by Lopez, Rob
*
In Biltmore House, Fick uncorked a bottle of wine and put his feet up on the banqueting table, pouring himself a glass. Nearby, Connors took out his wrath on the silver cutlery and china cups, smashing and scattering them with a pewter candle holder.
Fick swirled the wine in the glass, observing its dark color against the candle light.
“Didn’t they once take a bottle of Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon to France to compete against the best wines in the world?” he said.
Connors gathered china plates in his hands and, with a cry of anger, smashed them down onto the table.
“I believe they won,” said Fick, holding the glass under his nose to savor the bouquet.
Connors, breathing heavily, brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen across his eyes. “I told you that story,” he said.
“You sure did,” said Fick.
“And it was a Chardonnay, not a Cabernet.”
Fick knocked back the glass in one go, uncorked the bottle and drank some more straight from the neck. “Yup,” he said, wiping his mouth. “You sure know your wines. Do you remember how you told us we’d all one day be sipping wine in gracious surroundings and never have to work again?”
Connors stalked the tables in the banquet hall, still angry.
“I’d have preferred Tequila, myself,” said Fick absently.
Connors whirled and hammered the candle holder down onto the table, putting a dent in the teak. “How did he know where to find my meth factory?” he roared.
“Well, you gave him enough rope, didn’t you? Wasn’t that your plan?”
Connors threw the candle holder at Fick, who deftly snatched it out of the air and continued draining the bottle.
“You should have let me kill Nolan in Afghanistan,” said Fick, twirling the candle holder. “I had him in my sights when he was talking to those villagers. We could have ended it there.”
“That doesn’t help me right now,” said Connors caustically.
“Helps me. How about we stop pussyfooting around and bring Moresby in? He’ll tell us where Nolan is. We can finish the job then.”
Connors paced back and forth. “No. If he’s planning to free Nolan’s wife, then I want to use that to draw Nolan out. We’ll set a trap for him.”
“Like last time?”
“Yes, Fick. Like last time. Unless you have any better ideas?”
“Yeah. You cut me loose and let me do things my way. No more restrictions or half-assed second guessing. You do that, and I’ll bring you Nolan’s head on a plate. A china one, if you want, unless you’re going to break them all.”
Connors scrutinized his subordinate. “What do you plan to do?”
“Find out who Nolan’s contact in Black Mountain is, then squeeze them. Work our way through the chain. It ain’t going to be that complex. He hasn’t had long to set it up.”
“And then?”
“You let me do what I need to do.”
Connors pondered what that meant. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you a free hand. Just get me Nolan.”
“No restraints or boundaries.”
“The floor is yours. Use any means necessary.”
23
Dee was followed as she walked through Black Mountain, though she remained unaware. Wide angle scopes tracked her as she made her way through the moonlit streets. A sniper placed his crosshairs on Packy as he waited for her. An entire squad watched as he started up the Road Runner and drove away.
Jim Fairbanks didn’t know any of this. Limping across the threshold of his home, he unlocked the door. A lantern had been lit in his kitchen, and Jim entered to see a Special Forces soldier looking through his cupboards.
Annoyed, Jim said, “I thought you said we’d never meet again.”
“Uh huh,” said the soldier, keeping his back to him.
“It’s too dangerous for me to be seen with you. Those bastards from Asheville are keeping a special eye out.”
Fick turned around. “Is that right?” he said.
Jim’s mouth fell open.
“Expecting someone else, were you?” said Fick.
“I … I don’t know what you mean,” stammered Jim.
“Oh, I think you do. Seems like you met with Nolan after all. Now I just need to know about that message you sent to him.”
The door opened behind Jim, and heavy footsteps entered. Jim knew he was trapped.
“What message?” he said, thinking hard of a way to get out of this.
More footsteps shuffled in his house, and Sonita was shoved into the light, a large hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror.
“The message you gave to this woman,” said Fick.
Jim’s mouth went dry.
“There was no message,” tried Jim.
Fick flexed his Kevlar gloves and stepped toward him.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” he murmured.
*
A buzz ran around Camp Alpha. Josh had been drawing water from the creek when he saw Dee and Packy arrive. Dumping his bucket, he scrambled up the slope to where his father and a group of fighters were reading a note that Dee had handed to them. Red turned to Josh as he arrived.
“We’re getting your mom out, kid,” he told him.
The fighters were jubilant, and Rick’s face glowed with hope. A burden seemed to have lifted from his shoulders.
“When?” said Josh earnestly.
“Tonight,” said Rick, and his face creased again as he pondered the logistics. “We need to move fast.”
“What’s happening?”
“They’re smuggling your mother out. We need to rendezvous with them and escort them from the city.”
Amid the backslapping and the arrival of smiling kibitzers, Josh noted how his father’s face darkened again, and he knew his father well enough by now to know he was contemplating all the things that could go wrong.
“I want to go with you,” said Josh quickly.
