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  A PERFECT HATRED: DESCENDING SPIRAL

  A PERFECT HATRED: DESCENDING SPIRAL

  Book Three

  P. A. Duncan

  Unexpected Paths

  A Perfect Hatred: Descending Spiral. Copyright © 2019 by P. A. Duncan, Phyllis A. Duncan. All rights reserved. Registration number TXu2-145-972; effective date April 29, 2019.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permission to use excerpts other than for review, contact the author at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and some locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people, public figures notwithstanding, is coincidence.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  FIRST EDITION: August, 2019

  ISBN 13: 978-1078111485

  Cover Art: SelfPubBookCovers.com/mary60

  Cover Design: Becky Muth, https://beckymuth.com

  Edited by: Sylvan Echo Editing, www.sylvanechoedits.com

  Published by: Unexpected Paths Publishing www.unexpectedpaths.com

  Created with Vellum

  Epigraph

  “I know what terrorism feels like—when your father could be taken out in the middle of the night and lynched just because he didn’t look like he was in an obeying frame of mind when a white person said something he must do. I mean, that’s terrorism, too.”

  Alice Walker

  “I’d rather die than give you control.”

  “Head Like a Hole” - Pretty Hate Machine, Nine Inch Nails

  Dedication

  To the ultimate social justice warriors:

  The American Civil Liberties Union and

  The Southern Poverty Law Center.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  I. Sidetracked

  1. Impeccable Judgement

  2. Private Moments

  3. Three Little Words

  4. Patience

  5. Simpler Times

  6. Guilty Plans

  7. The Big Lie

  8. The Dog Who Couldn’t Bark in the Night

  9. Freedom

  10. Highs and Lows

  11. Being Alone

  12. Hallucinations and Rumors

  13. Wild Goose Chase

  14. Intruder

  15. Questions, No Answers

  16. Dangerous Stuff

  17. Reunion

  18. Rejections

  19. Context

  20. Home

  21. Friends

  22. Decisions

  23. Bombed

  24. Raid

  II. The Hero Gets the Girl

  25. Unwanted Conversations

  26. Sonata

  27. The Demands of Trust

  28. Death in the Family

  29. Insurance Fraud

  30. Welcoming

  31. Greed and Corruption

  32. Profound Disappointment

  33. Wanted

  34. Revenge is Sweet

  35. New Normal

  36. Old Normal

  37. Petty Jealousy

  38. What Is, Is

  39. Going Rambo

  40. Plotting and Planning

  41. Trying Not to Care

  42. Bruised Egos

  43. Hope

  44. Early Retirement

  45. Compromises

  46. Surprises

  47. Gun or Bed

  48. Temporary Setback

  49. Eve’s Daughter

  50. When the Lance Only Grazes

  51. Prophet’s Handiwork

  52. Repercussions

  53. Low Blows

  54. Blame

  55. Hero

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Author’s Social Media

  Also by P. A. Duncan

  Don’t Forget the Review!

  Author’s Note

  A Perfect Hatred: Descending Spiral is book three of a four-book series. A Perfect Hatred is a serial series, meaning none of the books stand alone and the three books should be read in sequence. However, the Prologue herein contains a brief summary of what happened in book two, Bad Company, but shouldn’t be considered comprehensive.

  Descending Spiral takes place entirely in the year 1994.

  Thank you.

  Prologue

  Duty Done

  Patriot City

  1994

  Alexei Bukharin opened his eyes to a gray dawn and the memory of what he’d done.

  He’d killed a man; rather, put him out of his misery.

  He’d questioned why he’d come to Patriot City in the first place. And he’d…

  No, he couldn’t think of that; thinking of it made it real, as real as the soft, regular breathing of the woman sleeping beside him.

  Don’t think about it.

  He eased himself from the bed and went into the bathroom, latching the door so he could be alone.

  He’d come here to uncover evidence of a plot against the U.S. government.

  No, admit it, he told himself, you came here for the Nazi, mission be damned.

  For the past year and a half he and his…partner had been delving into America’s right-wing paramilitary and militia groups, believing one of them or a coalition would exact revenge for a botched law enforcement raid in Killeen, Texas, the year before. An imprisoned neo-Nazi had given his…partner the name of a compound, Patriot City. Weeks of searching had turned up nothing; the FBI and ATF claimed to have never heard of the place. The undercover ATF agent he’d encountered here proved that a lie. A chance meeting with a wannabe mercenary had scored what Alexei had been looking for.

