“You don’t?” Fiona asked sweetly, and Clay laughed.
“My head is going to explode.”
* * *
“Detective Miller,” someone from the round shaped table asked, “I’d like your thoughts on the terrorist organization known as Anonymous Justice.”
It held approximately twenty people, with each of the teams reporting in, standing near the door, being called to a small podium to speak to the crowd. It was a rather small, drab conference room, not one you’d normally see in a White House tour. The room smelled like new carpeting and paint.
“Excuse me, Sir?” Miller asked, surprised.
“Your thoughts on the terrorists. The reports indicate that they started up in your hometown. That is why you are here, is it not?” the President asked.
“I hadn’t heard that they’d been labeled a terrorist organization, Mister President. I’m sorry, that part threw me off for a second. In truth--”
“In truth, Detective,” the President broke in, “they are hunting down blacks and Muslims, and killing them. We’ve seen at least three or four instances in your town alone. How is that not terrorism? Agent Clay?”
“Sir,” Clay said, not addressing him as Mister President, “Anonymous Justice is a loosely formed, public Facebook group. Nothing more. At it’s core, we believe there are a growing number of hackers, from around the globe, gathering and compiling information on anyone, or any group that they perceive to be a threat to the freedoms of the citizens of the United States. They then present that information informally within this group. The American public at large, are acting as they deem fit according to their location, on this intelligence, as it is revealed. We can see no evidence that anyone is telling anyone else what to do.”
“So is the FBI handling this as a case of domestic terrorism?” the President asked, turned to the director of the FBI.
“At this time, it’s considered an ongoing investigation. Our elite cyber unit is all over this. Cyber-1 is the tip of the spear in our investigation of Anonymous Justice.”
It wasn’t the answer the President asked for, and the deflection was noticed by all. Clay looked to Miller, who just shook his head. The silent message had been received. They were at first looking for the vigilantes that had killed the shooters and the Mosque’s radical followers, but their mission had changed, morphed.
“Detective Miller, what are the Hamtramck and Detroit Police Departments doing to investigate these right wing domestic terrorists?” the President asked.
Miller almost choked.
“Sir, we’re not sure they are right wing, let alone terrorists. In fact, I believe that this is the first time I’ve ever heard the word terrorists used to describe them. As the director of the FBI said, we’re investigating all options at this point, and that--”
“Excuse me, you are a Detective, correct?” the President asked.
“Yes, Mister President,” Miller said, his cheeks flushing.
“And you’re telling me that the murder of over one hundred Muslim Americans and African Americans isn’t being investigated as a hate crime, or as terrorism?” he demanded.
“That’s over my pay grade, sir. I was asked to join this task force as a fresh set of eyes to Agent Clay, not as a police administrator. The truth of the matter is, Mister President, the terrorists would seem to be the husband and wife shooter team at St. Stanislaus Church--”
“Miller…” Clay warned.
“The terrorists would seem to be those at the two mosques who provided the guns and bomb that killed and wounded thousands when it went off--”
“Detective Miller…” Clay said, desperate to get him to stop talking.
“The terrorists would seem to be the ones who murdered a man who had defended himself when a crowd was beating him to death, only to murder him later on in front of the police department--”
“James,” Clay said loudly, but Miller ignored him.
“The terrorists would seem to be the people who were providing the guns to those mosques. White rednecks, if I remember correctly. So, no, sir - this isn’t just a simple case of white on black or Christian on Muslim hate crimes. It seems to me that, to coin their phrase, “A silent majority has been awakened, and has stepped into the light”. That’s what we’re dealing with, Mister President. I don’t think that any way you spin this, you are going to get Anonymous Justice labeled as domestic terrorists in the hearts of but a few people in this room. Not even law enforcement believes it so.”
“Are these your beliefs, Detective?” the Commander in Chief asked, after a long pregnant silence.
