by Ralph Gibbs
“At ease soldier,” President Dixon said, returning the salute.
Paris pushed Nate out of the picture again and said, “Sorry, sir. He’s a stray I picked up, and he isn’t quite housebroken yet. He’s also damn handy with a bow. I’m thinking about enrolling him in Ninja school when we get back.”
“Really?” Nate said, excitedly off screen.
“No,” she said. “There is no such thing.”
“Damn.”
“Stop cussing.”
“Sorry.”
“Agent Ishida,” General Jackson said, sounding annoyed. “Can you put a leash on that child so that we can get to business?”
“Hey, I’m not a child, you old coot,” Nate shouted.
Paris grabbed his hand before he could flip the general off. How in the hell did she suddenly become the mother of that annoying child that seemingly goes out of their way to embarrass the parents while they’re shopping?
“Nate, shut up and go sit over there,” Paris said, pointing to an area near the empty phone display. She turned back to the screen. “And you general will watch your tone. That child, as you called him, tracked a group of men who kidnapped his sister and killed two of them with a bow. He most likely would have killed them all, but Franklin and I saved him the trouble. So, I’ll ask you to show him some respect.” She waited for a second to give the general a chance to retort, but he said nothing. Instead, Walsh chimed in.
“Agent Ishida,” Walsh said. “Can you clarify what you meant by your mission went sideways?”
“Let me check my battery life,” she said. Finding a little over an hour, she inwardly groaned, knowing she had time to go into detail. She looked over at Nate. She knew chances were good she would have to detail her mission, but she wasn’t expecting Nate to be there when she did it. Nothing for it, but to forge ahead.
“Oh my God,” General Angles said when Paris finished. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. Obviously, you’re not okay.”
Nate silently came over and moved in front of her.
“Nate,” she said, annoyed at what she thought was another one of his antics. He suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tight. Not used to displays of affection, she stood there awkwardly for a moment before kneeling and wrapping her arms around him.
“Thank you,” she whispered to him. She didn’t care if they heard her. Not letting go of Nate, Paris looked up to the monitor and answered General Angles’ question. “I’m about as okay as I can be. However, when I get back, I’m going to resign from the agency and head back to where that group has its compound, and I plan on killing every last one of those fuckers.” Franklin had briefed her on his conversation with Carl. While she was upset with him at first, she understood the need. It might be a year before she could get out there and they could do a lot of harm in a year. If they were dead, there would be plenty of other assholes out there in need of killing. A little vigilante justice might do her some good.
“We’ll get you whatever help you need,” President Dixon said. “When you get here, I’ll have my therapist attend you.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, hoping that the shock of finding out the President of the United States employed a therapist and that he was alive, didn’t show on her face or in her voice.
“Why haven’t you made contact sooner?” Walsh asked.
“Because you would have ordered me home,” she said as she disengaged from Nate. She continued to hold his hand. “I made a promise to Franklin to help find his kid, and I would have been forced to ignore the order.”
“I see . . .” Walsh said.
“When will you head to Colorado?” the president asked.
“Sir, I’d like to rest for a few weeks, if it’s all the same to you,” Paris said. “I could do with some downtime. The community here is under the leadership and protection of a seventeen-year-old girl named Danica. They have plenty of food, water, electricity and, best of all, hot showers.”
“No wonder you want to stay,” the president said.
“It makes you forget the world has gone to hell,” she said. She hoped Gunilla wouldn’t be mad at her for what she would say next. “Also, Gunilla is pregnant.”
“What?” Doctor Olofsson said, his head shooting up in shock. “Pregnant? I thought you said—”
“She wasn’t raped,” Paris said, easing his fears. “She met a guy in Virginia. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure she would come back with me, but she did.”
“You would have let her stay?” Walsh asked.
“If she wanted to, yes.”
Someone off screen handed the president some papers. “It looks like you’ll get that downtime. My staff pulled up a weather report for your area. There’s a line of heavy storms headed your way. They should start to roll in tomorrow afternoon and last almost a week. You might be in for some hail and heavy winds as well. Just be thankful you’re not in the mountains. They’re expecting flash flooding.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll pass on the information.” The computer warned her that time was running out. “I’m out of time, but before I sign off, I have a few questions.”
“Go ahead,” the president said.
“A group came in a few hours ahead of us. The leader, Major Barrette, claims to be with the First Alabama Militia under the leadership of some man named Father Winthrop. He claims Winthrop is the true President of the United States. Do you have anything on either of them?”
“Calvin?” the President asked.
“The name sounds familiar,” Walsh said. “I’ll check the records and get back to you. However, to be honest, he’s not the only one claiming to be the rightful president. There are at least five others.”
“Any of these others have a military force?” Paris asked.
“Armed men, yes,” Walsh said. “Military force, no. What do they want?”
“They are trying to convince people to join their new utopian society in Atlanta. Based on Danica’s conversation with Major Barrette, they sound like one of those anti-government militia groups. Apparently, they want to bring back the original Constitution or something like that.”
“Of course, they do,” the president said dryly.
“Do you have numbers?” Walsh asked.
