by Bobby Akart
Fare thee well and Godspeed, Patriot!
MM
“Who is MM?” asked Donna.
“Truthfully, I don’t know for certain,” he replied. “It could be the initials for one person, or it might have been sent by any of a number of people with access to my cell phone number.”
“But it was meant for you, right?”
“I think so, and that’s based upon the reference to the ocean and my career in the Navy. However, it’s the sign-off that caught my attention.”
“You mean Godspeed, Patriot?”
“Yes. When I was still commander at JB Charleston, after my agreement with Trowbridge, I’d receive instructions via text message. They weren’t as cryptic as this, but they were signed with Godspeed, Patriot.”
Donna read the message again and then gingerly returned the phone to Tom as if the device were some type of material evidence in a conspiracy. “What does it mean?”
“It was an expression of good wishes, or safe journey. The word patriot was always included because the people I worked for considered themselves patriots and defenders of more than the Constitution. They thought of themselves along the lines of caretakers of the American way of life.”
“Do you mean like throwbacks to Revolutionary times?”
“Yes, I suppose. Back then, loyalists were those who opposed independence and wished to remain under British rule. Patriots were the continentals, the rebels, the revolutionaries who sought to break away. Over time, defenders of the Constitution, or, in many cases, the so-called American way of life, considered themselves to be patriots.”
Donna thought for a moment. “I guess I’m a patriot, but then I’m old-fashioned. This is a topic we can debate for hours. Why did they send you this message?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t require me to do anything, so I didn’t think it was important enough to trouble you with.”
Donna pointed to the phone that sat in the cupholder of the console. “Is this why you chose to take the bus to New Haven?”
“That was coincidental,” he quickly replied. “I considered it to be the least likely destination for people fleeing the city. It was while you were sleeping that my mind raced, considering the possible connection between Trowbridge and the text. Frankly, I thought the man owed me an audience considering the years of service I’d given him.”
Donna relaxed and rubbed her husband’s shoulder. Tom rolled his head on his neck again, welcoming his wife’s touch.
“Well, I’m glad it worked out because he got us farther along than we could’ve done on our own. From what I saw on the news this morning while you were out, the highways from New York to Philadelphia to Washington are filled with violence and mayhem. Each day gets worse.”
Tom slowed the truck as he approached Richmond. I-295 southbound was closed, and they were being routed north on the freeway.
“Now what?” said Tom out of frustration as he followed the string of cars onto the interstate that looped around Richmond. “At this rate, we’ll be back in New York before we know it.”
Donna used her iPhone to pull up the Apple app store. She searched for Richmond traffic and found the WTVR News 6 traffic app.
“Okay, this is not fire related. All it says on here is disturbance, whatever that means. Anyway, the good news is that you run directly into I-95, which takes us through the city.”
Tom shook his head and moved along with the flow of the traffic. The Dismal Swamp fire had sent them sixty or seventy miles out of their way. It wasn’t the time they’d lost that concerned him. It was the wasted gasoline. They couldn’t make it all the way to the Haven, so a stop was necessary anyway.
“Well, imagine that,” said Tom as they pulled onto I-95 southbound. A traffic jam.”
Donna continued to study her phone. “There’s nothing about it on the traffic app. I’m thinking this is just a temporary slowdown caused by refugees out of the northeast like us.”
Tom stretched his arm to reach into the backseat of the rental to find his Navy cap. He’d worn the dark navy cap for years after he’d retired. He joked that it kept his head on straight.
They crept along the highway, making slow progress, when Donna interrupted the silence and pointed to their right. “Look at that, Tom.”
Tom leaned forward in his seat to look past his wife at a spray-painting under the overpass. It was a black rose held high by a fist.
“I’ve seen that before somewhere. Um, maybe in Europe during the unrest.”
“You mean in Paris?” asked Donna.
“Well, it started there before spreading to Belgium and the Netherlands. It was the beginning of that uprising a few years back.”
They were both staring at the black rose, and Donna had raised her phone to take a picture when Tom suddenly slammed on the brakes, throwing her forward in her seat.
“Watch out!” he shouted as he quickly confirmed that the doors to the truck were locked.
Chapter 16
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
“Harris,” Trowbridge began as he was handed reports on financial market trading to open the day, “bankers and executives in the high-tech industries have been preparing for the inevitable decline of the U.S. dollar for decades. From dinner parties in Silicon Valley to cocktail soirees on the Upper East Side, the rich not only expect the collapse of our currency, but they plan to profit from it. We are no different.”
Harris handed his boss a Microsoft tablet. The screen was filled with a chart showing the U.S. Dollar Index. The index measured the value of the dollar relative to select international currencies including the euro, the Japanese yen, the pound sterling, the Canadian dollar, the Swiss franc and the Swedish krona.
The index was established in 1973 soon after the Bretton Woods agreement and the abandonment of the gold standard. The dollar has traded as high as 164.72 during the middle of the Reagan administration to a low in the early days of the real estate market collapse of 2008 at 70.70.
“Sixty-eight and falling,” muttered Trowbridge as he handed the tablet back to his aide.
