Lex Talionis

by Peter Nealen

  So far, no mention had been made of the special task force put together to kill or capture the team that hit Van Damme’s meeting. But everyone there was thinking about it. The entire dynamic of the meeting had changed.

  But the President didn’t want to go that route. Not yet. “You’ve given some interesting insights into how we came to this pass, General,” he said stiffly. “But you have not presented any possible solutions. We invited you here to help find a solution to this crisis.”

  Stahl held out his hand. Mia handed him a slim manila folder. “And I have that solution right here,” he said.

  The President frowned. “What is that?” he asked.

  “It’s a couple of documents that will require your signature, along with witnesses,” Stahl said. “The first is an order reinstating me to Active Duty, effective immediately, along with a promotion to a fifth star, and appointment as General of the Armed Forces.” He paused for a moment. “The second is a declaration of a national state of emergency and the institution of martial law.”

  Now that got a reaction. In a moment, the room was pandemonium. Stahl’s bull bellow cut through the noise. “Shut the fuck up!”

  The Chesty Puller glare was back, amplified by the glowing cigar and halo of smoke. “I didn’t create this pass, you did. You were the ones who fucked around and played politics while paramilitaries ran around the States, assassinating political opponents and killing anyone who stood up to them, fomenting more chaos and more death to cover their actions. You were the ones encouraging ‘protests’ that turned into riots, simply to get your faces on the news and curry favor with special interest groups. You were the ones fiddling while Rome burned to the ground, and now you have the balls to object to the only way to restore order while there’s anything left of our country before the rest of our external enemies finish the job. Well, time’s up. Shit or get off the pot. Sign the damned papers.”

  “I will not,” the President said furiously. “And I should have you arrested for even suggesting such a course of action.”

  “Oh, you’ll sign them,” Stahl said, suddenly conversationally. “Because if you don’t, the team that the man behind me led, that intercepted those Russians off the coast of Maine, that killed Gordon Baumgartner and his team—I believe you’re all familiar with that name—that dismantled an entire cartel and a Chinese paramilitary operation in Mexico not long ago, that is presently staged in the woods just outside this compound, is going to come in here and kill you all.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. Shock and disbelief was written across the faces of men and women, most of whom had never really been threatened with true, interpersonal violence in their lives. Many of them couldn’t believe what they’d just heard.

  “This is one of the most secure compounds in the world,” the President began, but Stahl cut him off.

  “And my men will regret killing those young men and women who are only doing their duty as they see it,” he said. “But they will do it. So will the teams presently covered down on your QRF and air support. Killing all of you?” He took a deep pull on the cigar. “That they probably won’t regret nearly so much.”

  “This is insane!” the Senate Majority Leader shouted.

  “No, this is the consequence of decades of governmental lawlessness and ambition, Mr. Senator,” Stahl said tiredly. “The law itself came to mean only what the government said it did, and the government was made up of cliques and power-hungry politicians instead of public servants. And the law became only what the government could enforce. Well, now I’m in a position to enforce what needs to be done, and I’m enforcing it. Sign the papers, or it gets really loud and really messy in here.”

  It was a hard thing to watch, knowing exactly what was happening, and knowing that as awful as it was, the alternative at that point was worse.

  The President just stared at him for a long moment, shock, disbelief, and anger written across his features. “This is nuts, Carl,” he said. There was a pleading tone in his voice, as if he was trying to appeal to reason. “What made you think it was a good idea to come in here, after we invited you to be a part of this process, and make threats?”

  “You invited me?” Stahl said. His laugh was as dry and cold as the grave. “No, Mr. President. You only spared me and my men the trouble of finding all of you and dragging you here.”

  He looked around the table again, measuring the looks that he saw. Then he nodded. “Some of you seem to think this is a bad joke, or the act of a madman. Well, to demonstrate that it is not a joke, but is, in fact, deadly serious, I would direct your attention to the screen behind me.”

  Renton had already consulted with an aide, and a video teleconferencing feed opened up on the big screen TV at the front of the conference room. It took a second to clear, but there were sharp intakes of breath as the image solidified.

  Fred Varren was standing on the bed of a pickup truck, beneath a scaffolding made of 4x4s. There was a noose around his neck.

  “The biggest mistake you made, Mr. President,” Stahl continued conversationally, “was letting Mr. Varren, a man who holds no office and no authority to command any Federal law enforcement, sign the order to send the FBI and the ATF after my men. Especially after he received a mysterious infusion of cash from an offshore account, and communications from a known Russian asset immediately following Van Damme’s capture. I don’t take kindly to the misuse of American resources in revenge operations on the part of the MGB, Mr. President.” He raised his voice. “Do it.”

  The truck suddenly gunned its engine and surged forward. Varren managed one strangled scream before he dropped. There was an audible crack as his neck broke at the bottom of the rope. His leg twitched spastically for a second, and then he was still, swinging slightly with the momentum imparted by the departing pickup. Someone in the room was violently sick on the expensive carpet.

