Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1)

by L. Douglas Hogan

  Tori had barely waited for the convoy to come to a stop when she was opening the door to get out. She had already taken her pistol, Bubba, out of her waistband and had it in hand. Nobody was picking on her at this point. She walked away towards the state facility and disappeared out of sight.

  Buchanan watched her walk away while he reminisced about Nathan. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility to the original course of action. With this in mind, he approached General John James.

  “Sir, may I have a moment of your time?”

  “Of course, Charles. What’s on your mind?”

  Buchanan was going to use Nathan’s title as a US Marine to persuade John into making a pit stop at Goose Island.

  “I have a Marine in Illinois on a mission to destroy the FEMA-UN internment camp where it sits on Goose Island. This Marine was an extraordinary asset to me during my tenure with the southern Illinois troubles. He ran a fully operational and self-sustaining homestead—”

  “That’s fine, Charles,” John interrupted. “I understand the need for good men. I also understand the need to take out the bad ones. I was going to make a pit stop of my own; I just haven’t said anything yet because it’s much further up the road.”

  “You’ve done grabbed my attention, John. What’s in your head?”

  “A small town just west of Opal, Virginia.”

  Gunnery Sergeant Franks walked up to Buchanan. “Sorry to impose, but we have something interesting coming over the radio you might want to hear,” he said. The two men followed Franks to one of the UN command post vehicles that Banks had brought with him. Banks was already inside, communicating with a man whose voice Buchanan recognized as Nathan Roeh’s.

  Tori was exiting the building when she saw a growing congregation of Marines and militia members around the UN mobile command unit. She began a gentle jog to join up with them and was elated to hear Nathan’s voice on the other end of the radio. Banks had a map scrolled out in front of him, with his finger on Chicago.

  “Can we rally at Navy Pier? Over,” Nathan’s voice asked.

  Banks turned to the general for an answer, who then looked to Belt and asked, “How far is Navy Pier from Goose Island?”

  “Less than twenty minutes, by my recollection,” Belt answered.

  John looked back at Banks and nodded his head in the affirmative.

  “10-4 on that, Nathan. Maintain defensive status until we arrive. ETA about nine hours. Over and out.”

  Banks rolled the map up and looked at Tori with a smile. “You see? He’s fine.”

  “What about Denny? Did he mention him?”

  “Yeah, he mentioned that he and Denny were both secure.”

  “What about Jess? Did he mention her?”

  “I’m afraid he didn’t mention anybody else, just that he and Denny were secure.”

  “Jess is a survivor, Tori,” Buchanan added. “I’m sure she’s fine, too.”

  Tori was definitely excited to hear about Nathan’s safety. Denny’s safety added to the excitement, but a lack of news on Jess’s safety gave reason for alarm. She wasn’t exactly besties with Jess, but they were drawing closer with each day; at least that was how Tori felt about it. The fact that they were both alpha female types might have had a little to do with the early feelings of animosity they had felt towards one another. All things being said, Tori and Jess would have defended each other until the bitter end.

  Chicago, Illinois

  Markus was content. Both Rory and Nathan had touted a large military force, and Nathan had finally pulled through with some kind of supporting evidence. Markus had lots of planning to do and only a nine-hour window to get it done. Before he turned to walk away from Nathan and Denny, he looked at the lead guard and said, “Release them.”

  Markus was walking away when Nathan said, “What about our weapons?”

  “I had hoped you’d understand if I didn’t return your weapons just yet. Because of the circumstances prior to your arrival and my holding you captive, I just feel it would be bad judgment to give you rifles.”

  Markus turned to walk away again, but stopped dead in his tracks and turned around one last time. “Oh, by the way, you can’t leave the building until I lay eyes on your group. Hearing a voice over a radio suffices for the moment that what you say is true, but for me, seeing is believing, Nathan.”

  Markus walked away.

  Nathan knew that in time, Markus would see the size of the group in question and have no choice but to comply with setting him and Denny loose. If Markus chose to detain them until Buchanan’s arrival, Nathan figured he would have the deck stacked against Markus in such a way that he could make the decision to kill Markus or to use him to their advantage. Only time would be able to tell how things would pan out. For now, it was the waiting game, a game that Nathan had played many times over in the Marines—hurry up and wait.

  The District

  Executive Commander Muhaimin was sitting in the Situation Room with his top military commanders; each of them were Iranian. There had been a large and sudden gathering of intelligence from the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence that the United Nations was calling home all Russian assets that were serving in America for the Agenda 21 protocol.

  Through the years, Russia had had its ups and downs with America, many more bad days than good, but Muhaimin’s assassination of Russian officers was a war crime in the eyes of Russia. It was an act that would not go without an answer. The pulling of Russian troops from UN service was a big move, but it was only the beginning. The calling home of Russian assets was not a move for the defense of America, it was a move against Muhaimin that surviving Americans could benefit from.

  The Russian president was an intelligent man and a student of history. His frustrations toward the West motivated him to become a champion of US history. If there was one thing the Russian president understood well from historical lessons, it was that Americans had always been extremely resilient. His studies of the American Revolution taught him that much could be done with little, where there was hope and at least one ally with a mutual enemy.

