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JA: Jack Bolt had been with the Bureau just one year but the quality of his reports filtering back to Washington brought him to the notice of the Director. On the eve of Special Agent Bolt’s transfer to DC the Bureau Chief telephoned him personally. Bolt tried to maintain a respectful tone but he knew he was in for a terrible disappointment. The San Antonio field office was deemed a punishment detail where agents were sent to be toughened up and it was particularly hard on agents who were married. When it came it was every bit as bad as he thought it would be. Bolt’s transfer to Washington to work on counter-espionage was put on hold until he solved a simple homicide smack in the middle of the country. The Chief took this one personally, and so, natch, the FBI did as well. “You’ll be coordinating with Special Agent in Charge Claude Colson on this one,” the Director said. “Do you know him?”

JB: “I know Colson runs something called DECON sir, but neither I nor any of my associates even know what the initials mean.” “In Claude’s pretty little head,” the Chief said with a nervous chuckle, “DECON stands for Domestic Enemies Containment, Observation, and Neutralization. But to me, you, all the agents who are not on his team and most important of all, Congress, Colson heads up the Special Projects section.” “I completely understand sir,” said Bolt. “But what if, by some misfortune, my work runs at cross-purposes to those of SAiC Colson? Which case takes precedence?” “You will have the upper hand. You are to mesh with Colson where practical but your reports will go directly to DC, as usual. Migdalel College has a teletype machine and they have agreed to put it entirely at your disposal. “A teletype, sir? My usual procedure is to phone Edith at the Bureau and she types them up.”

JC: “There are no long distance telephone lines out of Havilah,” the Director said, and this shocked Bolt to silence. “You will also have the complete cooperation of the local law enforcement assets, such as they are. Not even Colson has that. But bear in mind, Bolt, Havilah is at the ragged edge of nowhere. You will be shocked to find it lacking in even basic amenities. They don’t have a hotel or even a motel. Colson and his two agents are living out of a drop-in trailer on federal land.” The Director wrapped up with a few more details, saying Bolt this and Bolt that. For the next thirty years he would never have Bolt on a first-name basis like “Claude”. That always seemed to suit Bolt to a T. Jack Bolt did win two important concessions. The Chief assured Bolt he had full access to the DECON files on the murder victim, since it would impossible to compartmentalize them and solve the case.

JD: He also received permission to draw a Bureau sedan so his wife Anita could proceed to DC as they originally planned while he took his own car north through most of Texas and several other states to fix this little burr under the Director’s saddle. Scissors, paper, rock, two out of three times, and Deputy Bob Lurz had to be the one to climb into the back of the garbage truck. Alfred Shoenherr lived on 7th and C. Deputy Bill Holsinger drove down to 8th and D to stay out of sight. The fellow driving the garbage truck and the fellow dumping the cans were duly deputized. When they drew near the driver told Deputy Bob he could see Shoenherr making a last minute addition to the garbage can already sitting out on the street. Two more pickups and Bob had the contents of Shoenherr’s garbage can in his lap. The last-minute addition was a bundle made of two paper grocery bags held together with masking tape, as if it were the shoddiest Christmas present in history.

JE: “Maranatha, you reek!” gasped Bill when his partner piled into his truck with the bag of evidence still completely wrapped. “All in the line of duty,” Bob said. “There but for the grace of God go 𝘺𝘰𝘶.” At the sheriff’s station the two deputies and Sheriff Roy donned gloves before they removed the contents of the grocery bags. It was a black metal wedge that held nine knives in all the colors of the rainbow. One slot was empty. They went black, brown, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, gray. The empty slot was obviously for the white one. “Bad Boys Rape Our Young Girls But Violet Gives Willingly,” said Bob. “I beg your pardon?” Roy said. “Electronic parts use the same colors, Sheriff. In the same order. It’s a code. The colors are matched to numbers.” “Coincidence?” asked the Sheriff. “Maybe the Academy has tentacles in the electronics industry.” Everything was photographed and dusted for prints. Some of the blades were clean.