  There was a new look in the President’s eyes as he looked at Stahl. There was horror there, and stark fear, along with a realization that he had never quite realized what the man was capable of. “Carl…” was all he could manage.

  “Sign the papers, Mr. President,” Stahl said quietly. “This has gone too far for anything else, now. If you’d listened to me five years ago, we might have headed this off. Now it’s too late.”

  Slowly, like a man sleepwalking, the President reached for the manila folder. He read the documents carefully, then picked up a pen and signed them.

  He then picked up the phone. “Yes, Ben, I know it’s late,” he said. “But this is important. I just recalled Carl Stahl to Active Duty.” He looked briefly startled, then continued. “Yes, yes, I’m putting him in charge. You’ll report to him tomorrow. There’s…there’s a lot happening right now, Ben.” He glanced up at Stahl. “Carl will fill you in completely.” He hung up the phone.

  As Stahl took the papers in the shell-shocked quiet, the President said, his voice hoarse, “I hope you’re satisfied.”

  “Satisfied?” Stahl said. “Far from it. I’d have been satisfied if we’d never gotten into this situation in the first place. If you think I wanted this, you’re crazy.” He turned, nodded to me, and led the way out of the room, leaving the civilian government of the United States of America wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Things weren’t over after that; Stahl had a lot to do to take command as quickly as possible. Most of the rest of the night was spent waking general officers up and getting him installed in the Pentagon. As word of his new status spread, nobody had the balls to object to the heavily armed and decidedly non-regulation shooters who accompanied him everywhere.

  The Cicero Group had already had most of this planned out. Renton assured me that it had been an evolving contingency plan, right along with the target list for the coup, for some time. Personally, I found that just as distasteful as I’d found the rest of this business, as necessary as it had been. But I kept my teeth together. The heat was off us, at least for the moment. The declaration of martial law
would be announced in the morning, and all active forces CONUS were getting their mobilization orders already. There were mutterings about the draft being necessary, which was going to be dicier than the last time it had been used, given the current social climate.

  Stahl finally crashed around five in the morning, and we had a chance to get a little rest. There wouldn’t be much for a while.

  Things got ugly when the declaration of martial law went public. Extensive preparations had been made the night prior, but the Army was still spread thin, and was unable to deal with every hot spot. A lot of people died those first few days. More were going to as time went on.

  The orders were simple. There were no sides. Anyone rioting, looting, placing bombs, or shooting at other Americans or the troops, died, whether they were POCRF, Three Percenters, or anyone else. Suppressing the violence was the only concern; politics came later. Stahl drummed that into his commanders, along with the implicit threat that if he got wind of any field commander taking sides, he’d send Praetorians to hang the man.

  We saw little of Bates; as vital a part as he’d taken in Stahl’s inner circle, his concentration was on the external threats, so he was presumably working his networks in Eastern Europe and elsewhere.

  As for us, we stayed close to Stahl, those first few weeks. We suddenly found ourselves playing the part of an Executive Protection detail, rather than the special operations unit we’d acted as for years. In some ways it was a break. In other ways, it only solidified the need to cut away.

  There were already steps being taken to replace us with a Marine guard detail around Stahl. After all, he was the General of the Armed Forces now; it was only fitting that his PSD be soldiers or Marines, not contractors. And as loyal to us as he professed to be, he needed to lock down the loyalty of the regular Armed Forces, now that he was running the show.

  There was little sign of Tom for those first few weeks. We knew where he was; he was finishing up the details of our escape plan. So far, there hadn’t been any implicit threat toward us; we were The General’s boys, after all. But none of us trusted that it would last.

  So, finally, during a lull in the madness, three weeks after the coup, I walked into Stahl’s office at about eight in the evening. For the first time, DC had been relatively quiet for over twenty-four hours.

  Stahl was sitting back in his chair, a bottle of Wild Turkey on the desk and a very full whiskey glass in his hand.

  “Celebrating, General?” I asked, my voice flat.

  “Celebrating?” he snapped. “No, son, this is medicating.” He took a stiff swallow of the bourbon, then stared at the glass. “I rather suspect I’m not going to have much to celebrate for the rest of my life.” He poured the rest of the drink down his throat, then poured another.

  He stared at me with bleary eyes. If he’d looked tired before, now he appeared utterly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and there was a haunted look there that I didn’t remember seeing before. “I can’t forget the enormity of what we’ve done,” he said. “What I’ve done. I took the same oath you did, Stone, only I took it quite a few years before. ‘To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.’ And yet here I sit, the military dictator of what should be a free country.” He took another swig. “Right now, it’s a matter of drinking myself numb in the few moments of peace I have, or blowing my damned brains out.” He drained the glass and poured another. “What is it?”

  “I came to say goodbye,” I told him.

  The glass stopped halfway to his lips. “What?”

  “I’m leaving,” I said, “along with most of what’s left of my team. Before some of the rest of the Cicero Group decide to do a more thorough job of sweeping us under the rug than they’ve managed so far.”

  He stared at me, a faint frown creasing his features. “After all this, you’re just going to walk?” he demanded.

