A Shaky First Stage
Paul Federocko restrained his impulse to run and kept his eyes focused ahead. He did not want to attract even the slightest attention. But his height, size and thick blonde hair naturally drew attention from each passerby. Several police cruisers, sirens blazing, sped by on their way to Memorial Gardens. Ahead, the 12-storey limestone structure of the Stuart Hotel loomed above Mills Street. His destination lay behind one of the oriel windows that lined the top floor below the hotel’s steep copper roof. When he reached the tiled drive that led to its entrance, he picked up his pace. The revolving doors easily gave way against his strength as he exited into the hotel lobby and made his way toward the wall of elevators. A member of The Phoenix Rises (TPR), he had stature and purpose, his advice sought after on training, weapons and tactics. His mind concentrated on the 14 words of TPR’s motto: We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. The words calmed him. He glanced at his watch. Exactly fifteen minutes had passed. Soon they would have control of the police department, part of gaining a foothold in a range of institutions and professions to launch the creation of a white ethnostate.
The elevator doors opened at the twelfth floor and he stepped out onto its carpeted surface. A young couple and older man exited with him. The woman glanced up at him and smiled. He gestured with a slight nod and noted which room she, her companion, and the older gentleman entered then walked along the hall in the opposite direction to room 12030 and knocked two-long and three-short. He did not have to wait long.
“Well?” She closed the door and followed him into the room. “Were you successful?”
Without turning to face her, he stared out the window. “I don’t know!”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?!”
“It’s like I said, I don’t know! Get me a drink!” He removed the imitation prosthetic around his arm and dropped it onto the floor. “There was a guy—”
The unexpected voice came from somewhere behind him and he turned sharply to face its source sitting in one of the chairs. “Alexandre…How?... When?... Gee it’s good to see you.” He crossed the room and they shook hands. Alexandre did not stand.
“Hi Rusty,” he said, crossing one leg over the other. Rusty was the handle Federocko used on the popular app for gamers called Disharmony. “Long...