Silent Night

TWENTY FIVE

‘How long have you been under, Agent Peterson?’ Shepherd asked. He was now sitting in the chair across the table from the ATF agent whose handcuffs had been removed.

‘Seven months,’ Peterson said, rubbing his wrists. ‘Seven long-ass months.’

Leaning against the wall, Archer inspected the guy and was impressed. He never would have guessed that Peterson was an undercover ATF agent. Short for Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, the ATF was the Federal Control Agency for all three, as well as for explosives. Based out of the United States Department of Justice, the Agency protected communities from illegal trafficking, sale or possession of all three. Standing beside Peterson, Agent-in-Charge Faison looked like one of their typical employees. He was conservatively dressed in a suit, brown haired, sturdy, somewhere in his thirties and looked to be in good physical shape. Peterson had to be late twenties or early thirties and looked the complete opposite to Faison with his shaved head, his pierced eyebrow and pale skin. As Archer watched, Peterson slid off his black jacket to reveal a series of neo-Nazi tattoos etched on his forearms. He had an SS inking on the left and an 88 on the right.

88. HH in the alphabet.

Heil Hitler.

‘Are those real?’ Archer asked.

Peterson looked at his arms and nodded.

‘They had to be. You don’t just stroll in and out of these groups. But I’m counting the days till I’m reassigned and can get them covered. ’

Beside him, Faison nodded, patting the man’s shoulder.

‘So what can you tell us about the situation in the city?’ Shepherd asked.

‘We think we know two men who are heavily involved,’ Faison said.



‘In 2009, there was a Homeland Security report that got a lot of people’s attention,’ Faison explained, starting from the beginning, as the NYPD team listened intently. ‘It made a very substantial and bold claim. It’s been the basis of much of our Agency’s investigations and operations ever since.’

‘What was the statement?’ Marquez asked.

‘That right wing extremists are now the most dangerous domestic terrorism threat in the United States. And the report was right. Most people like to live in a fantasy land. They don’t want to acknowledge the possibility that neo-Nazism is still prevalent in society. We’re human beings; we like happy endings. According to the history books, the Nazi regime died in Berlin in 1945 when Hitler killed himself in his bunker and the Allied Forces won the war. But almost seventy years on there are white-power and nationalistic groups not just across America, but all over the world. They are everywhere, they’re growing in number and they’re extremely dangerous.’

‘The hierarchy of these organisations is pretty simple,’ Peterson continued, rubbing the knuckles on his right hand then indicated two tiers. ‘You’ve got two levels, the leader and the followers. Just the way it began in Germany all those years ago. You get someone charismatic on the mic who knows what they’re doing and who looks good in a suit. He spouts a direct message and sooner or later the right person listens. And passion breeds followers.’

He paused.

‘So many teenagers and young adults in this country lack stability or structure in their homes. They grow up being told they’ll never amount to anything. So a disciplined and hierarchical organisation can seem attractive as hell. It allows them to vent their anger and feel like they finally belong to something. This following spreads, attracting more and more kids, and before you know it you’ve got a major, potentially violent situation on your hands.’

‘You’re talking about skinheads?’ Shepherd said.

‘At the bottom, yes. They’re all about thrash metal, aggression, intimidation and violence. In Eastern Europe a lot of these groups masquerade as fans of soccer clubs. But not everyone gets pulled into the hate groups from the street. Others do it for survival.’

‘Survival?’

‘These organisations are rife in prison. If you’re looking at a long jail term you need to make friends. And if you’re part of a white-power group, you’ve got protection.’

‘The men and women who run these groups may be twisted and extreme in their views, but they’re far from stupid,’ Faison said. ‘They know they need to find a bridge into society and politics. They’ve jumped all over the anti-immigration issue to try and drum up followers. They organise marches, rallies, public book burnings. The day I saw a group marching through the centre of Washington waving Swastikas was the day I knew this was something serious.’

‘They can get away with that?’ Archer asked.

‘Yes. They’re protected by the First Amendment. Freedom of speech and peaceful assembly. As long as they don’t riot they’re not breaking any laws.’

‘Jesus.’

Faison nodded. ‘It’s scary. Membership of these groups is growing fast across the nation. This isn’t a foreign enemy trying to breach our borders. These are home-grown people, men and women who truly think they’re doing what’s best for the country. As you can guess, these groups operate well under the radar. And whenever that happens, illegal activity is sure to follow. Gun-running, drug trafficking, vandalism. A number of the Texas and Arizona factions take it upon themselves to tool up with rifles and patrol the borders looking for any immigrants. They see themselves as soldiers protecting the flag from domestic enemies as they call them.’

‘Like a militia,’ Shepherd said.

‘Exactly,’ said Faison. ‘Some horrible shit goes on out there. Murders, hate crimes. Sometimes rape. The boys in the trucks dub it rahowa, short for a racial holy war. Some of them are really convinced that they’re carrying out God’s work. The people leading them cherry-pick lines from the Bible and twist them to suit to their ideology. They’re making hate holy.’

He shook his head.

‘Considering the amount of illegal weapons handling these groups engage in, my team and I were tasked to bring down one of the largest neo-Nazi border gangs in Texas. They call themselves The Stuttgart Soldiers.’

