in white supremacist groups,” Rodgers said. “So a handful of Pure Nationals gets taken and what happens? The FBI loses the guts of its antiwhite- supremacist force.” McCaskey thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“That makes sense as a tactic, but it doesn’t sound macho enough for the Pure Nationals. They believe in force of arms, not sleight of hand. They’d rather go down fighting.” “Then why didn’t they?” Rodgers asked.
“Oh, the bastards fought,” McCaskey said. “They tried to kill our guys—” “But they didn’t,” Rodgers said. “And they still let themselves get taken.” “They were outgunned. The FBI can still fight,” McCaskey added defensively.
“I know,” said Rodgers. “But if Pure Nation’s so macho, why did they surrender? Wouldn’t it have helped their cause if they became martyrs and made the FBI look like ruffians?” “They aren’t Kamikazes,” McCaskey said. “They’re brash and ruthless but they want to live.” “Live,” Rodgers said. “These people are barely going to suffer. What’s the worst charge these people are facing?
They fired at federal agents. They plotted. They stockpiled arms. If they plea-bargain, they’re looking at seven to ten years each in prison. Seven to ten years of cable TV and gyms. Out by the time they’re thirty-five, forty years old.
They’re hailed as heroes by their people. That would appeal to any attention-craving sicko.” “Possibly,” McCaskey said, “but it doesn’t fit in with any of the profiles we’ve ever seen. Surrender to misinform, then sit in jail? No,” McCaskey said, “I still say that isn’t enough to satisfy these people.” “And I say we may be looking at a new breed of white supremacist. One who may be adept at playing games.” McCaskey looked at him. He started to say something, then stopped.
Rodgers said, “I know what you’re thinking. You still feel we’re giving them the benefit of too much forethought.” “Of any forethought,” McCaskey said. “I don’t want to underestimate the enemy, but these are people governed by a bunker mentality and blind rage. Any variation would be an aberration.” “They’re also trained followers,” Rodgers said. “If you dangle the right prize you can get them to do your bidding.
Think about that. What kind of a prize would get white supremacists to do what they’re told?” “Freedom,” McCaskey said. “The freedom to attack what they detest.” “I’ll buy that,” Rodgers said. “And what gives any person a moral right to attack?” McCaskey said, “If they’re attacked first.” “Okay,” Rodgers said. He was getting wound up.
McCaskey might not agree, but he felt that there was something here. “Assume you want to make a group attack you. You antagonize them. You make them feel threatened– -” The phone beeped.
“The hate games,” McCaskey said.
“That’s not enough,” Rodgers said.
There was sudden fear and understanding in McCaskey’s eyes. “That, plus letting them know you intend to attack them. You let a black group know they’re a target and that galvanizes all blacks. Christ, Mike,” McCaskey said.
“There’s the impetus for Pure Nation to let itself get arrested. To let Chaka Zulu know that they were a target, even if they weren’t. Before you know it, all blacks are behind the militant Zulu group— and a lot of whites have no choice but to stand against them.” Rodgers nodded vigorously as the phone beeped again.
He glanced at it. Ann Farris’s calling code was on the LED display at the base.
“That’s exactly what happened in the 1960s,” McCaskey said, “when the Black Panthers became the militant allies of a number of civil rights groups.” Rodgers said, “If all of this really does fit together— Dominique, his money, hate groups, and the destabilization of Europe and the U.S.— we’d have one serious worldwide disaster.” Rodgers put the phone on speaker. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ann.” “Mike, Darrell told me you needed a check on press releases from Demain,” she said. “I called D’Alton and D’Alton, their New York press people, and got the latest stuff faxed over.” “And?” “It’s all run-of-the-mill tub-thumping about games,” Ann said, “except for one. It’s about a new joystick.” “What’s it say?” “That with the new Enjoystick, you don’t just play the game— you feel it.” Rodgers sat up taller. “Go on.” This was a perfect match with the hate games. He felt a chill in the small of his back.
Ann said, “It’s FCC-approved and it’s a new technology which stimulates nerve cells through a patented fingerprintoperated biolink. I guess that’s to make sure you only use the link on your hands and not on other parts of the body. It says here that with an Enjoystick, you’ll feel ail the thrills and excitement that your videogame character experiences on-screen.” Rodgers said, “Along with the hate and love and all stops in between.” “It doesn’t say anything about that,” Ann told him, “but I can’t believe something like this exists. I feel like I’m in a science fiction movie.” “You’re not,” Rodgers said. “A lot of people still don’t understand the power of this technology, but it’s there just the same. Thanks, Ann. This was a big help.” “Any time, Mike,” she said.
Rodgers hung up. Despite— or because of? he asked himself— the pressure of piecing together the Pure Nation puzzle, he was gratified by the short, pleasant exchange. He and Ann had never been charter members of each other’s fan clubs. She made no secret of her infatuation with and unqualified defense of Paul Hood. That had often put her at odds with Rodgers, whose approach to crisis management was less diplomatic than Hood’s. But Rodgers was working on that, and Ann was trying hard to accept that there was more than Hood’s way of doing things.
There’s probably a lesson for all of civilization in that, Rodgers thought. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time to don his purple robes and go proselytizing.
Rodgers looked at McCaskey, who was making shorthand notes on the cover of one file at his rapid 140- word-per-minute speed.
“It’s all here, Mike,” McCaskey said excitedly. “Dammit, it’s all friggin’ here.” “Let’s have it.” McCaskey finished and looked up. “Let’s say that Dominique uses bank setups like the one in Nauru to filter money to white supremacist movements. He throws us off the trail by giving us Pure Nation as busywork while at the same time he’s quietly greasing the wheels of other groups.
He’s also getting ready to download hate games, games which can be played with the Enjoysticks. People feel good going after minorities.” He looked at Rodgers. “I agree with Ann— that’s a little bit too Amazing Stories for me— but let’s put it in the mix for now. It’s really not that crucial.” “Agreed,” said Rodgers.