JF: The other blades appeared to have prints consistent with a single user. Three partial prints left unsmudged on the white blade appeared to match the others. The emerging theory was all the prints belonged to Mrs. Shoenherr. As Professor Cassiel had suggested he do, the Sheriff took the orange blade, one of the knives with no prints. Edgewise the blade was paper thin. Maybe thinner than paper thin. It sank into his wooden desktop right up to the hilt without any resistance, as though the desk was made of gelatin. “Maranatha! No wonder the Academy wants to get their hands on these little monsters.” Roy looked at the array of photographs pinned to his big cork evidence board. “Go find the Shoenherr’s vehicle. If the tires match what we found at the site we’ll have enough to go to Judge Porter. ” Judge Karl Porter was Havilah Old Guard. He was the son of George Porter. As a boy George was in the wagon train that first settled the area, but that was less impressive than Karl imagined.

JG: Stiffnecks claimed this pedigree was as prestigious as a WASP back east tracing his line to the Mayflower. Outsiders allowed that would be true, in places where family trees actually forked. From his corner office on the second floor of the 9th Street courthouse Judge Porter could look down upon his ancestral family holdings. Most of the land of the original Porter homestead was partitioned for the homes and apartments of the quarter of Havilah on the east side of the brook Eshcol. The sheriff and both of his deputies were making a run at Alfred and Ruth Shoenherr. Judge Porter glanced once more at the Sheriff’s Affidavit in Support of Search Warrant. Sheriff Sternbach was requesting leave of the Court to search the Shoenherr residence, its outbuildings, and any vehicle found upon the premises. If the evidence supported it, he intended to bring Alfred and Ruth Shoenherr before the sheriff’s office for fingerprinting and questioning.

JH: Havilah had many secrets, as the judge well knew. But something had happened the previous November that brought three men from the Bureau sniffing around. Or two agents and a doctor. They had taken up residence somewhere beyond the town limits and had never left. He looked up from the affidavit. “Sheriff, are you aware the decedent was a local girl sought by the FBI since last autumn?” “Yes, Your Honor.” “Then explain to me why you stand before me in County Court this morning. Why is this warrant not being sought by one of the federal agents before a federal judge?” “Your Honor, the Director himself spoke to me by telephone. Special Agent Jack Bolt is on his way to Havilah to take charge of the homicide investigation. Until he arrives, the matter remains mine.” Porter studied him for a moment. “And the Bureau is content with that arrangement?” “They are, Your Honor.” The judge tapped the affidavit with one finger.

JI: “You understand the circumstances invite questions.” “Yes, sir. But evidence has a way of disappearing when a man waits for the next train. If there’s something to be found, I’d rather find it this morning than explain tomorrow why it wasn’t.” Porter considered that and nodded slowly. “Very well, Sheriff Sternbach. Lay out the evidence for the Court.” They showed Judge Porter the suspected murder weapon and the set where it must have been kept. Porter did the trick sinking the blade of one of the knives into his desk. They showed him photos of Remiel dangling on the tri-state marker, a photo of the marker alone, closeups of her two wounds, and many photos of footprints and tire tracks at the scene. Sheriff Roy said, “Your Honor, this is a photograph of one tire on a vehicle registered to Mr.Shoenherr. We found it parked at the Temple. His tire tread matches one of the tracks we found at the scene of the homicide.”

JJ: “Tire tracks are not unique like fingerprints, Sheriff. And what makes you you sure this knife set came from Mr. Shoenherr’s house?” “Your Honor,” said Bob, “I counted four stops after I got in the truck. There are three houses between the Shoenherr place and where I crawled inside.” “Deputy Lurz, did you actually see that you were in front of his house?” “No, Your Honor, I was in deep inside the garbage truck.” “Deputy Holsinger, can you help your partner out here?” “No, Your Honor, I was two blocks away and kitty-corner, out of sight. But the driver of the garbage truck and the pick-up man both said they saw Alfred Shoenherr throw the bag with the knife set in his trash can just before they picked it up.” “Sheriff Sternbach it is remarkable what you’ve managed to show me so far, but there’s a glaring hole in your case. Part of your evidence rests on verbal testimony which is not in evidence.”

JK: “Your Honor, per my instruction the trash men were deputized for this operation. I believe that gives them a legal status somewhat over and above that of mere eyewitnesses.” “Were they appraised of their responsibilities to the Court when your deputies deputized them?” “That I did, Your Honor,” said Deputy Bob. “I told both of them they might have to testify.” “Sheriff, what gave you the idea to stake out the deacon’s house anyway?” “Your Honor, it was Professor Cassiel Shybear of Sodales Exemplaris Divini. She said the blades are what she calls Class Two artifacts. The Academy tries to keep track of them. I’m certain she will be willing to testify as well.” “That will not be necessary, Sheriff Sternbach. Your Affidavit in Support of Search Warrant is denied. I don’t like fishing trips. Come back when you can show a direct link between the Shoenherrs and the murder.” “Yes Your Honor,” said Roy. If he was disappointed it didn’t show.