  “I’ve got nothing left to offer you, General,” I said, my own voice sounding heavy and dead in my ears. “None of us do. Do you know how many close friends we’ve put in the ground in the last year alone? You’ve got the entire US military at your beck and call now. You don’t need us anymore.” I met his gaze levelly. “And you know as well as I do that there are going to be those who won’t forget that we were the ones who ultimately put the wreath on Caesar’s head. That makes us a threat, and whether you want them to or not, they’ll try to make us disappear, just to be sure we don’t do it again.” I chuckled darkly. “Remember how I said that when law loses its force, force becomes law? Well, that cuts both ways.”

  He shook his head in denial. “I wouldn’t let that happen,” he said.

  “They know that, General,” I replied, “which is why they’d do it without your knowledge. Your plate is full; they’ll find a way to get it past you. You know history. You know I’m right.”

  His shoulders slumped. For a moment, the barrel-chested freedom fighter was replaced by a bent old man, alone and weary clear down to his bones. “Out of everyone who had a part in this, I hate to lose you boys worst of all. But you have taken a beating, haven’t you?” He took another slug of the whiskey and looked up at me. There was something almost forlorn in his eyes. “There’s nothing I can say to get you to stay?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” I replied.

  A faint glint came back into his eyes, and he suddenly chuckled dryly. “And knowing you, the worst mistake any man could make would be to try to force you to stay.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I said coldly.

  He reached down into a desk drawer and drew out another glass. He poured some more bourbon into it, before heaving himself out of his chair and coming around the desk to hand it to me. For as much booze as I’d watched him put down, he still moved surely and steadily. The General was a practiced drinker.

  “To absent comrades,” was all he said as I took the glass. We raised them and drank.

  “There are still a lot of bad actors who know your name and your face, Jeff,” he said after a moment. “And a lot of them would be more than happy to have your scalp on their wall. I’d be a lot more comfortable with your security if you stayed.”

  But I shook my head. “Trust me, General, the risks outweigh the rewards. They’ll have a hell of a time finding us. Rest assured of that.”

  He sighed. “I had to try. But now I’m out of arguments.” He offered his hand, and I shook it. “Be safe, Jeff. I wish it all could have worked out otherwise.”

  “So do I, General,” I said. “So do I.”

  Epilogue

  I heard the faint rustle of cloth behind me, and Mia asked, “Another bad night?”

  I turned from where I was standing on the screened-in porch of our little cabin. She was standing in the doorway, barefoot, with that black, silky robe of hers on, and her pistol in her hand.

  Neither of us were ever more than an arm’s length from a weapon anymore, even up there in the backwoods, miles from any other habitation. So far, there hadn’t been any sign that we’d been found, but caution had become deeply ingrained in both of us.

  I shook my head. “No worse than usual,” I replied. I looked back out over the meadow. “Thought maybe I’d heard something.” I didn’t know how to describe the vague disquiet that had gotten me out of bed, and didn’t really want to try.

  I heard the faint sound of her putting the pistol down, then she was beside me, slipping one hand behind my back as she slid under the circle of my arm. She looked up at me searchingly. “Really?” she asked, in that tone that suggested she thought I was trying to hide from her. “Because Tiny hasn’t made a sound.”

  I looked down at the slowly breathing mountain of fur lying on the porch next to my feet. Tiny was still really only a puppy, but when that puppy is an Ovcharka, a Caucasus Mountain Dog, it still means close to a hundred pounds of alert, distrustful meanness. Tiny didn’t like people, aside from us, Larry, who was now ensconced in a cabin about twenty miles away, and Ni
ck, who was about thirty in the opposite direction. Strangers would have had him barking as soon as they got within rifle shot.

  I gave her a squeeze. “It was nothing bad,” I assured her. “Just woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  She still searched my face for a moment, before putting her head on my shoulder. We’d both had plenty of bad nights. Many times, she’d wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close as I lay there and shook. Some nights, it was because of soul-searing nightmares, horror shows playing themselves out in my mind as I slept. Other nights, the ghosts came back, and I woke up remembering all over again that whoever I’d just been talking to in the dream had been dead for some time. She had her own demons, as well, and there had also been plenty of nights where I’d held her close while she sobbed against my chest.

  “We’ve taken every precaution,” she pointed out. “They’d have to be wizards to find us here. Trust me, I was a HUMINTer. They’re so reliant on gadgets now that they’ve got no real idea how to hunt for someone without them.”

  She was right. We were so far off the grid that it would take years of searching to pin us down. We generated our own power, and fuel for the generator was bought with cash, which had actually stabilized a bit since martial law. Water was a gravity-fed line going two miles up the mountain behind the cabin. We had a satcom rig in the back, just in case, but rarely fired it up. We had no internet connection. There was no digital way of finding us, and any other method was going to be looking for a needle in a haystack.

  “I know,” I assured her. “We’ve had this conversation before, remember?”

  “We have,” she agreed. “And every time you come out and stand here, scanning the sky and the treeline, even when it’s still dark, I worry that you haven’t quite taken it to heart. Yes, we have to be careful, but we’re in a good spot.”