Daily Archives: January 12, 2026

Chapter Twenty-Three

After breakfast, Mike took a long, hot shower to soothe his aching body and go over the plan he was hatching. The key was to assemble as many of the militia honchos he’d seen gather at the Griffith Park Zoo and Murphy’s Ranch meetings as he could: the Bund Boys, Aryan Patriots, Boogaloo Boyz, Oath Takers, and the rest. The rank and file were shooting up the country right now, but their leaders might still be hoping that Horst and Huber will deliver more AR-15s and ammo. And maybe even that “cadre of great Nazi leaders” they’d been promised.

Mike’s plan was still evolving as Gloria drove him over to Andy’s house. They didn’t say much along the way. The less Gloria knew, the better it was for her. She already knew from Mike’s call with Andy that whatever the plan was it involved explosives. It all sounded dangerous as hell, but she knew her darling boy had to see this thing through. Horst Mueller had shot her in cold blood. Innocent people were being killed. They were up against evil itself.

Gloria pulled up to Andy’s place. Mike gave her a this might be the last time we see each other kiss, then got out and lingered at the open car window. He thought of things to say at this moment. Again, Bogart in Casablanca came to mind. “I’ve got a job to do. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.” But he didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “I’ll be back, babe.”

Gloria held back her tears. They wouldn’t help right now. “I love you, Mike. I just don’t want to lose you again.”

“I’ll be careful, baby. I love you, too.” He leaned through the window for one more kiss. When their lips parted, she smiled, doing her best to be brave — then drove away before her tears started falling. Mike wondered if he’d ever see her again. Then he shook himself. From now on he needed to focus on the mission.

Andy was impressed that Mike had arrived at 12:00 sharp. Back in the day, his old partner was rarely on time.

“So, Ace, what’s the plan? And how can I help?”

Mike handed Andy Huber’s old iPhone – the object that started this whole mad adventure in the first place.

“First, we need to get this thing working again.”

“That’s easy,” said Andy, plugging it into a charger. “It should only take a few minutes. That is, if it still works.”

Minutes later, the screen flashed that image of an apple with a bite taken out of it. “That’s a good sign, Mike. It’s booting up.”

“It’s what?”

“It’s booting up. That means it’s getting ready to work. So, what are we looking to do with this thing?”

“I’m hoping it still has the info I need. I want to get in touch with all the militia assholes I saw at the zoo and Murphy’s Ranch. Huber might have called them all on his phone.”

“More likely, he would have emailed them or messaged them. You may be in luck, because not long ago, Apple added an update that gave users the ability to send a text message to multiple recipients.”

“Jeez, Andy. How do you know all this shit?”

“I’m a nerd, Mike.”

“A nerd?”

“I keep forgetting what a square you are, pal.”

Soon, Dr. Huber’s phone sprang to life. “We’re in luck, Mikey! The doctor’s phone is still working. So, what do you need to know?”

“Find all his communications with the militia guys.”

“I’m on the case, pal!” Andy was getting excited. “We’ll start with his emails. I’m betting old Doc Huber didn’t know how to delete his emails and messages…and bingo! There it is — the whole email thread. Subject line: ‘Murphy’s Ranch’. For a couple of big scientific eggheads, this ain’t exactly top-flight secret agent stuff.”

For the next hour, Mike and Andy pored through the emails and text messages that passed between Huber, Horst, and the leaders of the various militias. Mike was amazed. It was all there: what Andy called their “email addresses” and whatever names they called themselves in the text “chats.” It all seemed too simple, too easy. Back when Mike was working cases after the war, a trove of information like this would have been impossible to gather so fast. It would’ve taken him days, weeks, maybe months to track it all down. Now, it was all literally at his fingertips. The question was how to use it.

“Here’s the deal, Mike. These militia guys haven’t heard from Horst or Huber in what, maybe two weeks? A lot’s happened since then. The killing has already started, but these nutjobs haven’t heard anything about their Nazi genius friends getting arrested, so they have no reason to think there’s a problem on Horst or Huber’s end. They may be hoping Horst and Huber will still deliver what they promised.”

“That’s what I’m counting on, Andy. But what about the two militia guys I killed at Cal Tech?”

“Those guys were burnt to a crisp. The cops will have to run dental records on ‘em. I doubt they were dumb enough to carry any ID – but even if they did, it would’ve been cinders after the blaze. Don’t worry about them. They were just foot soldiers anyway. You want the big boys.”

“I want a lot of them, Andy. All the bastards I can get in one room at the same time.”

“So, we compose a group email from Huber and Horst. Make it a big deal.”

“A group email?”

“That’s right, Mike. We can send the same email to all of them at once. If you want, we can hide the names of the other recipients and make it look like each of them are getting a personal invitation from Huber and Horst.”

“What do you think would be best?”