  When Ambassador Makarovich returned to Russia with news of his forced resignation and what the Iranian commander had done to Russian officers, the president called for a meeting with the Security Council to act on the attacks, saying, “An attack on Russian soldiers is an attack on Russia.” Their parliament agreed, and deliberations with the Security Council were conducted to develop a practical response. The outcome was that Russia’s assets in the UN were returning home and they would be debriefed regarding their treatment under Muhaimin’s regime.

  The plan was to learn of Muhaimin’s management of military force to determine his strengths and weaknesses on the battlefield. Russian intelligence was already probing into Iranian ties with Muhaimin to determine their connections, if any, to his actions. What they had discovered was that Muhaimin had connections in virtually every branch of Iranian government, especially within the military. Even their representative to the UN was under the influence of Muhaimin.

  Ever increasing Iranian volunteers to UN service, lies regarding the progress in America, the assignment of certain Iranian Special Operations members, such as Rasoul Konat aka the Fist, and several other secret operations involving the misuse of Iranian intelligence were brought to the ears of the Russians. It would appear certain that Iran had been hiding cards under the table. Their dislike of Russians would be amplified in the mind of a narcissistic sociopath like Abdul Muhaimin. It was an opportunity that he exploited and the Iranians took advantage of, but at a cost that was now becoming apparent to Muhaimin.

  “Can we continue to make progress without the Russians?” he asked.

  One of the agents from the ministry of Iranian intelligence was brave enough to answer. “Sir, we can defeat the remnants of the American resistance with your leadership in the name of Allah.”

  It was an answer he provided out of fear. Muhaimin’s intimidation over his people was backfiring on him, an
d his egocentric personality was all the more puffed up hearing the answer.

  “What do the Russians know?”

  “They know of your ties to Ambassador Gohari, your contacts with the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence, and influence over the Iranian Army in the motherland.”

  Muhaimin stood up and placed his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a light gray three-piece suit. His hair was neatly groomed, even after he took his right hand from his pocket and ran his hands through it. He was in deep thought, but the day was late. In his arrogance, he waved the members of the Situation Room away and said, “It’s getting late. I will rest and think on this matter. Tomorrow, at 10:00 a.m., I want to see all of you right here to discuss the next phase of this plan.”

  He looked around the room, and all the men were still seated in anticipation of hearing his next command.

  “You are dismissed.”

  The members stood up and quietly walked out. Muhaimin waited for every member to leave the room. When the last man had walked out, Muhaimin pulled out his cell phone and pushed three buttons before holding the phone to his ear.

  “Konat.”

  “Konat, this is Muhaimin.”

  “Hello, old friend. How are things progressing?”

  “Not as smoothly as I had hoped. I was wondering if you had good news for me on your progress to silence the American resistance.”

  “It is too early to tell, but I made an example of three of them. I am sure they will come around.”

  “If we have any remaining Russians, detain them and hold them for military tribunal. I suspect that we have traitors in our forces. They talk too much, and word has reached Russia that I dispatched their officers. They are attempting to call their men out of my service, but they will not be permitted to go until they have been found without accusation. Can you do this for me?”

  “Yes, old friend. I will make it happen.”

  “Good. And by the way, Mr. Konat, it’s Executive Commander, not old friend.”

  “Yes, Executive Commander. I will make it happen.”

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  CHAPTER XI

  Chicago, Illinois

  The morning couldn’t come any quicker for Nathan. He had kept watch over Denny as he slept the entire night; thoughts of Jess, her life and death, were all he could think about—that and an occasional excitement about rejoining with the posse and whoever Buchanan was bringing back with him.

  He missed Tori and looked forward to seeing Banks again. They hadn’t been apart that long, but given the circumstances, it felt like an eternity. This night dragged on for what felt like a week. Every creak in the floor, every sound in the walls, and every single word that was spoken by the guards, who were roaming freely in the hallways, brought with them a heightened sense of anticipation, like something was about to happen. The worst feeling amidst all this was the fact that he and Denny had no means to defend themselves against the bad guys.

  He spent his waking hours reminiscing about the Southern Illinois Home Guard, as it used to be called. He thought about where all the individuals of the group might have been if it weren’t for the fact that they were wise enough to keep unregistered weapons and ammunition. Had they been unwise, they would have surrendered soon after the Flip, or maybe even been killed altogether by the Southside Raiders or some other armed group.

  All the years of prepping and getting mentally prepared for such eventualities were only half of the equation. Survival skills were required after the climactic events that brought about an apocalyptic America. When it became a post-apocalyptic America, the real difficulties began. Anybody could prep, but Nathan was the glue that held the Southern Illinois Home Guard together. He was the leader they needed and the man that turned a vision into a reality. Not only did he prepare his members, but when the storms came, the preparation paid off.