JL: Roy motioned for his deputies to gather up the evidence. Outside the chambers the Sheriff’s men seethed with disgust. “This case couldn’t be plainer if I ever saw one,” said Bill. Bob wondered, “Why are we getting headwinds from the judge?” “Ruth Shoenherr is Porter’s sister,” the Sheriff told them. “You both knew that, didn’t you?” Bill did. Bob didn’t. “Then he ought to step aside,” he said. “Or someone higher up needs to disqualify him. A judge can’t run cover for his close kin like he just did.” “It’ll take a whole week to get somebody else in here,” Bill said. “You wanna give the creep a free week?” Roy wasn’t in any mood to talk about it. “Look boys, take this stuff back to the station and call it a day. Me, I got one more thing to do before I pack it in.” “What’s that, Sheriff?” His eyebrows arched at how slow Bob was on the uptake. “I’m off to see Mr. and Mrs. Shoenherr.”

JM: When Roy Sternbach arrived at the deacon’s home he took note that no vehicle was present in the carport. He allowed his uniform to give his credentials when Mrs. Shoenherr came to the front door. “Sheriff Sternbach, Ma’am.” “How may I help you?” “Is Mr. Shoenherr at home?” She shook her head. “Alfred works at the Temple. I’m his wife Ruth.” “Perhaps you can help after all, Mrs. Shoenherr. It seems a young lady came to harm with a knife recently.” “Good God, is she well?” “It’s hard to say at this point,” Roy told her. “What I can tell you is we found the knife that might have been used. It’s very strange. The handle and the blade seem to be made of the same material. People at the Academy say it came from a peculiar set of knives and they are very rare. They said you might have one of the sets.” Ruth gasped. “You can’t think that I, that Alfred did this.” “Not at all Ma’am. Sometimes my job is tracing out every game trail even when they just come to a dead end.

JN: “So if you show me your own kitchen knife set then I can happily cross you off my list and move on.” “We never bought our knife block,” Ruth said. “It goes back to Marge Bergin when Havilah was platted out and it has passed from mother to daughter ever since. ” Sternbach made a note of that on his pad, then broke into a smile. “I knew I must be wasting my time. But still, I have to be sure. I’m sorry, Ruth, do you mind if I take one little peek at what you do have?” With some reluctance Ruth went inside to fetch it. The fact that Ruth Shoenherr didn’t know she was missing her knife set was recorded in Roy’s notebook. As expected she returned empty-handed and Roy recorded that too, for the benefit of the Bureau when they inevitably scooped up the case. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I used a knife from the set just this morning when I made breakfast for Alfred and the children, but now everything is gone.”

JO: “Oh no, Mrs. Shoenherr, that’s just what I didn’t want to hear. But I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Do you mind if I come indoors so the heat in your house doesn’t escape through the front door?” She thought about that for longer than he liked but in the end Ruth nodded and stood aside to let him in. She asked the Sheriff to sit on a couch. Roy thought Ruth’s home was very similar to the Zinter place in layout but different in almost every other way. There were no paintings, no rugs, not even a single decorative knick-knack. Just a Bible and the Green Book. There was another difference. At Clara Zinter’s house Robyn played music, but here it was silent. No radio, no record collection and no Victrola to play them on. Roy, who was himself a spiritual castaway, marveled how religious folk were so keen on a life in the hereafter when their life here on Earth seemed to be so miserable, by their own choice.

JP: “I see you don’t have a radio, Mrs. Shoenherr.” “There’s only one radio station in Havilah, Sheriff, and more often than not they play race records. Alfred says that’s the devil’s music. Even the children at the Academy are playing that garbage now, if you can imagine.” “The girl who was attacked was in the Academy music program,” he mentioned. “Do you think somebody stabbed her because she played race music?” Ruth remained silent but she seemed to roll the thought over in her mind. “It was very generous of you to allow me to come indoors,” Roy said. “I have no right to ask this of you, and don’t believe for one instant that I really think you attacked the girl, but if I could just get one print of your thumb.” “In the precious name of God, Sheriff, why?” “I want to compare it to what we found on the knife, Mrs. Shoenherr. It’s horribly smudged, you know. We found just a few partial prints. All thumbs! But if they match yours, it confirms our theory the attacker wore gloves.