“Sir, is it time to step in?” asked Harris.
“No, let’s give the feds time to raise the alarm, get their warrants from our judges, and move in.”
“That could take days,” added Harris, a former attorney.
“Ordinarily, but not today. The calls have already been placed.”
“What about equity markets?” asked Harris.
“Under the circumstances, only the currency markets are impacted by Schwartz’s moves. With stock markets closed indefinitely, the central banks will act to shore up asset prices. The nation will just have to endure until we can set up Schwartz to take the fall.”
Harris nodded and stood quietly for a moment, and then he spoke his mind. “Sir, this is a re-creation of 1968, only the catalyst is more pronounced.”
In 1968, America was teetering on the brink of societal collapse. The Vietnam War had polarized the nation. Two prominent leaders, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Martin Luther King Jr., had been assassinated. Political rancor had elevated to a fever pitch as the presidential election approached. Social tensions had boiled in a similar manner to current conditions.
“Harris, when society comes apart at the seams, the elite, the ones capable of controlling the masses, don’t stand by to watch the carnage. They have contingency plans, just as we do. These circumstances are different.”
“How so, sir?” asked Harris. “I mean, the results are similar, just more pronounced.”
“Ah, there is a difference, as time will reveal. I like to call it managed mayhem. There will be a period where a purge occurs. My goal is to ensure that those who agree with my philosophies, and those of our Founders, prevail. Over the past two decades, the balance of power has tilted in favor of a European-socialist form of governance. I’m simply trying to tilt it back to its Constitution-based roots.”
“Isn’t this likely to be temp
orary?”
Trowbridge sighed. “Maybe, depending on how our nation’s leaders respond. First, the cleansing must take place. And then a leader will step forward to bring America back to her former greatness.”
Harris was about to speak when his cell phone rang. “My apologies, sir. I should take this.”
He listened intently to the other end of the line. He nodded several times, occasionally mumbling a response.
“Thank you. I will let him know.”
“What?” demanded Trowbridge.
“Two things, sir. First, your daughter and son-in-law have left their hotel and are en route to the Haven.”
“How trustworthy is our surveillance team?”
“The best, sir, at your request. They will shadow them the entire trip, only intervening in the event the family is in grave danger.”
“Good, I cannot risk pushing my daughter further away. If she senses I’m trying to meddle in their lives, even under these dire circumstances, I could lose her forever.”
Trowbridge showed a rare sign of emotion. He’d become estranged from his daughter when she’d learned that her father had established a blueprint for Cort’s life. Meredith was proud of Cort’s accomplishments, and she refused to allow her father to manipulate their lives like they were pawns in his political chess matches.
Little did she know that he was masterfully setting the course of their lives from afar, creating opportunities for Cort without his knowledge. It was a roadmap for his son-in-law’s life that had been set the day he married Trowbridge’s only daughter. They were pawns, for now. Soon, their level of importance would jump exponentially.
Chapter 17
Pinecrest
East of Charlotte Airport
The Cortland family chattered away about the things they wanted to purchase at Walmart. Hannah focused on things to entertain themselves while at the Haven. Meredith reeled off a number of creature comforts and items that would make her job at the school easier. Cort focused on practical items such as food, first aid supplies, and ammunition for the guns he’d brought from home.
When he opted to take the back streets along Old Steele Creek Road toward Walmart rather than a more direct route to the Haven, he presumed any additional rioting or unrest would be absent until nighttime. He presumed incorrectly.
They had just approached the major intersection at Wilkinson Boulevard when a group of a dozen people stormed into a Church’s Chicken restaurant to their left. Cort was stunned to see the attackers wielding clubs and baseball bats, mercilessly beating the few patrons before running out the side entrances carrying purses and trays of food.
Cort tried to remain calm as he looked for a way to avoid the men running across the parking lot toward their truck. “Meredith, crawl in the backseat and get down. If you can, reach for my handgun case. It’s sitting underneath my duffle bag.”
Their vehicle was surrounded by cars and Cort had no good options. He started to put the truck in reverse when the men ran past them, ignoring all the parked cars. They had another target in mind.
To Cort’s right, a group of men came running out of the woods near the Walmart shopping center. They were screaming and hurling rocks at the attackers of the Church’s restaurant.
“Gun,” whispered Meredith as if she were trying to hide the weapon from the men battling one another in the middle of the intersection.
Cort reached back and took the case from her. He reached into his pocket to retrieve the key and unlocked the case. He pushed the magazine he’d loaded with bullets this morning into the bottom of the grip and readied the weapon.
The light changed to green, but none of the traffic moved. Cort had no intention of being stuck in the event the melee escalated to involve the motorists. He also gave up on the prospect of shopping at Walmart. His priorities changed to protecting his family and survival.
He put the truck in reverse and inched backward to create space between the Suburban and the pickup truck in front of him. He turned the wheel to the left and lurched into the other lane until he arrived in the restaurant’s parking lot. Squealing the tires, Cort sped backwards, completing his one-hundred-eighty-degree turn around, and raced away from the intersection.