Faison pointed to the SS tattoo on Peterson’s forearm.

Shepherd nodded. ‘Gunnar’s organisation.’

‘You know Kyle Gunnar?’

‘We had him in here twenty minutes ago. Nothing stuck. He’s clean.’

‘Of course. He epitomises the leadership of these groups. They’re smart as hell. As you all know, the most intelligent criminals put distance between themselves and the crime. Even if they get caught, it’ll never get traced back to them. It’s like any successful criminal enterprise. Mafia bosses did it for years.’

‘Tell us about the Texas chapter,’ Shepherd said.

‘They operate out of a town called Roller, located near the border. They run guns and pump dope back and forth, in and out of Mexico. We think they have entire caches of illegal weapons stashed in the area, which is where we come in. A cache of Glock pistols was recently stolen from a weapon’s storage facility outside San Antonio. Less than a week later the entire Chapter were walking around carrying the pistols, but modified.’

‘Modified how?’

‘An auto-selector switch mounted on the weapon. Highly illegal. Turns a semi-automatic into an automatic pistol. One squeeze drains an extended clip in about a second.’

‘Who runs this Chapter?’ Josh asked.

‘Two men. Finn Sway and Bobby Rourke.’

Shepherd glanced at Marquez, who nodded, making a mental note of the names. Without a word she turned and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

‘Are they similar to Gunnar?’ Archer asked.

‘Physically?’ said Faison. ‘No. Not at all. Sway’s tall and kind of skinny. He’s got a mullet haircut, short on the sides, bit of length on the top.’

‘What about Rourke?’ Shepherd asked.

‘He’s a seriously nasty piece of work. He’s a creep. He uses the club for sexual favours. He tells female prospects that it’s a necessary part of joining the organisation and that they have to do everything he orders. It’s his vice. He did two years at Dallas State for rape. He and two other members ganged a sixteen year old schoolgirl.’

‘What about Sway?’

‘He’s not a rapist, but he’s a murderer. He leads those militia trucks out in the desert, shooting anyone who isn’t white Caucasian. Both of them are killers.’

‘How do they finance all this?’ Josh asked.

‘They run meth-houses and move weight back and forth across the Mexican border,’ Faison said. ‘They rob any drug dealers they haven’t already driven out of the area or sell their own product. Classy stuff, right? A real holy war.’

‘How many in their Chapter?’

‘I’d say thirty or so. Sway and Rourke at the top.’

‘Do you interact with them personally?’ Shepherd asked Peterson.

He nodded. ‘My cover pushed me up the food chain. To them, I’m ex-US Army just back from the Middle East. These gangs are always looking for ways into Army bases and camps to try and leech some weapons from the quartermasters. I told them that I still have contacts inside and can get them rifles and ammunition. Right now they’re kissing my ass.’

‘You’re supplying them?’

‘No. We haven’t passed over a single weapon. But they almost don’t need us to. The Brady Law passed in ‘93 demands a five-day waiting period and background checks when purchasing a handgun. But these boys are already running around with modified Glock machine-pistols and assault rifles.’

Peterson paused.

‘A big trade has been brewing for the past month or so. I told them my guy inside Fort Hood could smuggle out thirty M16s and a load of ammo. We’ve been in the process of setting up a deal. That’s when an Agency Task Force would take over and bring them all down at the scene. The trade was being planned for this weekend.’

‘So what happened?’ Shepherd asked.

‘This is where it gets relevant to you. Rourke called me into his office last weekend. He said the deal would have to be delayed.’

‘You think he was on to you?’

‘No way, otherwise I’d be dead. He was excited. Rourke’s got three weaknesses. Money, teenage girls and the fact that he can’t keep his mouth shut. He just loves the sound of his own voice. I showed interest and asked him what had come up. I didn’t think he’d tell me. But he did.’

He paused.

‘He said something had fallen into his lap. It was bigger than anything the Chapter had encountered before. He was being cryptic, but I could tell he was desperate to talk about it. He and Sway called a meeting in the club room that night, a week ago today. Everyone was there. They said that we were heading to New York for this weekend. A new business opportunity had arisen, one that could make us all wealthier than we’d ever dreamed. He said it was for a huge meth deal but I could tell that was bullshit. I knew it was something else. And afterwards, I overheard him talking with Sway outside the clubhouse. They were speaking quiet, but there was one word they repeated several times.’

‘Which was?’

‘Virus.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Positive. Plus these boys never go farther north than Carolina. To come all this way something major really must have been on the cards.’

He paused.

‘Then I caught the news earlier and saw there was some kind of bomb threat at Macy’s. And a ‘chemical pipe accident’ by the Seaport. And two neo-Nazis were shot dead at a house off Ditmars Boulevard. All this is one day? There has to be a connection.’

‘Hold up,’ Archer said. ‘This doesn’t make sense. You’re saying Rourke and Sway want to make money from this virus?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But it’s already been released. They’re pissing away all their potential profit.’

Peterson shook his head. ‘That’s the thing. Rourke told me that the club was going to make a fortune. I don’t think he knew about or signed off on what those boys were doing this morning.’

He paused.

‘I think someone screwed them over.’