  While his partner was off delving into the psyche of their main suspect, Alexei had come to Patriot City as Sergei Nevansky, a Russian émigré and former soldier looking for pocket money. And for Patriot City’s co-leader, Lewis, aka Pinkus von Hollenbrand, a former Waffen SS officer who’d been stationed at Stalingrad in World War II and who had likely ordered the execution of Alexei’s father, brother, and sister.

  Alexei turned the shower on, set it as hot as it would go, and stepped inside. He needed to scald memory from his body. Not the killing. What he’d done after.

  When he’d come here, his biggest concern was he might be tasked to assassinate someone as a test for his remaining in Patriot City long enough to obtain solid evidence against them. He hadn’t expected to walk into what was essentially an even more perverted version of the depraved Nazi Lebensborn. Here the focus, while also on making “pure, white babies,” was more to breed future soldiers for Elijah’s and Lewis’ war against the United States. He and his assigned “mate,” that undercover ATF agent, had managed to put that off for weeks.

  But last night…

  Last night he’d killed a boy in a man’s body, someone who’d done nothing to him, who didn’t deserve what Elijah had done to him: mortally wounding him and leaving him to die. Alexei had committed an act of mercy.

  And then he had committed adultery.

  He turned the water from hot to cold and let it shock that memory away.

  Two weeks. He’d told himself…he’d told his…his partner that was all the time he’d need in this paramilitary compound. That should have been long enough to determine if Patriot City was planning revenge for the government’s action last year at Killeen, Texas. He hadn’t told his partner…hadn’t told her about the Nazi. And he’d stayed longer. Not because he liked it here or wanted to be here. He needed proof of what he’d seen here, or the FBI would laugh him out of its headquarters. That proof lay in the old Nazi’s computer, and Alexei had worked his way into the bastard’s trust.

  After last night, Alexei was ready to be gone from here.

  No, he couldn’t think about what happened last night. That should not have happened, and as far as Alexei was concerned Sergei had fucked the woman, not Alexei. Alexei would never do that to his wife. Not any more, at least. That was in their past, and now he was committed to Mai Fisher. Nothing that had happened had changed that.

  Shaking the images from his head, he shut off the water, let himself air-dry while he shaved, glad for the condensation on the mirror so he wouldn’t have to look at himself. He dressed quickly but quietly. He wanted to be away from the bungalow; he didn’t want to have to see her. He slipped his blue beret over the scant re-growth of his hair and headed for the door.

  On the porch, he stopped, door open, when he saw Lewis waiting for him in a Wrangler. The old Nazi smiled as he waved Alexei toward the vehicle. Without a glance over his shoulder, Alexei closed the door and went to the Jeep.

  Lewis drove in silence for a moment and said, “Elijah told me what you did last night.”

  Alexei’s jaw tightened. He’d done a number of things last night. He’d killed a man because he couldn’t stand to see him suffer. That’s what he had to focus on. “You said I was your man last night, and I did what you instructed. Prophet wanted to leave him to die like dog.”

  “He was a dog, but even your meanest dog you kill with a swift shot to the head. Elijah did Yahweh’s will, but I am glad you were there. Here, we can afford mercy. Once the war begins, we cannot. I know you understand. Once again, I am proud of you, moy syin.”

  As if being called “son” by this man weren’t enough, now it wa
s “my son.”

  “Where is Charlene?” Lewis asked.

  “Sleeping.”

  “And you? Did you sleep?”

  “Not much.”

  “Why is this?”

  Alexei couldn’t think of what he’d done, more than once, last night, whom he’d betrayed. “You can tell Prophet I have done my duty in every way.”

  “God is great,” Lewis said.

  The sun rose on a beautiful day at Patriot City.

  Charlene stood naked before the mirror and looked at her body. Her neck, belly, breasts, and thighs were flushed where Sergei had nuzzled and sucked and nipped. She closed her eyes and relived it, every touch, the feel of his mouth, the taste of him, his hands.

  But except for that initial contact, he hadn’t kissed her during sex.

  God, his hands. They seemed to know where to touch, how to move her. In spite of the turmoil she knew had seethed inside him, he’d been gentle. Intense but gentle.

  After all her coarse couplings with men here, she’d long ago forgotten about any kind of orgasm. Who wanted to climax with oafs anyway? Almost as soon as Sergei had entered her, she’d come, the orgasm powerful and lingering. That hadn’t stopped him.

  This morning, he’d left the bed without a word and headed into the bathroom, where the shower ran for a long time. She’d dozed again and had only reawakened when she heard the door to the bungalow close. That had disappointed her. She’d wanted to make love in the daylight, to watch, to see him.