“Sir, I’m here to brief you on what we’ve found out. The politics are for you and your cabinet to deal with. I’m just a cop.”
“And that quote; do the people really believe in this silent majority?” the President asked, his expression unreadable.
“Yes. There’s another quote circulating on Facebook, private blogs, and the country in general now, Sir. It’s one I’m quite sure you’re familiar with. I’m not saying it’s my opinion or my feelings, but if you look at it from their point of view, maybe it’ll make sense. It says: “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
“Now sir, in order to understand Anonymous Justice, we have to think like them, and put ourselves in their shoes. So far, the FBI’s best hackers have been stymied. Maybe good old fashioned detective work can find what the technology can’t. This movement has grown so large, so fast, it’s bigger than Occupy Wall Street or Black Lives Matter. Just consider this, Mister President; if you officially force a negative label upon Anonymous Justice, it will only hamper our efforts to track down and find the core group.”
The President's black face had gone a gray color at the first part of Miller’s long speech, but he’d calmed by the end, and was nodding.
“You’re thinking they are someone local to your initial investigation?” the President asked. “The core group?”
“Yes Sir,” Clay answered, redirecting everyone’s attention.
“And I understand that you are going to follow up on some of the cyber unit’s leads back in Michigan soon?” he asked Special Agent Clay.
“Yes, sir. We have a number of leads to follow up on. To be honest, the bombing there has overwhelmed our efforts, but we’re doing our best to get our arms around it.”
“What about that gun shop owner?” the President asked. “The one selling that pig fat ammunition that started this whole mess. Has he been investigated in connection with Anonymous Justice by your department, Detective Miller?”
“He’s dropped off the grid, Mister President. His friend had just been murdered on our steps, and his gunshop firebombed by radical Islamic--”
“Muslims are not automatically terrorists,” the President said sternly, “and I will not allow you to openly discuss them as if they were. What efforts have been made to find this man?”
“Mike Thor is his name, Sir,” Clay said. “With everything going on, we haven’t had the manpower or the time to track him down. We do not think he was involved with it, but we haven’t done our final interview as of yet.”
“Make time. You two are dismissed,” the President said in disgust.
They both turned, and walked out. This time, it was Clay who looked green in the gills, ready to throw up.
“What the hell do you think you were you doing?” Clay demanded, once they were out of the room.
“I was trying to give him the information he wanted,” Miller said, puzzled.
“You nearly lost us our jobs. As it is, I’m going to be looking over my shoulder for… He nearly came unhinged when you went on that little rant in there.”
“Well, somebody needs to tell him the truth. Why not me?” Miller asked.
“Because the truth is whatever he wants it to be! And yes, he’s biased. Everyone knows that.”
“I guess I do now,” Miller said smiling. “Good thing it’s an election year.”
>
“Don’t get me started,” Clay said, as they walked past a US Marshall who was guarding one of the outer doors, “or we’ll never get any of this done.”
Miller just nodded and buried his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. The shell casing had become something he habitually carried with him, and for a moment he thought he’d lost it. Then he remembered he’d taken it out, so it didn’t show up in the metal detector at the White House. He was still torn about it, and he was still torn about finding Mike Thor. He knew roughly where Thor was, but he was about 99.99% sure that Thor had no connection at all to Anonymous Justice.
“Don’t worry, Mark,” he said, “I won’t. Now let’s catch that flight, and get the hell outta here, before this shit turns violent again.”
Chapter 12
Detective James Miller: Hamtramck Police Department 6:00 p.m. Monday, Jan 17th, 2016
That evening, the scores of experienced activists and thugs that had taken part in the Baltimore riots came in, to repay the favor to those from DC who had come to help them. With them came a plan; something they would do differently, if they had it to do over again.
