White River Burning полностью

“We’ll begin with this morning’s discovery—the website of a white-supremacist group that claims to engage in vigilante activities. They maintain that blacks are planning to start a war with whites in America, a war that neither the police nor the military will be capable of stopping, since both have been infiltrated by blacks and their liberal supporters. The group believes it’s their God-given duty to eliminate what they call ‘the creeping black menace’ in order to save white America.”

“Eliminate?” said Kline.

“Eliminate,” repeated Beckert. “They included on the same web page an old photograph of a lynching with the caption, ‘The Solution.’ But that’s not the main reason our discovery of their website is important. Look at the screen. And listen carefully. This is their anthem.”

The screen turned bright red. A window opened in the center, and the video began. A four-man heavy-metal band was producing a cacophony of stomping feet, tortured musical notes, and barely intelligible lyrics. A few words, however, came through loud and clear.

“Fire” . . . “burning” . . . “blade” . . . “gun” . . . “noose.”

The video was grainy and the sound quality dreadful. The faces of the leather-clad, metal-studded band members were too ill-lit to be recognizable.

Kline shook his head. “If those lyrics are supposed to be telling me something, I’ll need a translator.”

“Fortunately,” said Beckert, “the words appear on their site.” He clicked on an icon and the rectangle that had framed the video now framed a photo of a typewritten page.

“Read the lyrics carefully. They answer an important question. Detective Torres, for the benefit of Sheriff Cloutz, you might want to read them aloud.”

Torres did as he was told.

We are the fire, we are the flood.

We are the storm cleansing the land,

the burning light of the rising sun.

We are the wind, the burning rain,

the shining blade, the blazing gun.

We are the flame of the rising sun.

Death to the rats creeping at night,

death to the vermin, one by one,

death by the fire of the rising sun.

We are the whip, we are the noose,

the battering club, the blazing gun.

We are the knights of the rising sun.

We are the storm, the raging flood,

the rain of fire whose time has come.

We are the knights of the rising sun.

“Jesus,” Torres muttered as he finished reading. “These people are goddamn off-the-scale crazy!”

“Clearly. But what else do the words tell us?” Beckert was addressing everyone at the table—in the tone of a man who likes asking questions he knows the answers to. A man who likes to feel in charge.

It was a game Gurney didn’t enjoy playing. He decided to end it. “They tell us what ‘KRS’ stands for.”

There was a baffled silence around the table. “I see it now,” said Torres finally. He turned to Cloutz. “In the lyrics they call themselves the ‘knights of the rising sun.’ The main initials of that would be ‘KRS.’ ”

“You boys gettin’ all excited over a coincidence of three letters?”

Beckert shook his head. “It’s not just that. The whole website incriminates them. Anarchist insanity. Terroristic threats. Glorification of vigilantism. Plus the final clincher. On a page titled ‘Battle News’ there’s a description of the situation here in White River. That plus ‘KRS’ being branded on the feet of Jordan and Tooker has to be more than a coincidence.”

Kline looked alarmed. “You think these people are here in White River? Do we have any idea who they are?”

“We have a good idea who two of them may be.”

“God Almighty,” cried Cloutz, “don’t tell me it’s the two I’m thinkin’ it is!”

Beckert said nothing.

“Am I right?” asked Cloutz. “Are we talkin’ about the goddamn twins?”

“Judd is looking into that right now.”

“By payin’ them a visit?”

“You could put it that way.”

“God Almighty!” Cloutz repeated with the unseemly excitement of a man anticipating a spectacular calamity. “I hope Judd realizes them boys are stone-cold crazy.”

“He knows who he’s dealing with,” said Beckert calmly.

Kline looked from Beckert to Cloutz and back again. “Who the hell are the twins?”

Cloutz emitted a nasty little laugh. “Fire, brimstone, explosions, every kinda insane shit you can imagine. You got anything you want to add to that, Dell, to flesh out the picture for Sheridan here? I know them boys have a special place in your head.”