  She looked at his marks on her again, her fingers tracing them. Good sex after two years of being a sex toy for indifferent men—that meant something. It had to mean something. And she wanted to find out what that was.

  There’d be no baby; her Depro-Provera took care of that. The sadness she felt at that realization was powerful but brief. No man she’d been with before here had ever engendered her desire for a baby, but here she was regretting she’d have no proof of what they’d done, how they’d…made love.

  Charlene turned away and turned on the shower, stepping inside the water she’d set to cold.

  She shouldn’t think about him that way; he was a dead end. But for the first time in two years, she felt real and human again. She felt removed from Patriot City at last.

  Forget that. She’d had the best sex she’d had in a long time, good enough that Elijah’s forced blow job faded from her memory.

  I

  Sidetracked

  1

  Impeccable Judgement

  Enid, Oklahoma

  Even though Mai had kept Nelson apprised of her whereabouts and activities while she was with John Carroll, she was surprised to find a packet waiting for her at her motel room. She’d left the farmhouse several days before and conducted covert surveillance of John Carroll and Gerald Parker, a blessed relief from the tension-filled house.

  The packet, probably slipped beneath her door by a courier who ignored the “Do Not Disturb” hanger Mai had left for the maid, contained an airline ticket and a note: “The President wants a status report tomorrow afternoon. Requested you. Think he likes you. Before you see him, stop by, have breakfast, and bring me up to date. N.”

  What was that old television show she’d watched as a child? The one where the spies had radio transmitters in a fountain pen or a packet of cigarettes? That had made communication so much easier. The Directorate had, if not the best R&D department in the world, then a close second. Why didn’t they have communications technology better than couriers trouping half way across the country to deliver a package? Mostly it was the limits of technology itself, but more operatives, including herself, were using laptops for emails and mobile phones, yes, but the coverage was abysmal in spots.

  Hers was not to reason why. She packed quickly and checked out of the hotel, sweet-talking the desk clerk into having the shuttle take her to the airport off schedule.

  The Directorate

  Her flight was a red-eye from Oklahoma City to Washington National, but upon arrival she took a limo home for a quick shower, accomplished before Natalia woke and detained her. In her own vehicle, she headed for The Directorate. Inside, day and night were indistinguishable, but the level of activity wasn’t surprising. Nor was she surprised Nelson was in his private office at 0600.

  Nelson was on the phone, his side of the conversation mostly assenting noises. He pointed to a carafe of coffee and a plate of bagels. A cup and a half-eaten bagel sat on his desk. Mai’s stomach grumbled, and she fixed herself a bagel with peanut butter and a mug of coffee, white. She sat in the chair next to Nelson’s desk and waited.

  He finished his call, rang his assistant to tell her to hold any others, and smiled at Mai. “How was Oklahoma?”

  “Flat and boring.”

  “Well, it’s only James Bond who goes to all the exotic places. Fill me in.”

  “After my weeks at the house, I shadowed Parker and Carroll for several days. They weren’t careful at all. Even if the surveillance is boring, I do like it when my subjects make it easy.”

  She debated whether now was the time to mention Terrell and opted to save it until she needed it.

  “At the farmhouse itself, it was mostly domestic unrest. I searched Carroll’s car. Nothing incriminating. I searched the farm. Nothing incriminating. Parker is an Identity Christian, and I was a bad influence on his submissive wife. He and Carroll did nothing more than commiserate about the government and complain about how unfair life was in general. Carroll went into town once by himself, to use a pay phone to call his father.”

  “We’ll double-check phone records to confirm that.”

  “After that call, he said he had to go back to Arizona.”

  “But didn’t ask you to come along?”

  “No. I did the pouting thing, to no avail, and no cheeky comments from you. He drove me to the airport in Wichita and promised to call and arrange another visit. I rented a car and followed him back to Parker’s.”

  “Ah, he wanted you out of the way. Sounds like a bust.”

  “Not entirely. Grist for the profiling mill. Once I saw plenty of interaction between the two men, it confirmed a theory I had. Carroll parrots Parker. I overheard one side of several phone calls with Parker’s older brother, and it was one huge bitch-fest against the government.”

  “You think the older Parker brother forced his political leanings on his brother, who forced them on Carroll?”

  “It seems that way. The Parker brothers are also from a broken home, like Carroll. It’s easy to see how he fell in with someone with that in common.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember now. You determined the Parkers’ anti-government sentiments pre-date meeting Carroll.”

  “Analysis discovered the older Parker was particularly active in anti-government rhetoric during the 1980s farm crisis. Carroll was still in high school, and the local newspapers there didn’t print much about the farm crisis. Carroll didn’t meet Parker until the Army.”