“Major Barrette came in with four other armed men,” Paris said. “Claims to be part of a larger group sent here to make contact with several communities in the area. If they’re not lying, it does indicate a highly organized group with an active intelligence-gathering operation. Danica believes their encampment is within five miles of her community. I’ll check it out once we’re done.”
“How do you know they have an intelligence-gathering operation?” Vice President White asked.
“Danica had no idea other groups like hers were in the area, and they’ve been out actively searching for survivors. Granted, Charlotte’s a big city, but she should have stumbled on at least one of those other groups.”
“They could be lying,” Walsh said.
Paris shrugged. “Possibly. Don’t have enough information either way. However, I’m hoping to have more information by morning.” Her computer warning screen popped up to let her know she had less than five minutes of battery life left. “Oops, my computer is almost dead. I have one more question for Doctor Olofsson.”
“Just ask,” Sten said, still sounding giddy at the news his daughter was alive.
“The plague has rendered some people blind. Franklin’s son Matthew is one of them. Can it be cured? Gunilla thinks it might be due to excessive tissue scarring.”
“That’s certainly a possibility,” Sten said. “If it is, we would need an ophthalmologist trained in ocular surgery . . . and the equipment.”
“Do you?” Paris asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” President Dixon said. “I’ll check with my medical staff to be sure. However, if we don’t have the equipment, we can get it. Calvin, let’s put that on the list. There should be an office in the area
we can salvage.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Walsh said.
“Agent Ishida, I’m sorry we don’t have the answer, but we’ll look into it. Frankly, we should’ve already been looking into it,” President Dixon said. “Thank you for getting in touch with us, and I’m glad your back.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Agent Ishida,” Walsh said. “Can you make contact again tomorrow at 1600 hours?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered.
“Okay . . .” Just as Walsh started to say more, her computer powered down.
Paris left the computer on the counter and picked up two that were still in the box. “Here,” she said, handing them to Nate. “I want you to take these with you.”
“I can help.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” she said, grabbing his shoulder. “However, the greater mission is to get these computers back, and if I’m not back by eight, I’ll need you to tell Franklin where I went. He’ll know what to do.” She grabbed a piece of paper and wrote some instructions. “This is how you log onto the satellite. Instructions for setting up the computer are in my email. If I’m not back at 1600, you log on and talk with them.”
“What do I say?”
“Just answer their questions.”
It took her nearly three hours to find the camp. When she set out, she had it in her mind that their camp would be a bunch of tents set up in an open field, but as it turned out, the militia group was sleeping in a hotel which, when she thought about it, made more sense. The only reason she discovered the camp was there were two armed guards posted at each entrance. Using the brush as cover, she surveyed the building. For about twenty minutes she watched, hoping to get an accurate count, but with everyone inside, it was proving to be impossible. As she stood up to leave, she heard a twig break behind her. Whirling around with a knife in hand, she discovered three men pointing rifles at her.
“Damn,” she said. “Twice in one night. I’m getting rusty.”
“All right, lady, drop the knife.”
Knowing what happened the last time she was captured, she was reluctant to give. But if there had been just the one, she might have taken her chances. Instead, she dropped the knife.
CHAPTER 36
Colonel Philip Dorsey inspected himself in the mirror, turning his face one way and then the other. He frowned as he noted what little he had left of his short brown hair was a little less brown and a lot more gray. It sucked growing old. At fifty-three, it sucked, even more, being in the field. He should be back in Atlanta enjoying the comforts of the beautiful woman his position in the militia afforded, and not out roaming the countryside playing soldier. Going out and rounding up what he called stray cattle could have and should have, been handled by that fucker Major Barrette. As he ran a hand over his cheeks and chin feeling the small growth of stubble, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Dorsey said as he pulled out his shaving kit and a bottle of water.
“Sir,” his aide said, coming in. “Private Tisden is back.” The colonel glanced at his aide using the mirror and cocked an eyebrow.
“Is there trouble?”
“Not that he said. Just news from Major Barrette.”
“Okay,” Dorsey said, relaxing as he pulled out the soap and wet it. His aide started to leave. “Wait, did you say private?”
The aide chuckled. “Apparently, sir. Private Tisden said it happened before he checked in the last time, but he didn’t have time to change his rank.”
The colonel shook his head. “All right. I’ll be down to see him in a few minutes,” he said as he started to lather up his cheeks. “Make sure Private Tisden has something to eat.
“And tell the cook I’d like a couple of biscuits with apple butter on the side and some pancakes to go with that. Tell him if he puts hot maple syrup on those pancakes, I’ll find someone with big tits to suck him off.”
“Yes, sir.” The aide turned to leave.
“Oh, and have Captain Rogers muster the men for morning exercise before breakfast. We’re likely to be here for a few more days, and I don’t want them getting complacent. In fact, tell him I want them exercised every morning.” The colonel looked down at his stomach and frowned. “I’ll join them.”
“I’ll tell him, sir.”
Colonel Dorsey knocked on a door and entered Private Tisden’s room.
“Good morning private.” Private Tisden snapped to attention and nearly beamed himself in the forehead with his spoon.