JQ: “And if it doesn’t match, that’s one less thing for either of us to fret about.” Slowly she seemed to come around to Roy’s point of view. “Will you have to take me down to your station for a thumbprint?” “Not at all,” said the Sheriff, and he used his pencil to make a thick dark spot on a page in his notebook. “Are you right or left handed?” “Right, of course,” Ruth said, as though southpaws were somehow cursed by God. And so with Mrs. Shoenherr freely willing, Sheriff Roy Sternbach rubbed her right thumb in the spot of graphite, flipped to a fresh page in his notebook, and rolled her thumb across the paper to get a perfect print. Roy dared not close his notebook until the page with Ruth’s thumbprint was safely photographed. “This schoolgirl who was attacked, she was one of Erik Zinter’s kids, wasn’t she?” The Sheriff stood up from the couch still holding his notebook carefully open. He said, “I’ve been careful not to say too much and upset you, Mrs. Shoenherr.”

JR: “I suppose it couldn’t be helped,” she sniffed. Sternbach politely asked Ruth what she meant by making that remark. She said, “I think only a believer would fully understand me, but Erik was putting our most sacred relic to common purposes. Digging coal! The Lord is a sovereign God, Sheriff. ” Said the woman who was using Class Two artifacts for kitchen knives, thought Roy. Only a believer, eh? Roy had what he came for so there was no further use holding back. He said, “So God wasn’t content to take Erik’s life? He had to take the life of his daughter as well?” Ruth was shocked. “She’s dead?” “Yes, Mrs. Shoenherr, she’s dead. ” Ruth was shocked to silence. “What a terrible thing to happen to Clara Zinter, don’t you think? Losing two members of her family in such quick succession?” “I had no idea!” “Well, Mrs. Shoenherr, I think whoever killed the girl must have some kind of death wish. He left the body of Remiel Zinter on the corner marker outside of town, do you know the one?

JS: “She was draped across three states. That elevated it to a federal case. It’s not a simple crime of passion done in the heat of the moment. I’m talking premeditated murder now, with aggravating circumstances. It was already the electric chair for the killer if I caught him.” “𝘐𝘧 you caught him, Sheriff?” “There was no guarantee. My father also had a case that crossed state lines and he never cracked it. But starting tomorrow morning the FBI will be involved with this one. And Mrs. Shoenherr, the Bureau has all the money in the world, and the expertise. They will gnaw away at this problem in a way I could never do. They always, always get their man. A few miles from Havilah the state highway began calling itself the Yellow Brick Road. Special Agent Jack Bolt reached Gran Via just below the dam and turned northwest, reaching a strip of federally protected land where the Chief told him the FBI dropped a trailer. It was unoccupied.

JT: Bolt let himself in using a spare key he obtained from the Wichita field office. The kitchen was still a kitchen, but the living room was a workspace. He checked the trailer’s two bedrooms and saw they contained two cots apiece. So the trailer could sleep four agents. Before anyone else arrived he shat, showered, and shaved to make himself presentable once again after two days on the road. When he was finished Bolt was still alone in the trailer, so he helped himself to files stacked on the desks. One of them had a banner that drew his eyes immediately. TOP SECRET // DECON EYES ONLY DATE: December 16, 1942 FROM: SAiC Claude Colson, Domestic Enemies Containment, Observation, and Neutralization (DECON) TO: The Director SUBJECT: Comprehensive Threat Assessment: The Havilah Anomaly and the “Haivri” Syndicate Special Agent Bolt’s first instinct was the turn the file over and avoid spillage, but the Director had personally given him clearance to access DECON material pertaining to his case.

JU: He decided to read further to determine if the file was relevant. I. GEOGRAPHIC ISOLATION AND THE AUBRY SHIELD To understand the rot taking root in Havilah, one must first understand the walls that protect it. The town sits at the bottom of the Dole impact basin in the upper Midwest—a 1.6-million-year-old geological scar spanning a 13-kilometer diameter. The approach to this crater requires navigating the so-called Aubry National Glasslands, a desolate ring of impact breccia, microtektites, and iron pyrites. From November through May, this entire 93,000-acre labyrinth is buried under heavy snow, rendering the surface glass invisible and the crater effectively inaccessible by conventional motorcade. Inside the 150-foot undulating rim, the environment is aggressively hostile to standard American settlement. Deep magma fractures vent into Lake Taijitu and the Pison River ravine, producing a localized geothermal microclimate.