With darkness approaching, the leaders of the rioters implemented their battle strategy to wage war against the police. They staged a small, but very violent, riot as a diversion, on the other side of the White House from the Metropolitan Police headquarters and the Capital Police headquarters. Riot Police were dispatched there to put it down. Once there, as they moved away from their vehicles to form a shield wall like before, youngsters moved in behind them to slash their tires, break out windows, and set fire to them. The riot police were trapped! They assembled in a defensive formation, and called for backup to come help them.
As soon as all available officers had left headquarters, headed to help their comrades, a large force of armed adults set fire to all vehicles that remained there, as well as the headquarters building itself. Then they headed towards the site they’d been forced to run from the day before, on 4th St, being sure to give a wide berth to The Corner Liquor & Deli. There, they joined up with the main body of rioters, and marched northward towards Union Station. Along the way, they looted and destroyed everything they passed that caught their eye, with very little interference.
Other precincts responded to help the riot police, and to get patrol officers between Union Station and the overwhelming force of out-of-control thugs headed that way. They were not equipped like the riot police, who were trapped across town. They had pistols and a shotgun with limited rounds in each car. No shields, no body armor. None of them were impressed at all with the fact that Mayor Takisha Jackson had ignored the Police Commissioner’s advice, and had talked the Governor out of calling in the state’s National Guard. She’d assured him that she had it under control, and that she was fearful of the National Guard exerting too much force on her people.
* * *
“Are you getting all of this?” Kat asked, watching Julie’s back.
They were following several hundred yards behind the slow moving sea of people that had now turned left off of 4th St and were continuing northeast on Massachusetts Ave.
“Yeah, it looks like the cops have set up a roadblock ahead out of their cars, and are going to make a stand to keep the rioters away from Union Station,” Julie said. “Climb up here, Kat. You’ll have a good view from here, and this is as close as we’re going!”
Julie had discovered a fire escape stairway that had already been pulled down, and was accessible from the street. They rushed up it to the 2nd floor landing. Kat made quick work of setting up her tripod while Julie scanned ahead with her field binoculars she wore around her neck.
“Oh wow! Check this out...” Julie said, in an excited whisper. “The fucking Mayor, some higher-up cops in dress uniforms, and a couple of black ministers, it looks like, are up on some kind of stand behind the police line.”
“Holy cow! Let me zoom in and see what I can get,” Kat said.
She adjusted her tripod, so she could do a sweep of the crowd ending at the Mayor’s location, while smoothly zooming in as she went. It looked good, except…
“I can’t get any sound from here Julie! We have to get closer!” she pleaded.
“Aww crap! I was afraid you’d say that. Tear down, and I’ll scope out something better for you,” Julie grumbled. “There’s a flat roof on that series of row houses up ahead. I can see a stairwell that opens up to it, through the binocs. The only thing is, I dunno if the door is locked. If we get there and can’t get to the roof, we might miss it all. You willing to gamble that?”
Kat was already slinging her equipment pack over her shoulder, and was ready to move. They ducked down a delivery alley and ran through the parking lots behind the buildings as fast as they could. Running up the stairwell, from the stoop to the rooftop, they found the door didn’t even have a lock on it. The girls rushed to the front and peeked over.
“Over there!” Kat pointed. “Next to that air conditioner. It won’t be turning on in the winter, will it?”
“Nope.”
As Kat sat up her tripod and camera again, Julie found a second escape path down a fire escape on the backside for them, just in case.
“Perfect,” Kat said. “Absolutely perfect! I have a clear sweep and sound galore. Don’t let us get trapped up here, huh?”
Julie patted her belt line on her backside, reminding Kat that she was packing. Then she picked a place where she could see both entrance points and Kat at the same time, and settled there, gun in hand. No sooner than Kat had started videoing the slow approach of the mass of rioters that filled the street, than Julie came running back to her, looking panicked.
“There’s… thirteen people with President masks on, heavily armed, following the same route we did through the back parking lots, down low and going slow! It looks to me like they’ll probably go just past this building, then use the trash alley at the far end to make it to the street between the crowd and the police line, unseen! Get ready, and get focused right there. I think they’re those Anonymous Justice guys! If they are, the shit is about to hit the fan!”