“Sir!” he said loudly, quickly putting down the spoon and saluting.
Colonel Dorsey looked down to see that the private had barely touched his food. He smiled as it reminded him of his son pushing around food to make it seem as if he’d eaten. Then choked back emotion remembering his son was dead.
“Not hungry?”
“It’s not that, sir. It’s—”
“They’re planning on feeding you back at the settlement,” the colonel said with a knowing smirk.
“Yes, sir. Someone said something about eggs. Sorry, sir. I’m tired of powdered eggs.”
“Don’t be sorry, son. Camp food gets old quick. Take advantage while you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel stood there looking at the private, expectantly. When the private just looked at his food, wondering if he should take a couple of bites to make the colonel happy, the colonel let out a loud sigh.
“Did you come back for anything in particular?” Colonel Dorsey asked slightly exasperated.
“Oh, yes sir,” Private Tisden said as if he suddenly remembered why he was there.
“Shortly after we met Miss Justice, another group came in. They came all the way from a Virginia town called Round Hill, which is near the border of Maryland. We had to look that up. One of them was a female FBI agent and . . .” It almost seemed the private paused for dramatic effect, and when he finally completed the sentence, it was with awe. “A female doctor.”
“A doctor?” Colonel Dorsey said, taken aback. This was the last thing he expected to discover during his patrol. Finding people with useful skills was the main reason for their expeditions, but finding a doctor was more than he could hope for. This was one case where it didn’t matter that she was a woman. The Winthrop Society may be male-centric, but there were exceptions, and a female doctor would be one of those exceptions.
“The doctor’s not American, though,” he added. “I think she’s Swedish or something.”
“We can’t all be perfect,” Colonel Dorsey said. “Do you know what kind of doctor?”
“A virus doctor.”
“A what?”
“A . . . Vero-ologist,” he said, struggling to say the word.
“A virologist?”
The private smiled broadly. “That’s it.”
“That means she’s not really a doctor,” the colonel said, a little of the excitement had left his voice.
“That’s what the major said. But he said to tell you he was able to find out she’s had some medical training. The lady that runs the place was injured in a fight, and she sewed up her arm. She needed to sew up the muscle first and did it with no problem.”
“I see,” Colonel Dorsey said, sounding thoughtful. “What can you tell me about the settlement?”
“It’s more a neighborhood, really. Small one. Maybe thirty, forty people. Racial mix. All armed. About a dozen kids. Lots of cover in the way of houses. No fortifications to speak of. A guard on either end. Maybe one or two seasoned vets. That short black fellow that came in with the group after us, Franklin . . . Something. . . Seed maybe. He’s something. I don’t know what, but he just looks like he could reach into your nose and pull out your balls. Still, we could take the town easy enough. We’d probably lose a dozen men just because of the sheer number of people. They aren’t ready for trouble, but they are organized under Miss Justice.” He paused as if thinking. “Something’s off about her.”
“Off? How so?”
“I
keep getting mixed signals from her.”
“Are you telling me you’re not sure if she wants to go out on a date with you?”
“What? No. I mean, she seems young. I did a stint at a carnival once.”
“So, I’ve heard you tell the men,” Dorsey said. “Several times.”
“In a carnival, you end up doing a little of everything. I’ve run all the games, Tip the Cat, Ring Toss, Can-Can, Fish Bowl, Can Smash, Spill the Milk–”
“I get the point,” Colonel Dorsey said, cutting him off before he spent all morning naming off a hundred different games and then moved on to naming the rides. Private Tisden was the Forest Gump of the outfit, though not as stupid.
“Not much skill in running those games. All you really needed to do was get the customers to play. But there was one game that took skill. Well, not sure you could really call it a game.”
“Private, I don’t have all morning,” Dorsey said, sounding bored.
“Sorry, sir. It’s the one where you guess people’s ages.”
“I know it.”
“Pretty much everyone over the age of forty-five knows it. The younger people, not so much. Not many carnivals have it anymore. It’s not sexy enough.” Tisden saw a look of irritation cross the colonel’s features and hurried to continue. “Anyway, I was always good at it. I could guess a person’s age, maybe, seven out of ten times. Of course, I only had to be within two years. The point I’m getting at is if this Miss Justice came to my booth, I would guess she was still a teenager. But and here is where I get my mixed signals, she comports herself like an old soul. If . . .” he hesitated and scrunched his face as if thinking was an effort. “If I had to give her a rank, based solely on what I’ve observed, I would probably give her the rank of lieutenant colonel. Does that make sense, sir?”
Colonel Dorsey clasped him on the shoulder and said, “Actually, son, it does.”
“The major says she’s incompatible.”
“I would agree. It doesn’t sound like she’d be willing to give up leadership to stay home and have children.” The Winthrop society was conservative in its values. Women weren’t allowed traditional male roles. If they weren’t willing to take a husband, take care of the house and have children, they weren’t considered compatible candidates. As far as the Winthrop Society was concerned, it was a man’s world again, women just lived in it, cooked and had babies. “What about the community? Is it viable?”