After checking his mirrors and noticing that only one other SUV had made a similar maneuver, he exhaled. “It’s okay, honey. You can come back up here if you want.”
Meredith’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Um, no, thanks. I’m good. We’re good.”
Cort nodded, fully understanding how she felt. He looked for the next major cross street and turned right, systematically making his way toward the west until he ran into Billy Graham Parkway.
“Daddy, how much farther is it to our new place?”
“A little over an hour, Hannah,” he replied, focused on the road in front of them.
She didn’t immediately say anything, and then after a moment, she muttered, “Not too bad.”
Cort closed his eyes momentarily as he turned on to US 321 and headed north toward Henry Mill River Village. He wanted to avoid exposing his daughter to the collapse he’d foreseen when he purchased property at the Haven. It was an investment that was low in cost, but high on commitment. They were required to leave their spacious, historic home that had been in the Cortland family for a century in exchange for a two-bedroom cabin about the size of their living room in Mobile.
It would’ve been easy for Cort to stay in his hometown under the presumption that a small Southern city was immune to big-city unrest. He’d just witnessed what societal collapse looks like, and he’d never felt better about his decision to purchase the cabin at the Haven than in that moment.
Chapter 18
Front Gate
The Haven
“I’m Delta.”
Cort stared into the eyes of the man who greeted him at the front gate of the Haven. He chuckled and exchanged a knowing glance with Meredith, who had finally joined him in the front seat for the last twenty minutes of their ride. The name Delta would forever be etched in Cort’s mind with his New Year’s Eve flight from hell.
“Of course you are,” said Cort with a smile as he extended his hand out the window to shake Delta’s. “Michael Cortland, but everyone calls me Cort. This is my wife, Meredith, and my eleven-year-old is in the back. Her name’s Hannah.”
Hannah waved before her companion in the backseat made his presence known. “Woof!”
“Oh, yeah. Lest I forget, Handsome Dan, our English bulldog, is also pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“It’s nice to meet you guys,” said Delta. “This won’t take long, but if you don’t mind stepping out of the vehicle, we have to do a quick security sweep. Also, I don’t know how your handsome friend does with other dogs, but we have a German shepherd who’ll be sniffing around the chassis. You know, just to be sure.”
“Sure about what?” asked Meredith, who was leaning across the armrest.
“Bombs, ma’am. It’s just a precaution.”
Meredith scowled and whispered to Cort, “Really? Bombs?”
Cort shrugged and turned to Hannah. “Honey, we’re gonna step out of the truck for a moment while they make sure everything is safe. Will you put Handsome’s collar back on and attach his leash?”
“Sure, Daddy.”
The Cortlands stood to the side while Delta’s security detail did their jobs. Delta struck up a conversation, starting with Hannah.
“I have a daughter who’s about your age. Her name is Skylar. Trust me when I say she’ll be excited to meet you.”
“Sounds good,” interjected Meredith. “Are there any other kids around elevenish?”
“Several,” replied Delta. “However, everyone has been sticking to themselves, and Sky hasn’t really met anyone. She’d love to have someone else to play with besides her brother.”
“How old is he?” asked Cort.
“Fifteen going on three, at times, and thirty, at others,” replied Delta with an eyeroll.
“Te
enagers, gotta love ’em,” Meredith quipped.
“Yeah, but that’s only part of the story,” said Delta.
One of the security team hollered over at Delta, “We’re good, boss.”
Delta smiled and gave Cort a thumbs-up.
Meredith asked another question. “Cort mentioned something about a school on the property.”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, it was just finished New Year’s Eve before, well, you know. They call it the Little Red Schoolhouse.”
This grabbed Hannah’s attention, who’d been patiently waiting for Handsome to stop urinating on every bush nearby. “Wow, neat! Is it really red?”
Delta knelt down to her level. “It is fire-truck red.”
“Cool.”
“Say, Hannah, do you know why fire trucks are red?”
“No, sir?”
“Okay. Let’s ask Siri.”
“Who?”
“You know, Siri. On the Apple iPhone.”
Meredith interrupted. “She doesn’t have a cell phone yet. We were gonna wait until she turned twenty-one.” The adults laughed at the suggestion.
“Well, let me tell you something, Hannah. Siri is a wealth of information. She is the brain of an iPhone, and if you ask her a question, she’ll give you an answer. Do you wanna see?”
“Sure do!” exclaimed the child enthusiastically.
Delta reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. He powered up the display and then smiled at Meredith with a wink. After the ding notification alerted him that Siri was waiting for him to speak, Delta asked, “Hey, Siri, why are fire trucks red?”
Delta held the phone out for everyone to hear the answer.
The robotic, female voice responded, “Because they have eight wheels and four people on them, and four plus eight is twelve, and there are twelve inches in a foot, and one foot is a ruler, and Queen Elizabeth was a ruler, and Queen Elizabeth was also a ship, and the ship sailed the seas, and in the seas are fish, and fish have fins, and the Finns fought the Russians, and the Russians are red, and fire trucks are always Russian around.”