Walk the Wire (Amos Decker #6)(18)

She did so and they found themselves passing fairly close to the Air Force station.

“Not too far now,” said Kelly. “Just up ahead we turn left and then we’re there.”

Decker looked puzzled. “But it looks like we’re still on the Air Force property.”

Kelly smiled. “About ten years ago most of the property went up for auction and the Brothers bought it. And then frackers recently leased some of it from them.”

“The Brothers bought land from the federal government that has an Air Force installation on it?” said Jamison, looking surprised.

“I guess Uncle Sam is trying to cut costs, or they didn’t need all of the acreage. And they didn’t buy the Air Force station, of course, just the spare acreage. Now, the Brothers did need that land. They’ve spun off a few new colonies and they needed the space for those folks to set up their farms and other operations.”

“Just so I’ve got this straight, you have a religious sect plowing fields right next to a government eye in the sky looking for nukes coming our way?”

“It would make for a great skit on Saturday Night Live,” observed Kelly.

Jamison hung the next left, and another quarter mile down a freshly paved road, they arrived at the Brothers’ compound.

Kelly had phoned ahead, and there were two men waiting by a large metal farm gate. Even in the heat and humidity they were both dressed in heavy, dark clothing and wore battered black fedoras with silk gray bands. Full beards covered their jaws and chins. One wore a pair of old-fashioned pince-nez glasses. The other one, younger by about ten years than his late-fiftyish companion, gazed at them curiously through horn-rimmed spectacles. About a hundred feet behind them was a tall woman in her late forties with brown hair flecked with silver, wearing a long dress with colorful stripes and a kerchief with white polka dots. She, too, was watching them closely.

In the distance, Decker could see low-slung cinderblock buildings fronted either by well-tended lawns or crushed gravel. There were large corrugated-metal buildings, some grain silos, fenced crop fields, and many pieces of neatly arranged heavy farming equipment along with some other machinery that, to Decker’s eye, looked like they would be used in a building or manufacturing process. Everything was laid out with thought and precision, he concluded.

“Like I said before, it’s all communal living here,” said Kelly as the SUV came to a stop. “No personal property, really, except your clothes and what’s in your house.”

“The big buildings?” asked Jamison.

“They sell eggs and vegetables, and other things that they grow. They also make furniture and some parts for manufacturing, and they also do metal fabrication. The fracking people buy from them. They have their own truck fleet to deliver everything. It’s a fairly large-scale operation when all is said and done. They’re very self-sufficient. Their English is excellent, though their first language is German.”

“And you haven’t told them why we’re here?” said Jamison.

Kelly’s look darkened. “No, not over the phone. It’s going to come as a shock.”

“I’m surprised they have phones,” she said.

“Well, they don’t allow TV or the internet, strictly speaking. But younger members do use Facebook and Instagram and email to keep in touch with friends, though that’s closely regulated. And cell phones are necessary for business and personal tasks, so they have those too. There’s only one central hard line phone. They worry that the outside world will try to encroach on them.”

“And maybe convince some of the younger members to leave?” said Jamison.

“The outside world can be enticing, for all the wrong reasons,” conceded Kelly.

They climbed out of the vehicle and approached the two men, who came forward and extended their hands in greeting. They all introduced themselves to one another.

The older man was Peter Gunther, who was the minister of this particular colony, and his companion was Milton Ames, the secretary. The woman, who had remained standing back, was Ames’s wife, Susan, her husband told them. She was the tailor of the colony, Gunther said.

“And what does that mean?” asked Jamison curiously.

“She picks all the clothes or at least the fabric and is in charge of the making of the clothes,” offered Ames.

Jamison turned and waved at the woman, but she simply stared back and didn’t return the gesture.

Gunther warily looked at Decker. “So the FBI? Joe didn’t say why you wanted to meet with us.”

Kelly said, “Can we go inside? We’re going to tell you why we’re here, but it’s not going to be pleasant.”

Gunther and Ames exchanged a startled glance. Gunther turned and led them toward one of the buildings.

It was a startlingly clean communal kitchen with two long picnic-style tables down each wall and a similar table in the middle of the room. The appliances were commercial grade. A woman in a dress similar to Susan Ames’s was unpacking some supplies and placing them neatly in overhead cabinets.

“Excuse us, Martha,” said Gunther. “We need to talk to these folks about some important matters.”

Martha glanced suspiciously at Decker and Jamison and hurried into another room.

They sat down at the table in the middle of the space. Gunther clasped his hands in front of him.