Rick turned to him, doubt on his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Dad, please. It’s Mom. We’ve been waiting for this moment.”
Rick read the note again, as if hoping for more information.
“It’s a quick in and out,” said Red, pleading Josh’s case.
“We can’t use the vehicles,” said Rick. “It’s too soon. They’ll have that road blocked now.”
“So we use the bikes and stick to the trails. Your boy’s proved he can keep up. He’s been good so far.”
Scott joined the group and read the note. “Tonight? Doesn’t leave us a lot of time for planning.”
“No,” said Rick. “We’re in Moresby’s hands now.”
“Kind of risky.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if we’re ready for this, but if they get Lauren out, we have to be there.”
Scott pondered the limited information. “You’re going to need everyone. Split them into three groups. One for recon, one for the extraction and one for backup.”
“That’s what I figured,” said Rick.
“I won’t be able to make this one. I ain’t no good on a bike.”
“I know.” Rick turned to Josh. “I’m putting you in the backup. Get your stuff together. We leave immediately.”
24
Corporal Parson’s garrison at Old Fort was housed in an old plastics factory. It was a garrison in name only. Originally, it had been positioned to guard the rail route into Marion, but with the loss of the train, it had become superfluous, and the garrison had been reduced. Desertions had depleted the garrison further, and Parson was down to just five men. His position was utterly useless, but he was under no illusions as to why he had been kept there.
Connors had made sure he would be out of the way and unable to interfere in anything.
Ironically, it had left Parson with more time to plot, which he had so far put to good use. So when he received a message from Fick to interrogate Lou at Marion about possible rebel activity, he took it
as an opportunity. Lou was a difficult person to deal with, but Parson thought it might be possible to reach out to him and include him in his secret network. He certainly had no love for the Asheville government, and Parson suspected he’d already been visited by Rick, as Jim at Black Mountain had. The shape of Rick Nolan’s strategy was becoming clearer to Parson. If he could continue making links with potential allies, and feeding back misinformation to Fick, Parson was sure he could help the cause. It might take a while, and nothing short of a full blown rebellion would topple Connors now, but Parson was confident that things were headed that way.
He just needed to be patient.
Taking his squad out in the pickup, they headed for Marion along the interstate.
“You really going to interrogate that guy?” said Lee, his driver.
“Not going to interrogate him. Just going to ask him some questions.”
“A little harsh, interrogating a mute, don’t you think?”
“I’m not interrogating him. Chill out, man.”
“My cousin was a mute.”
“You know sign language?”
“Only a couple of words. Hello, goodbye, fuck you, that kind of thing. My cousin didn’t like me so much.”
“You didn’t get along, then?”
“I was okay with her. She was hot. Stuck up bitch, though.”
“You thought your cousin was hot? Where are you from? Alabama?”
“Hilarious. Wasn’t going to make out with her or anything. I’m just saying, she was good looking.”
“She still around?”
“I don’t know. She lived in Idaho.”
“Oh.”
“Gets cold up there. I don’t know if they made it through the winter.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you’ll never get a chance to meet her. I guarantee you’d be bowled over.”
Parson laughed heartily, blinking just at the moment the windshield shattered. With his eyes closed, he was aware of the sudden change of pressure as the fifty caliber bullet flew by. When he opened his eyes, it was too late. The bullet had slammed Lee into the seat, taking his left arm and half his chest off. The vehicle veered to the right, crossing the lanes, across the shoulder and bumping up the embankment. Parson grabbed the wheel, trying to stop the vehicle turning over, but it lost speed and stalled at an awkward angle. The ticking of the hot engine seemed unnaturally loud, then Parson realized he was hearing bullets passing through the truck’s bodywork. Still in shock, he glanced at Lee’s body, now only held up by a few strands of remaining seatbelt.
The belt snapped, the body fell forward and Parson fumbled for the door handle. Kicking the door open, he slid off his seat and down to the ground, fingers grasping for the rifle that had fallen into the footwell.
The firing seemed to be coming from the opposite embankment, and Parson huddled by the wheel, using it as hard cover, because the bullets were simply passing through the rest of the truck. Two of his men had made it out of the truck bed. He didn’t want to risk lifting his head to see what happened to the rest.
“Are you two okay?” he called.
They were crouched together by the back wheel, and they both gave him a frightened glance. Neither had their rifles.
“What about the others?” he asked.
He received the same frightened look.
With the truck riddled full of holes, and with no other targets forthcoming, the ambushers slackened their rate of fire. Parson risked a look over the hood. He still couldn’t see anyone, but he could see the outline of the ridge on the wooded embankment, and assumed his assailants were firing from there. He turned to his two men.
“I’m going to give you covering fire,” he said. “You run up and over the bank. We can’t stay here.”
The two militiamen were initially reluctant, but after some cajoling, they agreed to give it a go. Parson flipped the safety to full auto.
“As soon as you hear me shoot, you start running,” he said.
