Browning shrugged, then gestured to his surroundings. "I'd certainly argue that I have a better eye for investments."
"Of course. What's a drug lord without his estates?" Conor said. "You must feel quite powerful. After all, it's hard to fail when you're untouchable. That's not a benefit many of your competitors can boast about."
Browning chuckled. "Really, Conor, you're going to argue morals with me? You're a common bomber. A mass murderer. There's no skill in what you do, no precision. You kill indiscriminately with a broad brush. You're barely a step above one of the Jihadi suicide bombers."
Conor didn't let the insults bother him. He winked at Browning. "Surely you didn't come all this way just to sweet talk me? I carry that phone in my pocket for nearly six months and it never rang until yesterday. Now you're here. Tell me why."
Browning's eyes flashed back to Conor's and he pointed toward a nearby oil drum. "Let's step over there. We need a table."
Browning, Barb, and Conor circled around the drum. Browning removed a tablet from the front pocket of his chest rig and placed it on the rusty lid of the drum. He didn't open the impact-resistant cover yet.
"I knew I had a use for you, Conor, so I kept you on ice here during the purge. I didn't want you to get swept up with the rest of those Macallan Collective folks. They've all been executed by now, just so you know. Every last one of them."
"You thinking that puts me in your debt?" Conor asked. "Am I supposed to kiss your ring or something?"
"I just wanted to make it clear that the network that sent you on your last mission has been eradicated. All of those traitors have been dealt with. So if you're holding out some hope that you'll find a sympathetic ear in the American government, you can forget it. I'm the only thing keeping you alive."
"I think you're confused there, Browning. The traitors would be the bastards selling this country out and trampling on the constitution. The traitors are the folks holding the American people hostage, making them give up their rights for the promise of electricity. This is all about power and personal gain for a handful of elite politicians and their supporters. The country is being sold out from under the American people. I hope you're proud of yourself for being part of that."
Browning opened his arms. "Competing visions, my friend. There are some in government who think that the only way the U.S. remains a superpower is by positioning themselves to become the one-world government. This isn't about selling the country out to the United Nations. It's about America finally taking control of the whole shit show. We're not selling out to the rest of the world, we're taking over the world."
"You're deluding yourself," Conor said with a shake of his head. "But I understand why. It would be hard to live with yourself otherwise, right?"
Browning shook his head, appearing sad that Conor couldn't grasp the concept he was laying out. "The only thing you need to remember, Conor, is that my team controls the ball. And your team can't make a comeback because my team killed off your team. You can either play along or face the same fate as the rest of your team. I'm assuming that since you answered my call, you're at least willing to hear me out."
"I'll hear you out, but let's get on with it. I'm assuming the faster we get this over with, the faster I can be shed of you."
Browning laughed again. "You'd be wrong there, Conor. This is only the beginning of an ongoing relationship. You'll never be shed of me."
When Conor didn't take the bait, Browning flipped the tablet open and powered it up. He touched an icon, scrolled through a few menus, and an aerial image filled the screen. Browning jabbed it with a finger.
"That's a coal-fired power plant," he said. "I think it's roughly forty miles from you, as the crow flies. It was one of the first targeted for power restoration. The government sent in a team to secure it last winter. They evicted some squatters, flew in some engineers, and were taking it through the start-up process."
"We're that close to getting power back on?" Conor asked, genuinely surprised.
"Not exactly. The power generated there wasn't going to be distributed locally. It was going to be routed to the Northern Virginia area to help get the government back up and running."
"Ouch. That's kind of cruel," Conor said. "Locals would be able to see the steam coming off that plant but get no benefit from it."
"Yeah, sucks to be them, but that's life. The plan was that some of that power would have been directed to a comfort camp being built a few miles away from the plant."
Conor shot him a sarcastic look. "And these comfort camps you're talking about, those are the places where people can turn in their guns to receive aid?"
"Basically," Browning conceded, "with the plan being that power would eventually be restored to the community-at-large as long as everyone within that community turned in all their weapons. I admit it's a basic ploy to turn neighbor against neighbor, but that's a proven strategy. It works. As little more than a terrorist yourself, you should understand that."
Conor didn't rise to the jab. "Did they get the plant running yet?"
"No, somehow word got out about the plan and a group of local insurgents sabotaged the plant. They set off a charge in a narrow gorge, damming the river that passes by the plant. The water rose quickly and flooded the plant. The insurgents opened fire on the facility staff, killing nearly all of them. Only one escaped."
"I heard something about that," Conor admitted. "There was a rumor going around the community."
"Word spread because the lone survivor launched a one-man campaign to find the insurgents who launched the attack. It wasn't a sanctioned operation but he scattered flyers from a chopper over this entire region, offering a reward for the man believed to have led the attack."
"Why was the survivor so determined to track him down?"
"You ever hear of an operator named Boss?"
"Never worked with the guy but I knew of him. He was a field guy, as I recollect. Long deployments in some ugly arenas."