JV: The result is a perpetual, sulfurous fog bank that completely obscures the sky. The residents never see the sun, moon, or stars. The humidity is cloying, creating a tropical dampness in the dead of winter that breeds aggressive fungal blights. It is a grim, shadowless terrarium. The fact that any population would choose to remain in this sunless gloom speaks to a deeply ingrained psychological deviance. II. SOCIOLOGICAL SUBVERSION: A COMMUNITARIAN CULT The demographic makeup and economic structure of Havilah represent a direct affront to traditional American values. It is, for all practical purposes, a Soviet-style commune operating under the guise of frontier religion. The population is roughly 58% Caucasian—descendants of Maryland pacifists who fled the Civil War like cowards—and an alarming 20% Native American, specifically the “Kuwapi” band of Oglala Sioux, who were themselves discontents within their larger tribe.

JW: Unlike the rest of their tribal cousins who were rightly managed by the federal reservation system, these “Left Behind Ones” integrated with the white population in 1865. The Haivri Syndicate uses this unnatural integration to foster a communitarian economy funded by deeply opaque natural gas leases. The town shares resources, shuns outside commerce, and operates with a collective, anti-capitalist fervor that makes them ripe for Marxist infiltration. Their religion is equally grotesque. The dominant sect, the “Root of Jesse Fellowship,” masquerades as Protestantism but operates more like the Mormon cult out of Utah before the 1890s. They possess an extra-biblical text—some ungodly scroll kept on the “Table of the Lord” in their Temple—which they elevate above the Holy Gospel. Worse still is their marital dogma. To maintain their “Covenant,” marriage is strictly restricted to first and second cousins.

JX: They enforce this inbreeding with the same fanaticism the Brigham Young crowd used to enforce polygamy. Dr. Trochmann suspects this isn’t mere religious eccentricity, but a highly coordinated genetic quarantine designed to protect the anomalous biological traits of the Haivri leadership. III. THE BIOLOGICAL THREAT AND RECENT ENGAGEMENTS This brings us to the core of the DECON mandate: the biological and technological aberrations of House Haivri, which Special Agent Sloane initially, and inadequately, classified as a mere “Crime Family.” Our serious scrutiny began in June 1942, following the quarantine of Remiel Zinter, wherein physical, avian-like appendages literally sprouted from her scapulae. The growth of these appendages was observed over a number of weeks, and ultimately, with the Director’s approval, subject to amputation. See attached photos of the “wings” and X-ray images of the internal skeletal structure.

JY In November 1942 the subject escaped from quarantine at the Heart Mountain Relocation Center, aided by means and parties unknown. Special Agent William Sloane has obtained testimony it was a so-called “Prank” executed by students from Migdalel College in Havilah, with Remiel’s brother Samael Zinter as one of the participants. He is presently the subject of a vigorous search as a person of interest. IV. CONCLUSION Havilah is not a quirk of the American frontier. It is a hostile, communitarian enclave harboring individuals with biologically anomalous capabilities and technologies that presently outstrip U.S. military science. They use religious fanaticism and a geography of sulfur and glass to shield themselves from federal oversight. I strongly recommend maintaining continuous, aggressive surveillance on the Dole Crater, with particular attention paid to the younger generation—specifically the brother, Samael Zinter.

JZ: The moment they step out of the fog, DECON must be ready to put them down. We are not dealing with a church. We are dealing with an infestation. Bolt stopped reading when he heard the sound of a vehicle’s tires crunching up to the FBI trailer. He already met Claude Colson the previous year when the Chief inspected the graduating class but this fellow wasn’t he. When the agent came in Bolt thought the man looked more movie gangster than G-man, more likely to be tailed than to do the tailing. Somewhat later Bolt learned this man was one of the very few liberal Democrats to be accepted into the Bureau. “Are you John Bolt?” the newcomer asked. Bolt, who had been sitting ramrod straight in his chair, now stood ramrod straight on his feet and extended his hand. “Jack Bolt, please. ” Then Sloane approached the work desk to see what Bolt was reading. He seemed mildly amused by Bolt’s defensive body language. Sloane said, “Show and tell, Jack. You got the tell, now it’s time for the show.”