* * *
“I said you are not to use any force, whatsoever!” the Mayor ranted. “This roadblock will stop them, and then we’ll talk them down. Intimidation and police violence is what they’re already pissed off about. Taking any action will only escalate the situation further.”
The crowd did stop in the middle of the street, about 75 feet away from the police line, where they jeered and gesticulated wildly. A few rocks sailed through the air at the police line. There was a loud feedback squeal from the speakers that had been hastily set up to amplify the Mayor’s microphone.
“Alright now, that’s enough of that rock throwing!” she announced, in her angry mom voice. “Now, we been giving y’all space to express yourselves back aways, but now you’re headed towards Union Station. If y’all tear that up, it’ll hurt the tourist and student travel by rail to our city! That’ll cost you and your parents their jobs, more’n likely! Y’all turn around now, and go back to 4th St until you calm down!”
Across the street, Kat could see the first of the TV news crews showing up and hastily getting ready. She could hear Julie beside her, shooting high res stills with her phone. At 12 megapixels, it took amazing pictures.
The rioters had stopped entirely now, as Reverend Jackson of the burned Victorious Believers church took the microphone. Kat focused on his face, and had the external microphone aimed at, and locked on the podium. As he spoke, she swept the police line, then the ‘no-man’s-land’, and then the crowd of rioters with her video camera.
A large rock hit the podium the Reverend was standing behind, and then another bounced off the wooden steps he stood on. He handed the mic off to the precinct Captain as he abandoned the steps, and the Captain ordered the crowd to disperse immediately, and to leave the area, in a gruff voice.
“Get your ass down from there,” the Mayor snapped at him, as rocks and debris began flying
in earnest. “They’re not going to pay any attention to you!”
She didn’t realize that everything he could hear, coming from her, went through the microphone he held too, and was broadcast to the angry crowd. With utter disgust for her, he covered the mic, and turned to her.
“Ma’am, no offence,” he said, “but you have no law enforcement background or experience. I’m not about to let my people get run over, just because it’s an election year for you and…”
The Chief uncovered the mic intentionally, as she said, in a stony hard voice:
“I expect your resignation on my desk in the morning! Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes ma’am. You’ll have it tomorrow,” he said, “but today, if reinforcements don’t show up really quick, I’m going to order tear gas and rubber bullets for one volley. Then, regardless of what you say, it’s going to be lead!”
He hadn’t meant to lose his cool, but the Mayor had pushed his buttons in the worst way. She didn’t seem to care about the safety, let alone the lives, of the officers that stood between her and physical danger. Given the current situation, he knew his officers were highly stressed, and getting tired.
Three officers went down in front of him. Two male officers were bleeding from their noses, and one female officer had an obvious broken jaw from incoming rocks and paving bricks. The rest of the officers got in front of them, pressed shoulder to shoulder, batons in hand, now face-to-face with a crowd that was spitting, yelling and throwing everything, from garbage to chunks of pavement that had come loose, at the police. A tactical retreat was no longer possible, as every patrol car in the roadblock had had their tires slashed. Some of the rioters were busy trying to set fire to them.
The Chief was about to give the order for tear gas, when thirteen figures, dressed in jeans, dark t-shirts, and rubber masks of past Presidents, emerged from the alley to his left. Two men in the center of them stood out starkly. One was a white guy, who had a brown bomber jacket on, and was wearing a Nixon mask, familiar from yesterday. His shotgun was still over his shoulder, but his hand rested on a slender pistol. The other was a black man, who appeared to be closer to seven feet tall than six, and who looked as strong as an ox. He fired one shot into the air, with a shotgun held loosely in one gloved hand. The crowd instantly stopped, looked, and fell silent.
D.C. RIOTS (Anonymous Justice Book 3) Page 8