"He was an agency man," Browning said. "One of our best guys. He lost his right hand in that insurgent attack at the power plant and it didn't sit well with him. You can imagine a professional shooter losing his trigger hand. He was pissed. He felt like he'd been neutered."
"I supposed I can understand that. Did he get his revenge?"
Browning smiled and pointed at Conor. "That's where you come in. Boss disappeared in a chopper back in the spring. I don't know if he bribed the pilots or threatened them, but somehow he got a flight down here to see if anyone had collected the insurgent leader for the reward. He never came back."
"Any clue what happened?" Conor asked.
"We have access to all the satellites but never located the chopper or a chopper crash. We didn't even know where to look because Boss scattered those flyers over thousands of square miles. Finding a single chopper in that big an area is like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"So you're wanting me to find this chopper?"
"Hell no," Browning replied. "I don't give a shit about that chopper or about Boss. If Boss isn't dead, he's too far gone to be of use to us anymore. We don't need rogue operators who can't be trusted to stay on-mission. We tried to keep him in the game by letting him run ops but he wanted no part of it. If he's still alive, he's cut loose at this point."
Browning reached down and scrolled to the next image on the tablet. It revealed grainy security camera footage of a bearded man walking down a corridor completely naked.
"What's that? Your porn collection?" Conor cracked.
Browning ignored him. "After Boss disappeared, a computer tech at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling came forward with this image. He said this was the man that Boss was trying to locate. This image came from the security camera footage inside the destroyed power plant. We suspect he's the leader of the local insurgent group."
"Two questions.” Conor held up two fingers. “One, how do you know he's the leader based on this picture? And two, why the hell is he naked as the day he was born?"
"He's naked because his clothes got wet in the rising floodwaters and he shed them to avoid hypothermia. Another angle from a different camera shows him coming into the facility soaking wet. We think he was simply taking shelter to warm up but ended up killing all the technicians in that building. As for your first question, we know he's the leader of the insurgent group because local informants provided that information to our regional guy."
"You have a regional guy?"
"Sure do. Insurgency is so widespread that we spent the winter building a network in the hot spots. Most of the agents we have out there came from agencies that don't have any active role in the reconstruction of the country right now. DEA, FBI, ATF, and IRS mostly."
Conor rolled his eyes. "The cream of the crop."
"We made it easy for them. They walk into communities and set up camp in a vacant house, saying they got stuck on the road somewhere. They make friends and find the people who talk a lot. We provide the agents with weapons, ammo, and food they can trade for information."
"If this ever gets out, those informants will be dead men."
"Not your concern." Browning tapped the screen of the tablet. "Back to the topic at hand, it's no secret to the locals that this was the man who organized the insurgent team. Not everyone is happy about it. Some of them wanted the power plant back up and running. When they voiced their opinions, they say this man got pretty hostile with them. He wouldn't listen to anyone."
"You said was. Past tense. Has something changed?"
"The bastard disappeared off the face of the Earth," Browning growled. "His family and friends insist that Boss took him off in a chopper and they haven’t seen him since. Some of his local critics don't buy it. They insist he's still alive and hiding out somewhere in the community or the surrounding mountains. People have tried to spy on his farm, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but it's not gone well for them. He's got a tight group and they're fiercely protective of him. I want you to find this man. We need to know if he's actually dead or if he's hiding out."
"Why so interested in this guy?" Conor asked. "Is this still about Boss or is this something else?"
"This is not about revenge for Boss," Browning said. "I don't give a shit about Boss. This is about sending a message. This guy right here is a figurehead of defiance. He destroyed a power plant and set us back months. There are insurgents like this working around the country and we're going to make an example of them. I want them hung publicly. I want those communities that insist on defiance to understand what's going to happen to them if they don't go along with the program."
Conor's mind was spinning. There was so much turmoil within the government that it was nearly impossible to keep up with who was running the show. Every week a different faction seemed to be in charge and making the decisions. Some wanted to hunt down the terrorists who'd committed the original attacks and make the country safer. Some were focused on disarming the populace to make it easier for United Nations troops to assist with power restoration. Others were intent on crushing resistance to the point that they were willing to kill fellow Americans to make an example of them.
With every passing week, Conor noticed it was less like the country he'd sworn allegiance to. Bit by bit it was changing, like a disease overtaking its host. If people like Browning were being elevated to positions of power, Conor wanted no part of it.
Perhaps the real America still existed somewhere but Conor had no idea where to start looking for it. With the Macallan Collective eradicated, were there still patriots fighting for the nation? Conor looked down at the screen in front of him and wondered if people like this naked insurgent were the hope of the nation, willing to take up arms against injustice.
Conor pointed at the screen. "What do we know about this man?"
Browning slid another finger across the screen and the image changed. They were now staring at a grainy photo from an employee identification card. "Apparently the most feared insurgent leader in southwestern Virginia was once a project manager in the public mental health system. His name is Jim Powell. We got the name from a law-enforcement source in a neighboring county, but once we started digging into the background it checks out."