Readying his rifle, he rose up and targeted the ridge line, firing sequences of controlled bursts until his magazine was empty. He didn’t register any return fire. Dropping back down, he inserted a fresh magazine and turned around. His two men had reached the top of the embankment. Cocking the rifle, he rose again, pulling the trigger. He heard gunfire behind him and assumed his men were giving him covering fire.
He forgot that they were unarmed.
He was aiming at the tree line when he felt hammer blows into his back. His legs gave way and he collapsed over the hood, sliding down the fender to the ground. There was a tightness in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. His body flopped over and he saw Fick coming down the embankment.
“Thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?” said Fick, standing over him.
Parson’s throat filled with blood and he couldn’t speak.
“Don’t worry,” said Fick with a cruel grin. “Your death won’t be in vain.”
He pushed Parson’s face down into the dirt and shot him one last time in the back.
*
The Carolinas Senate met in the old Council Chamber in Asheville City Hall. The seating had been rearranged so that the senators sat in a wide circle, and Connors wore his dress uniform to address them all.
“Chairman, senators,” he began, “I wish to thank you for this opportunity to brief you in person. I am pleased to say that you have made great progress, both in the city and the state. The people are being fed, sanitation has improved, we have order on the streets and preparations are in full swing for this year’s harvest. We have come a long way, and efficient governance has saved us from the anarchy, chaos and suffering of the past winter. For this, I commend you on your hard work and dedication. It would not have been possible without you. I would like, if it were possible, to finish my address on this positive note, but as a loyal servant of the people, it is my duty to bring before you news of what is likely to be our greatest threat.
“No doubt, you are familiar now with the willful acts of sabotage that have been directed against us by malcontents. These are deliberate acts of terrorism by people who mean us harm and want us to fail. These people hate the very idea of government and the rule of law. In short, these people hate you. They are a caustic mix of outcasts, fanatics and second amendment-type survivalists. You know the kind. Fantasists. Their vision of America is not yours, and they will spare no one in pursuit of their twisted cause. They praise democracy while secretly despising it. They cherry-pick the rights they want while disregarding the rest. They claim to be liberators while acting as conquerors, and they terrorize the people they claim they want to save.
“For as long as such people remain outside the fringes of our community, we remain safe, for our well trained militia are more than a match for them. Being cowards at heart, the terrorists are reduced to hiding in the mountains. While they themselves are kept at bay, however, their insidious propaganda has made its way into the heart of our communities, turning once-loyal citizens into traitors. Within these closed doors, I can disclose to you that a former councilor of one of our communities was last night arrested on suspicion of passing sensitive intelligence to the terrorists. Upon questioning, he has confessed to being a member of a secret network that reaches into the heart of our city. That network is responsible for the attacks on our water supply and food infrastructure, with the aim of striking fear into our citizens and bringing forth the kind of chaos that our enemies thrive on.”
Connors paused for effect, looking into the eyes of every senator.
“It goes without saying that if these people have their way, your very lives will become forfeit. It is you who stand in the way of these terrorists achieving what they want, and they will be ruthless. Senators, the enemy is now in our midst. To meet this new challenge, we must act swiftly and decisively. To do this, I urge you to vote in a new Security Act.
“To prevent the smuggling of arms and ammunition to the terrorists, I recommend that you order the con
fiscation of every single firearm from anyone who is not serving in the militia. We must ensure that these objects of lethality are in the right hands.
“A new detention law must be enacted, with new facilities erected to house detainees. Fast-track justice must then be administered by an appointed panel, with no appeal.
“Any group that seeks to disrupt our way of life, whether by direct acts of violence or by the propagation of support for such acts, or of the individuals involved thereof, must be outlawed. Proven membership of any such group or network should be made illegal. Known sympathizers must be brought before the panel.
“And finally, the execution date of the convicted murderer, Lauren Nolan, must be brought forward. She has become a twisted beacon of hope, an icon for those who believe they should be allowed to get away with whatever they want, even if it means the murder of people who are different from themselves. Such intolerance cannot stand. Ladies, gentlemen, please do everything you can to protect our diverse and peace-loving citizens from becoming the victims of hate, selfishness and greed.”
25
The convoy of militia, headed by two Humvees, rolled into the Grants Mountain suburb of Marion, packed with fighters wearing red armbands. Lou and Farah watched as they formed a cordon around their compound, machine guns trained on them. Fick and Leon got out and strode toward Lou.
“A squad of our militia were ambushed and murdered just a mile from here,” said Fick directly, “and I think you were involved.”
“My people had nothing to do with that,” signed Lou.
“I don’t believe you,” said Fick. “You’re a rebel sympathizer and you’re going to tell me exactly where they are.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fick pulled out his Glock and trained it on Farah’s head. “Let me refresh your memory,” he said. “You’ve been supplying the rebels. They can’t survive in the mountains without your help. Now you tell me where they are, or she dies.”