Ben turned around.
“I’ll have a valid California driver’s license waiting for you. I’ve got a buddy who’ll take your picture and fix you right up. Whenever you’re ready.”
“How about tomorrow morning?”
“Sounds good. Meet you here at o nine hundred?”
Ben nodded, smiled, and left the motor pool.
Ben drove over to an armory and had a long chat with another old friend, making arrangements to pick up some items in a couple of days.
He was just about ready. A few more items to pick up. A couple more arrangements to take care of.
Ben drove back to his house and sat down in his recliner. Seventy-two hours to wait. If Anna was not released and on her way home by then . . . a lot of people were going to pay a very heavy price.
In blood.
Ben left his house only a few times during the next three days. He talked with Cecil on the phone several times every day, with Cecil assuring him that everything humanly possible was being done . . . through diplomatic channels, of course.
Ben’s patience with diplomacy—or the lack of it—was growing very thin.
With only a few hours left to go before the deadline ran out, Ben picked up the telephone in his den on the second ring.
“Ben?” Cecil said. “Madame President Osterman has requested a few more days. I’ve agreed to extend the deadline for seventy-two more hours.”
“Is that right?” Ben’s reply was devoid of the steadily growing rage within him. “Tell me, Cece. Just who on Sugar Babe’s staff is dragging their feet on this matter?”
“The usual crew, Ben. All her left-wing cronies. They’re making some demands that I am just not prepared to take seriously.”
“I see.” Ben did not give a damn about hearing the specifics of the demands. As far as he was concerned, every demand made by Osterman and her left-wing dickheads was illegal and totally without merit. He wanted Anna back, and that was that. And he would get her back . . . one way or another.
“All right. Keep me informed, Cece.”
“I sure will, Ben. Daily.”
Ben returned to his small study and to his computer, where he had spent much of his waking hours the past few days. He now knew the names of all of Osterman’s inner circle; he knew where they lived and how they spent their free time pursuing hobbies: golf and jogging, mostly.
The FBI, the Secret Service, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms . . . those agencies no longer existed. They had been replaced practically overnight with the FPPS: The Federal Prevention and Protective Service. Ben knew once the fancy title was stripped away it still amounted to only one thing: the Secret Police. And he knew that the men and women who made up the FPPS were no more than thugs and bully boys—many of them reasonably well-educated but still no better than Hitler’s Gestapo of decades past. The dedicated and decent members of what used to be known as the FBI, the ATF, and the Secret Service had either retired voluntarily or had been kicked out.
The left wingers had finally seen their long sought after dream turn into hard reality. The United States of America was under a hard system of socialism. Everybody was equal. No one was better off than anyone else.
“Yeah, sure,” Ben muttered. Then he laughed bitterly. “It took a while, Mister Orwell, but your prediction finally came to pass, full-blown.”
Ben leaned back in his office chair and studied the information on the screen for several moments. He shook his head in disgust at what he read, then began the procedure for shutting the system down.
While that was occurring he glanced at the pages he had printed out that day, committing to memory the important information.
He picked up the phone and punched out the number of the motor pool. When the phone was answered, he said, “I’m set to go, Jesse. Put the keys in the ash tray. And park the car by the side of the main garage.”
“You got it, General. The other, ah, material from the armory came today. I stored it for you. You remember how to get into the compartment?”
“I remember.”
“Good hunting.”
“Thanks, Jesse. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“You bet, General.”
Ben was already packed and ready to go. His hair was colored a dark brown, with the temples gray. His moustache was nearly as full as he would allow it. It had come in mostly brown, with only a few flecks of gray. His new ID card was in his wallet, and all the information about his new identity had been committed to memory. He was now Ben Grayson. He had a briefcase of papers from California concerning his line of business. He had asked to be left alone for several days while he had people all over the USA tracking down the location of Anna, and the names of those who were responsible for kidnapping her. His wishes to be left alone were obeyed. No one came to see him, and no one knew about his change of appearance.
Ben tossed his luggage into the Hummer and went back into the house and fixed something to eat. He lingered over his meal, had a cup of coffee, then drove over to the motor pool. He parked the Hummer by the side of the main building. He did not make any contact with Jesse.
The car Jesse had fixed up for him was a Ford sedan, four door. It was not a new car, but Ben knew without asking it was in top shape. Jesse would not give him anything less.
Ben transferred his two suitcases and briefcase to the back seat of the sedan and got in and cranked the engine. It started with a powerful thrust. Ben smiled, thinking: God only knows what kind of mill Jesse has under this hood and the suspension under the body.
Ben slipped the car into gear and headed out. Reaching the intersection, he turned north. He would drive straight up through Arkansas and then angle off to the east and head into Illinois and then into Indiana.
Anna was being held in a safe house in Central Indiana. Ben’s people in the USA were almost certain of that. He had been warned that information might be out-dated, that she might have been moved several times by now, and was most certainly constantly under very heavy guard. The FPPS was taking no chances with their valuable hostage.
