Myrmidon by David Wellington Read Free Book Online

children had gathered. They were sitting on the ground with big sheets of brightly colored posterboard and jars of paint. They seemed to be making signs. The children, boys and girls between maybe five and twelve, were incredibly intent on what they were doing, bent over with looks of utter concentration on their faces. Chapel took a step or two closer until he could read what they were painting on the signs.
    MISCEGENATION IS A CRIME AGAINST GOD
    NO MONGREL BABIES
    RACE MIXING HURTS EVERYONE
    Chapel’s eyes went wide in horror.
    â€œYou might be wondering what this is about,” Belcher said. “You see, there’s a man up in Pueblo, a judge in fact, who is getting married to a Latina woman next week. We’re going to send some of our children up there to stand outside the church and let them know how we feel about that.”
    Chapel thought he might throw up. He turned to look at Belcher—­
    â€”­and found the man already watching his face. Looking to see how he would react.
    Chapel couldn’t help himself. “That might be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.
    Belcher nodded, as if confirming something he’d already thought. “Even I have to admit it’s a little tasteless. But necessary.”
    â€œNecessary? You think it’s necessary to send children—­little children—­to destroy the happiness of a ­couple just because their ancestors came from different parts of the world?”
    Belcher said nothing. He just stood there with that giant smile, looking like the patriarch of some proud family.
    â€œI don’t even want to look at this,” Chapel said. He turned away and started walking—­at his own pace this time—­toward the warehouses.
    â€œAgent Chapel—­” Belcher said, racing after him.
    Chapel spun around and stared at him. Now it was his turn to stay silent while he read Belcher’s face.
    â€œThe First Amendment to the Constitution,” Belcher said, like a teacher laying out a lesson for a slow student, “guarantees our right to assemble and protest. But right now—­you’re not thinking about rights or about freedoms, are you?”
    â€œNo,” Chapel admitted.
    â€œNo, you’re thinking how much you’d like to call in a fleet of bombers and level this place. Am I right?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    Belcher nodded. “We get that a lot. Now do you see why we might feel the need to defend ourselves?”
    Chapel shook his head. “Belcher, you can talk about freedom and rights all you want. It doesn’t matter.” The warehouses were just ahead, across a ­couple more streets. Chapel headed for them as fast as he could walk. “That’s not what this is about. I have a job to do here, and it’s to get those guns. We know you bought them. We know you have them here. We even have a pretty good idea where you’re hiding them. I am your absolutely last chance to save your repulsive organization, and if you don’t start dealing with me seriously, you’re going to blow this chance, too.”

 
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
    C hapel crossed one last dirt road and came to the first of the warehouses, a tall, brick building that dwarfed the white houses. A real road led up to its loading bays, presumably so trucks could come in and take on shipments of machine parts. Chapel hurried across the pavement and climbed up onto a waist-­high platform in front of a rolling door. “Open this up,” he said.
    â€œAll right,” Belcher said. He climbed up beside Chapel and pressed a button on the side of the door. “It’s never locked. No thieves here in Kendred, after all.”
    Chapel shook his head and waited for the door to open. Beyond lay the interior of the warehouse, a shadowy, cool space lined with row after row of shelves. A wide space in the middle of the room was more open but still partially filled, with