Stuart Woods - Heat

On the way home he could not get over the feeling that the incident had been orchestrated to test him and that he had passed.

Jesse had been regularly attending Sunday morning services at the First Church, and Jack Gene Coldwater’s sermons had become more and more apocalyptic. He noticed, too, that outsiders never heard these sermons, because guards, in the person of ushers, were posted at the doors and around the building. On one occasion he had seen a man using electronic debugging equipment around the pulpit before a service.

Coldwater’s references were, increasingly, indicating a siege mentality, along with a strong suspicion of any stranger in town. Nobody that Jesse knew of had come to live in the town from outside since his own arrival. The plant had not employed any new people, though he was quite certain that Coldwater had had nothing to do with that — Herman Muller was far too independent to let anyone dictate any policy to him.

On the Sunday before Christmas Coldwater seemed very disturbed during his sermon, and he made repeated references to “last days” and quoted extensively from Revelations. His audience was more than rapt; they were, literally, on the edge of their seats, and Jesse tried to exhibit the same concentration.

When the service ended, Pat Casey approached him. “Jesse, Jack Gene would like you to have Sunday lunch with him.” He turned to Jenny. “You and the girl go on home; I’ll bring Jesse later.”

Jesse turned to see if that was all right with Jenny, but she had already headed toward her car, Carey in tow. “Sure, Pat, I’d be honored,” he said. He followed Casey around the corner of the building and found Coldwater waiting for them in his Mercedes.

Lunch was roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, fresh vegetables and apple pie, accompanied by a bottle of California red wine that Jesse reckoned was expensive, called Opus One. He enjoyed the food, but only the most perfunctory conversation took place, with Coldwater rambling on about the weather and Casey trying, unsuccessfully, to start a conversation about college football.

When they had finished lunch, Coldwater stood. “Jesse, you’re one of us, now, and it’s time you knew some things. Come with me.” The three men got back into the Mercedes, and Coldwater drove to the top of the mountain.

It was the first time Jesse had been there, and he was surprised at what he saw. They passed through solid-looking gates and a maze of concrete forms that required a car to make three ninety-degree turns before entering what turned out to be a sort of compound at the mountaintop. There were a number of small buildings scattered about four or five acres of quite flat land, and several pieces of heavy construction equipment were scattered about. One very large stone building had an official air about it, like a government building. Coldwater parked in front of this building and motioned for Jesse to follow him.

Jesse got out of the car and took in the facade. It was built of rectangular slabs of cut stone and had high, narrow windows along its front and sides.

Coldwater spoke up. “What you see here is the last refuge of my people and me,” he said solemnly. “The world is against us, we know that; our activities are commissioned by God himself, but the government of this country is opposed to our beliefs. Government money, raised from exorbitant taxes, is spent on abortions for our African-American and Hispanic friends.” His descriptions of these groups were sarcastic. “They send agents to spy on us, to try and learn the source of our funds and our various activities. We have dealt with these people before, and, no doubt, we will again. Of course, we mean to survive, but should we have to fight we will make a stand like no one has ever seen in this country.” He turned to Jesse. “You were in the construction business, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse replied.

“Then I think you will find this structure interesting. Come inside.” Coldwater led the way to the front doors and let them inside with a large key, then went to a switchbox and flipped several switches.

Jesse found himself in an entrance hall, oddly narrow and ending only a few feet away in a concrete wall. As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he put a hand on the wall next to him. It was made of long blocks of concrete, and he suddenly understood that what he had thought was an exterior of cut stone was really the ends of these blocks. He was stunned. This meant that the walls of this building consisted of an eight-foot thickness of reinforced concrete.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured.

“Indeed,” Coldwater said. “I see you have grasped something of the construction already.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jesse said truthfully.

“Neither has anybody else,” Coldwater replied, smiling. “Not the Maginot Line, not the Germans’ defenses in Normandy, not even Hitler’s bunker itself was constructed as heavily as this. There are a number of government installations, I am given to believe, that have been constructed to withstand a direct hit by a large nuclear device. Only those structures are stronger than this, but then the government would never use a nuclear bomb in a populated area of this country.”

“I certainly hope not,” Jesse said.

“You may count on that. Come, let me show you more.” Coldwater led the way to the end of the entrance hall, then turned left. They were faced with a heavy steel door. Coldwater tapped a code into a keypad, and the door slid noisily aside. Ahead of them lay a long hallway with doors on either side. Coldwater began opening them.

On the left were rooms containing heavy weapons, not all of which Jesse recognized. There were certainly antitank weapons and some sort of recoilless rifles, and they were aimed out the narrow windows he had seen from outside.

“First line of defense,” Coldwater said, leading him down the hall. They turned a corner to the right and he opened more doors, revealing huge amounts of ammunition and explosives. They descended a flight of stairs and came to what appeared to be an enormous dormitory. Rows of bunk beds disappeared into the distance; crates of food and bottled water were stacked in piles among the bunks. Coldwater showed him three large and well-equipped kitchens and two infirmaries, each of which looked like the emergency room of a large hospital. Here and there among the bunks were television sets and speakers were everywhere.

“I can communicate with any part of the structure instantly from my quarters,” Coldwater said. “Come, I’ll show you.” He led the way downstairs to yet another floor and toward the rear of the building. Double doors opened into an extensive suite of rooms, filled with computers, fax machines, telephones and every manner of office equipment. Finally, Coldwater showed him to another set of steel doors, behind which lay another suite. “I can live and work here for years, if necessary,” he said, waving an arm around a large living room lined with books and showing Jesse an apartment with every comfort.

“It’s breathtaking,” Jesse said.

“Questions?” Coldwater asked.

“How is it ventilated?”

“There are three discrete ventilation systems, each of which is more than enough to put fresh, filtered air anywhere in the structure.”

“Electric power?”

“Again, three systems: first, we have hydroelectric power from a small plant down the mountain, which has its own extensive defenses; second, we have two twenty-five-thousand gallon tanks of gasoline stored far underground to operate generators; third, we have an extensive solar collector system that can supply eighty percent of our needs all by itself. It is inconceivable that even a very large force could deprive us of electricity.”