Ben spent the night at a motel in a small town in Arkansas. He slept well, then had a wonderful breakfast of country ham, eggs, grits, biscuits, and real redeye gravy and got back on the road.
He drove on through part of Eastern Missouri, then cut east and crossed over into what the residents of the SUSA referred to as ‘Occupied Territory’ . . . formally known as the United States of America. He went through the first of what would be many federal checkpoints.
Ben smiled after he was passed through the first checkpoint without a hitch. The border guard looked at Ben’s driver’s license, asked Ben’s reason for visiting the state of Illinois. Ben told him business, and that was that. He was waved on through with bored indifference.
Ben spent the night in Southern Illinois, just across the line from Indiana. He read the evening newspaper and snorted in disgust every few minutes. It was filled with nothing but pure socialistic crap: how the New Federal Government was introducing programs to help everybody. And that everybody must work just a little harder and a little longer in order to insure that everybody else could enjoy the same comforts.
The left-wing, hanky-waving, snit-throwing columnist blathered on: No one should fear the new wave of federalism: it was in place for your own good. Oh my, yes, indeedy.
Ben had to lay the paper aside and go outside for a few minutes to get some fresh air. The editorials in the newspaper were making him nauseated. The left wing had done it, all right. They had finally done it, and it had backfired in their faces: they had wanted more federal controls, but none of them had seemed to realize that with more and more big government came more and more control in the lives of citizens. Back before the collapse and the Great War, Ben had tried to explain what that philosophy would eventually lead to, tried to explain it to the few liberal friends he had. The conversations had produced the same results as someone attempting to converse with a stump. Nothing. The liberals just stood there
with blank looks on their faces until Ben finally gave up and walked away.
“Well, you asked for it,” Ben muttered. “You wanted government in your lives, and now you’ve all damn sure got it.”
“Beg pardon, sir?” The voice came from behind Ben.
Ben turned. A middle-aged man and woman were standing there, the man holding a piece of luggage, the woman with a motel key in her hand.
Ben smiled. “Sorry. It was nothing. Just talking to myself. Bad habit I’ve got.”
“Do it all the time myself,” the man said. He stared at Ben for a moment. “You work for the government?”
Ben laughed. “No. I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Can’t be too careful these days. Goddamn government informers all over the place.”
“David,” the woman cautioned. “Be quiet.”
“It’s all right, Ma’am,” Ben said. “I don’t work for the government. I’m a businessman from California.”
“You say you are,” she came right back. “But we don’t know that for sure. You might even be what you say, but still working for the government.”
Ben shook his head. “And both of you might be with the government, trying to trick me into saying something. That’s the way this New Federalism works.”
“That’s very true,” she replied. “These days, a person just can’t be too careful. If you get put on a list, you’re in real trouble.”
“Have you folks eaten supper?” Ben asked. “I was just heading for the restaurant.”
“No, we haven’t,” David said. “Tell you what. You seem like a man with a mind of his own. That’s rare these days. Wait a second while we put our luggage up and we’ll join you.”
“I’ll be right here. You folks stow your luggage and refresh yourselves. By the way, my name’s Ben Grayson.”
“David Renniger. This is my wife, Nancy.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Ben shook hands with the man and nodded at the woman. “I’ll just catch the evening air for a few minutes. Have myself a smoke while I wait.”
“A smoke?” David said. “Are you crazy, Ben? That’s against the law. You can be arrested for smoking in public.”
Ben smiled. “Are you going to turn me in?”
David returned the smile. “Not damn likely! Wait a second and I’ll join you. But we’d best get behind the building before we light up. It’s safer that way.”
“All right. I’ll wait for you.”
The husband and wife disappeared into their room, a few doors down from Ben’s. Ben waited for about five minutes. David and Nancy reappeared. Both cast suspicious looks all around as they walked toward him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“We’re smokers, Mister Grayson,” Nancy said. “Where have you been? You can be arrested for smoking.”
“Oh, I know that,” Ben quickly replied. “But I’m just hardheaded enough to believe that if I want to smoke in private that’s my business, and none of the damn government’s business.”
The man and woman smiled. “Maybe you are all right,” she said. “We’ll take a chance. Come on, Mister Grayson. Let’s grab us a smoke before dinner.”
“Country sure has gone to crap,” he muttered.
“Living out west like you do,” David replied, “I guess you don’t have it as bad as we do here in the middle of the nation. It’s really bad around here.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
“And it’ll get worse,” Nancy said. “You just wait and see. Mark my words, Mister Grayson, there’s going to be a civil war. People are not going to stand for much more of this nonsense.”
“I seem to remember that same kind of prediction back before the Great War. Not too many people had the courage to do much about it.”
“Yeah, so do I. I wish to hell I’d had enough sense to join some anti-government group back then. But I followed the party line, just like my parents.”
Ben did not choose to respond. Already, he was beginning to experience the tension and suspicion of the couple who had joined him.
As they walked around to the rear of the motel complex, Ben said, “I hope they have something good on the menu this evening. I haven’t eaten since early morning.”