Conor stared at the picture. "Not military? Not law enforcement? Not some criminal mastermind?"
Browning shook his head. "Nope. A mid-level manager in the state mental health system. Once we had a name, we were able to track down more information. He has a small farm in a valley that corresponds with where local intel puts him. Locals also say he has the support of some, but not all, of his neighbors. He brought together a band of friends and coworkers who are part of his organization." Browning scrolled the image, revealing more aerial shots of a farming community, then close-ups of various structures.
"We don't have names or IDs on any of those folks," Browning went on. "The locals said they didn't recognize any of them, but they've moved into unoccupied houses in the valley where Jim Powell lives."
"He has no military record? No arrest record?"
"He has a driver's license, a concealed carry permit, and a Virginia contractor's license. You'll find all that information on this tablet. It's all we've got." Browning folded the tablet shut and handed it to Conor.
Conor stared at the tablet in his hand. "If that's all you have, you could have written it on the back of a bloody napkin. What exactly am I supposed to do here?"
"You'll determine if Jim Powell is alive or dead. If he's alive, you take him into custody and give me a call on your sat phone. You'll question him, then hang him from a red light in the center of town as an example for anyone who might be harboring fantasies of resistance. It's what we're doing around the country in every other place where we're facing the same issues. It’s effective. Americans are a bit squeamish about seeing their neighbors strung up like piñatas."
"I don't expect his family and friends will just let me waltz out of there with him. Any rules of engagement on collateral targets?"
Browning smiled. "Most definitely. Kill them all."
"And if they don't interfere?" Conor clarified.
"Same orders. Kill them all. It's part of that message we're trying to send. Protecting an insurgent is the same as being an insurgent. It will not be tolerated."
Conor gritted his teeth against his rising anger. "You expect me to go in there and eradicate entire families? An entire community?" Conor couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Oh, suddenly the mad bomber has a conscience?"
Conor didn't rise to the bait, through his eyes did drop to Browning's throat, imagining raking his blade across it, picturing the gushing of his blood. "I'm just clarifying orders."
"That's your orders," said Browning.
"Okay." A thousand thoughts were racing through Conor's head. Questions, responses, rebuttals, refusals. He choked them all back. There was no arguing with a man like Browning. You just had to kill them.
Browning raised an eyebrow, surprised at Conor's agreement. He'd expected more fight from the man. "Good. And you better not be playing along just to get rid of me, Mad Mick. There'll be a price to pay if that's the case. We'll bomb this shithole of yours back to the Stone Age, though I seriously doubt anyone would be able to tell the difference. Then just to make sure we get everyone, I'll send a team down to run a mop-up operation. We'll kill anyone we missed. Remember that."
"I've got my assignment," Conor said flatly. "You can go now."
Browning's spine stiffened at Conor's insolence. He didn't like being told what to do, but in the end, he chose to let it pass. Browning understood he'd already won the battle. Conor had no choice but to follow along. If being a bit of a smartass made him feel better for the moment, so be it. Browning knew he wouldn’t be so smug after he'd killed Jim Powell's family and neighbors. Doing such a thing might even break a brutal hard-ass like Conor Maguire. Browning couldn't wait to see it. Couldn't wait to see the shame in the man's eyes.
"I know it will take time to collect local intel and search that v
alley, but I expect an initial report in a week. Understood?"
Conor gave a single nod.
"Very well then. I'll be going. I expect you have some gardening to do." Browning winked, then casually walked back to his chopper. Just before boarding, he stooped to pick up a ripe yellow tomato and took it with him. When he was inside, his team pulled back one at a time, the last man shutting the door behind him.
"You have rocket-propelled grenades," Barb hissed. "You could take him out."
Conor shook his head. "A man like Browning would never have shown himself down here unless he had a fallback plan in place. I guarantee you there's a man sitting on a military base somewhere with his finger on a switch. If he doesn't hear from Browning, he's likely been told to launch a strike. That's how a man like Browning operates."
The chopper lifted into the air, the rotor wash further ripping at the crops in their garden. Barb watched with a sick expression on her face. Conor felt it too. He plucked his radio from a pocket and raised it to his mouth.
"Houseplant to all teams. Return to base."
Shannon, then Wayne checked in. Conor caught Barb smiling from the corner of his eye. It was she who'd given him that call sign, a reference to a hastily-assembled ghillie suit he'd thrown together on a mission back in the winter.
"Houseplant," she whispered. "I love it."
19
Conor's Compound
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
Conor and his team stood near the chopper pad, assessing the state of their damaged garden. They were disgusted, demoralized, and angry. They'd put months of hard work into the garden and seeing it reduced to this state was almost more than they could bear.
"It was hard not to shoot that asshole for this," Wayne said. "I had the crosshairs on his chest. A little bit of pressure on the trigger was all it would have taken."
Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series Page 17