“Hide all the other names, Mike. Let each of these jerks-offs think they’re something special. If they tell any of their comrades about the email and learn that others are invited, they’ll probably appreciate the operational security.”

“Okay, Andy. We’ll them that the guns, ammo – and most of all, the great Nazi leaders – will be delivered at such a place, at such a time. I’d love to use some of the Nazi gear I’ve got as bait.”

“No problem, Mike. To really entice them, we can attach photos of some of Hitler, Goebbels, and Himmler’s personal Nazi regalia.”

“Attach?”

“Yeah. We can actually add photos of that shit to the email. Knowing these militia freaks, they’ll do their own online research and start foaming at the mouth when they find out what big time Nazi goodies they appear to be.”

“But let’s use a bit of code, Andy. One more level of operational security. Say something like, ‘At this glorious moment, you’re invited to a private showing of vintage Nazi memorabilia recently arrived from Berlin.’ What do you think?”

“That may be too cute. But it might also be perfect. You probably can’t go wrong appealing to their outsized egos and Nazi fetishism.”

 “Fetishism?”

“Jesus, Mike. What did they teach you in your very brief time at UCLA?”

“Fuck you, Andy. I was a chemistry major.”

“Fine. So, where do you want to hold this clandestine militia shindig?”

“Somewhere no innocent people will get hurt when I touch things off.”

Andy and Mike gave this a lot of thought. Murphy’s Ranch was out of the question. It was still a crime scene, with police tape zigzagging across the landscape and investigators still poking around. The Griffith Park Zoo? Too public, even late at night. Besides, an outdoor location would be tough to booby trap. They needed an indoor space in a remote area. But where? After hours of brainstorming and frustration, Andy hit on a possible answer.

“There’s a big old barn north of Goleta, about twenty-two miles from Santa Barbara. I pass it all the time when I go up to the wine country in Santa Ynez. It’s south of the Gaviota Pass on the east side of the 101 freeway. I knew the old guy who owned the farm. We used to surf together at Hollister Ranch back in the day. He keeled over from a heart attack a couple years ago, right after his wife died. A broken heart can be a real thing, my friend.

“Anyway, the property’s in limbo now. His two kids are fighting over it. They both live out of state, and they’ve got families of their own. They’ve got zero interest in working the farm — but they can’t agree on a sale price. So, it’s been sitting there, off the market, since he died. Let’s drive up, scout it out, and see if it’ll do. The kids are never in town. And there’s not another property for a half mile.”

It took less than two hours for Andy to drive Mike up the 101 past Goleta. Sure enough, the farm was vacant, and the barn looked large enough, and remote enough, for Mike’s purpose. Andy parked on the shoulder of the road and Mike climbed over the chain link fence bearing a “No Trespassing” sign. The few cars that whizzed past on the 101 paid no attention to Mike as he walked the hundred yards up to the barn and made his reconnaissance.

Using Huber’s iPhone, he took photos of the scene. Mike saw where the militia guys would drive up and park behind the barn, where they’d enter the barn, and where he’d hide the explosives. That part of the plan was coming into focus. But how would he pull off his own role? He was no actor, but he was the one that would have to greet the hard-core paramilitary fanatics who showed up to his surprise party.

One step at a time, he reminded himself. One step at a time.

After completing his scout of the property, Mike jumped back over the fence and Andy drove him back to Malibu. He’d stay at Andy’s place until the job was done. His beloved Gloria would be too great a distraction from the hard-hearted work at hand. He and Andy had an important message to write and send to the militia leadership. They had explosives to pack. And Mike had a big old barn to prepare for demolition. Human demolition.

Back at Andy’s house, they had dinner. Strictly bachelor fare. Mike marveled as Andy used a device that he called a “microwave,” “zapping up” Velveeta cheese sandwiches and Vienna sausage. Did Andy only eat food that began with a V? It was the worst meal Mike had eaten since he choked down military rations on Iwo Jima. But he was basically on a combat mission, so he made peace with Andy’s meager fare. He longed for Gloria – and not just for her cooking.

After their miserable dinner, Mike wrote Dr. Huber’s invitation to the militia boys.

“Comrades! The time has come to share in the glorious bounty we have promised to those heroes faithful to our sacred cause. The great work has already begun. We must gather in two days at 9:00 PM Pacific at the attached location. At that time, the additional supplies we previously offered will be made available. And something far more valuable will also be provided: leadership of the highest rank. The attached photos featuring vintage items recently arrived from Berlin, will no doubt inform you of whom I speak.”

Andy wondered whether folks should RSVP to the email. Mike had no idea what an RSVP was. “It’s French, Mike. It means ‘let us know if you’re coming.’ Something like that.”

Mike sent the email, the location, the photos, and the RSVP request, via Huber’s email.  

He’d soon know who was taking the bait.