“You really are from the far west, aren’t you, Mister Grayson?” Nancy asked. “We heard the new rules haven’t as yet reached all parts of the nation. You’ve got a lot to learn about the New Federalism.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Nancy smiled. “We’ll bring you up to date over a smoke. You’re in for a real surprise.”
Fourteen
“This food isn’t very good,” Ben whispered to the couple seated across the table from him. “And there’s no salt on the table.” He looked around the dining room. “There’s no salt on any of the tables.”
“You can ask for a salt substitute,” Nancy returned the whisper. “Pure salt is illegal.”
Ben blinked a couple of times. “When the hell did all that take place?”
“Officially, last week,” David replied. “It came under the new Health Food Act. There hasn’t been any press on it. Not yet, anyway.”
“What the hell is that?” Ben asked. “I’ve always known Osterman and Millard were weird. But no salt?”
Nancy smiled, saying, “It’s not just salt, Ben. Nothing cooked in lard or grease can be served to the public or used at home. French fries are a thing of the past. Anything deep fried is illegal.”
Ben forgot his food and just stared across the table in disbelief at the couple. “You’re putting me on!”
David and Nancy laughed, David saying, “Nope. ’Fraid not, Ben. No real bacon can be served in restaurants, either. It’s not good for you. Can’t buy it in stores. Only on the black market. Turkey bacon is all that is allowed. But some of it’s really not bad . . . once you get used to it.”
“No foods of high fat content are allowed,” Nancy said. “That’s new Federal law. It went into effect last week. The people must be protected.”
“From themselves,” David added.
“Good God!” Ben blurted. “Has the damn government gone crazy?”
Both David and Nancy quickly and quietly shushed him. David looked around furtively and said, “Be careful, Ben. You never know who might be listening, and who will report you. It’s not wise to criticize the government. You have to be careful not to get on the government’s subversive list. Once you’re on it, it’s almost impossible to get off.”
“What the hell happened to the Constitution and the Bill of Rights?” Ben whispered.
“They’re being reinterpreted and rewritten,” Nancy said. “That isn’t official yet. But it’s happening as we speak.”
“Cigarettes are illegal,” Ben said. “Now you tell me that any type of fatty food is illegal. What’s next?”
“Sport utility vehicles and full size pickup trucks are about to be banned,” David replied. “All cars and trucks are to be approximately the same size. One driver won’t have an advantage over another in any type of accident.”
“How about eighteen wheelers?” Ben asked, pushing the plate of bland food away from him. It was awful: tasteless and devoid of any spices.
“They’re next,” Nancy said. “As soon as the government figures out how to move materials in a safer manner. It’s whispered that congress is talking about building highways for large trucks only.”
“That would sure put a lot of people back to work,” David remarked, sarcasm thick in his voice.
“It certainly would,” Ben agreed. “For about the next century or so.”
“The new order is moving very quickly now,” Nancy said. “The press seems to be solidly behind them, and the government appears to be unstoppable.”
“That figures,” Ben said. “About the press, I mean. And you folks are going to do what about it?”
The husband and wife shrugged their shoulders. “What can we do?”
There were a number of things Ben thought of sugg
esting, but he held his tongue. He didn’t really know these people, and there was a real possibility they might not be who they claimed to be. The paranoia and suspicion that seemed to prevail all around Ben was beginning to lightly grip him.
Nancy seemed to read his thoughts. She touched Ben on the hand. “Infectious, isn’t it? The mood, I mean?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “It sure is.”
“Wondering about us, aren’t you?” David asked.
“That thought passed through my mind, yes. I have to admit that.”
“We don’t blame you, Ben. We’re both wondering about you, too. You just don’t know much about what’s been going on in America.”
Ben decided to take a chance. “The USA, you mean.”
Both husband and wife visibly paled. Ben immediately lost much of his suspicion of the pair. No way they could fake that. They both were plenty scared. “Ben,” Nancy said softly, “don’t even mention the SUSA, not ever! To anybody else.”
“It’s too dangerous,” David whispered. “People who have said good things about that part of the country have gotten into a lot of trouble.”
“Arrested?”
“Detained for a period of time and questioned,” Nancy said. “And sometimes the questioning can be harsh, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” Ben replied. “I can imagine.”
The three were silent for a few minutes. None of them ate much of their supper. Finally Ben said, “Where do you two call home?”
“New Muncie,” Nancy replied, spreading some of the worst tasting oleo Ben had ever had the misfortune to put in his mouth on a slice of bread. She smiled. “A lot of towns and cities around the country have New in front of the original name, although the maps usually leave that off.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Ben said. Then he lowered his voice. “I guess General Raines and his Rebels pretty well destroyed most of the cities and larger towns.”
“They did what they believed they had to do,” David said cautiously.
“Oh, I’m not faulting them,” Ben quickly replied. He shook his head. “Have you ever seen the ruins of Los Angeles? No? It’s a sight to behold. It will be a long time before everything is cleared. Years before rebuilding is complete.”
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