  Of course there were casualties; many friends were lost along the way. His near-death rooftop experience with Denny had caused him to think of some of those old friends. In moments like those, he had to dig deep to find a reason to keep fighting. Loss was all a part of a much larger narrative. If people gave up after the loss of a friend or a family member, what was the point of trying? Loss was inevitable, but it was the price of securing a future free from tyranny for the generations that walked down the trodden trails the forefathers had laid; and now, Nathan and Denny were walking those trails. They were a little grown over from years of neglect, but when they stood tall enough, they could see where the old trails led them, and the destination was worth the fight even if they wouldn’t get to see it with their own eyes.

  The roaring of the largest convoy ever to be heard by Nathan’s ears was lightly shaking the walls of the dilapidated building they had spent the night in. Nathan jumped to his feet and began kicking Denny in an attempt to wake him up. Denny was startled awake by the impact of the kick and quickly jumped to his feet.

  The door flung open and Markus came running in. He handed Nathan and Denny their rifles. Both men happily received them. While Markus was remarking on Nathan’s honesty, both Nathan and Denny were checking their ammunition. Nothing had been removed or tampered with, from what Nathan could tell. Nathan wanted to shoot Markus right there on the spot, but he was nervous that his firing pin might have been tampered with or even removed. Attempting to fire a rifle with a missing firing pin would produce nothing but a clicking sound. Nathan tapped the retaining pin on the backside of the receiver with his knuckle to expose the bolt. He pulled it out to make a visual check on the bolt carrier. It all seemed good to go. He looked at Denny and nodded his head.

  Markus was so excited about the liberation army that he couldn’t stop talking. Nathan had to interrupt him.

  “Show us the way out of here and we’ll introduce you to some friends of ours.”

  “Right this way,” Markus said.

  Nathan and Denny stepped out into the hallway, and the guards were gone. They followed him to the emergency exit at the stairwell, where all three went down the stairs. Nathan could hear the convoy was a very long one. The sounds of the passing military vehicles could be heard moving from the west in an easterly direction.

  “Your friends are early, Nathan,” Markus said as they ran down.

  Nathan had nothing more to say to Markus. The only thing keeping him from shooting the cannibal was a lack of visual on Buchanan’s group. The nine hours had not quite passed, so Nathan was concerned that the convoy might not be his friends. Unless he could see them with his own eyes, he would not make a critical move that could cost him and Denny their lives; so he waited until he made the final descent to ground level and stepped outside to see the group.

  The convoy was on the move. There were Marines in the turrets behind the .50-caliber machine guns, TOWs, and other heavy weapons. Once in a while, somebody from the convoy would see Nathan and give a shout, but the convoy wasn’t stopping. It just kept on trucking through the city streets.

  “Why aren’t they stopping?” Markus asked.

  “Because they don’t know friend from foe. If they just sit still, they’ll be idle targets,” Nathan answered.

  “We’re going to have to get in line behind them,” Denny added.

  They could see a string of civilian vehicles in the back of the convoy.

  “That’s it,” Nathan said. “That’s where we’ll jump in.” Nathan turned and looked at Markus. “Where’s your car?”

  “In the alley,” he answered.

  “Rally all your help, and for God’s sake, call the people on the tenth floor of every building. We need all the help we can get.”

  Markus had never told the people of the tenth floor what their actual purpose was, so Markus could rally them at will. They were all very loyal to Markus and to the Syndicate in general. After all, they were aiding them by giving them provisions and finding them homes; at least that was the great lie. In truth, they were slaughtering them and cannibalizing them for a means to survive; a sin that Nathan
wasn’t going to let go unaccounted for. At the moment, he was biding his time. He would get his chance to bring the chapter on the Syndicate story to a close.

  Nathan and Denny began their walk toward the convoy. There were so many new faces, they could hardly believe their eyes. The sheer size of the convoy was enough to bring a smile back to Nathan’s and Denny’s faces.

  By the time Nathan and Denny made it to the convoy, the string of civilian vehicles had arrived. They stopped and asked Nathan and Denny if they wanted a ride. Of course, they were more than happy to step into the back of a flatbed truck, where other rugged men were sitting with Old Glory flying high at full mast. The vehicle took off, jerking Nathan and Denny a little bit, as they had not fully settled when the truck’s driver accelerated. Nathan caught himself on Denny, who caught himself on another. Once they were settled, Nathan patted Denny on the shoulder and said, “Now we’re back on track.”

  Denny smiled at him and asked, “What about Markus and the Syndicate?”

  “I figure he’s going to be showing up at the rally point and start throwing our names around. He’ll come to us, and when he does, we’ll get our chance. We have to be careful about it; nobody knows anything except his armed men and us.”

  “Do you think he’s legit about helping us?”

  “I do, but it amounts to a hill of beans when weighed against his crimes. He’s an animal and I intend to slay him like an animal.”

  Denny just nodded and looked out into the morning air. From the open ride in the back of the truck, they could see many bodies lying in the streets. There were survivors, though. Many of them looked timid and afraid. No doubt they were scared of the military vehicles; not knowing their intentions made them apprehensive.

  As Denny looked out over Nathan’s shoulder into the distance, about a hundred yards out, a familiar face caught his attention. Nathan saw Denny’s expression. It was a blend of human emotions. Nathan whipped around to see if he could spot what Denny was seeing; and sure enough, there he was in digital fatigues and armed, with several of his cohorts—the Fist.