“Because I didn’t have to tell you anything,” Diego said. “All I had to do was drop and we’d already be in the air. I’ve seen him shoot. I trust him with my life. I have no doubt that he could hit you,” Diego looked at the Corporal who was now off to his left, “right now, with a two or three-round burst, without touching me. That’s why.”
Emotions warred on the Sergeant’s face, but eventually prudence won out and he lowered the gun. Diego started walking backwards.
When he felt the prop wash hitting him just right, he ducked out of instinct and put his hands out behind him until he felt the side of the helicopter, and hopped in.
“They let me go,” Diego said. “Close the door and let’s get out of here.”
Diego yelled up front, “Peck, you’re flying, my nerves are shot.”
Chapter Thirty
August 1, 2013 - Fort Rucker, Alabama
“Sir,” Sanford said as he came into Olsen’s office and shut the door.
Colonel Olsen looked up in annoyance at both the breach of protocol and at being interrupted, but stopped short of reprimanding his Major at the look on Sanford’s face. “Can I help you, Major,” he asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner,” Sanford asked. “Sir, I’m closer to the men than West is, I’ve even been trying to diffuse the situation with them as much as possible, but you chose not to trust me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, son,” Olsen said. “But you need to start making sense, and quick.”
“Denver, Sir,” Sanford said. “I’ve worked out some of what’s really going on and I want in.”
Olsen’s eyes narrowed a bit but he gave no other outward indication of what was going on inside. As soon as Sanford said Denver, however, his heart-rate almost doubled, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he could feel the adrenaline start coursing through his system. Instead of jumping up or yelling, though, Olsen leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
“What,” Olsen said, “are you talking about?”
Sanford looked to the side slightly, as though he couldn’t believe the Colonel was denying what he’d been working towards for the last year. “Sir, with all due respect,” he said, “cut the crap. We both know where the orders are coming from and it isn’t the C-in-C.”
He walked the couple of steps towards Olsen’s desk and leaned on it with both hands. “The insanely wealthy are the powerful and they will win, every time,” Sanford said. “They always have and they always will. I have to admit, it took me awhile to figure out something was going on. But I definitely want in. There is going to be a whole new world, eventually, and I want to be on the winning side. Unfortunately, you didn’t trust me soon enough and now everything’s gotten out of hand.”
“What do you mean,” Olsen asked.
“The men are about to revolt,” Sanford said. “They don’t see any reason to keep doing what they’ve been doing. They’re good men, but without an enemy or a cause, keeping them at this constant level of readiness is wearing them down. They can’t, and won’t, keep it up any longer. We have to go…now.”
Things had been getting worse and Olsen had been hearing more and more rumors of complaints from the men. Still, he couldn’t just admit everything–or even anything–to Sanford. What did he really know? How could he actually know anything?
“If we have a problem brewing,” Olsen said, “it’s your job to deal with it. If there is dissention in the ranks, take care of it.”
“Unless I shoot every third man,” Sanford said, “that’s not going to work, Sir.”
“There is no way it’s gotten that bad,” Olsen snapped as he stood up and slapped his desk, finally letting his emotions get the better of him. “If it was, I would know.”
“No, Sir,” Sanford said, not backing down, “you wouldn’t. Not until they stormed your office and you were escorted past West’s and my dead bodies to be hung or shot. Like I said, I’m close to these men. It’s my job.”
Olsen glared at Sanford, but was impressed with both the man’s conviction and his determination. He’d apparently underestimated him for the last couple of years, this last year specifically.
Without admitting anything, Olsen asked, “What do you propose to do about it?”
“I already told you,” Sanford said. “We need to leave, now.”
“And just where do you propose we go,” Olsen demanded.
“Hunter,” Sanford said. “They’re already expecting me.”
“What,” Olsen said.
“Sir, you aren’t listening. This base is a powder keg,” Sanford pointed out the Colonel’s window. “Take a look around and see what’s going on. Poor discipline, sloppy uniforms, open disrespect for their superiors.”
Outside Olsen’s window they could see two of those very same sloppily dressed troops of unknown rank, due to the fact that they were wearing untucked white tee-shirts and fatigue pants, engaged in a yelling match with a Sergeant First Class.
“Those two should be brought up on charges,” Olsen said.
“And who would do it, Sir,” Sanford asked. “Look carefully, both of them have fully automatic weapons slung across their backs and bulges on their hips.”
Olsen considered for a few seconds. “When can we leave,” he asked.
“Sir,” Sanford said. “I’ve been saying now for the last five minutes because I have a bird on the tarmac ready to go. I came in here to get you.”
“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes,” Olsen said.
“I need to know a few things first,” Sanford said.
“No,” Olsen said and shook his head.
“Then find your own ride and good luck not getting shot down,” Sanford said and turned to leave. He heard Olsen move and assumed he was reaching for his side arm.
“Don’t bother,” Sanford said and reached for the door handle. “They won’t go with just you and you’ll be dead in a day if you stay here.”
“What do you want to know,” Olsen asked.
“I want to know who they are,” Sanford said. “I want to know who they are, really, and what they promised, and what I can look forward to.”
…
“What if we don’t pacify the general population,” Sanford asked.
“Then anyone who didn’t get with the program dies,” Olsen said.
“The men won’t do it,” Sanford said. “We don’t have a big enough stick to drive them to wholesale slaughter of the remaining citizens or their fellow brothers-in-arms.”
“I never said we would do it,” Olsen said. “It’s biological, and I haven’t been vaccinated yet and neither have you. It would take a while, but these people are incredibly patient. Even without international travel they have it figured out. They will distribute the vaccine to those who will be allowed to survive–somehow, they haven’t told me exactly how–just before this super bug is released, and then a couple of months later they would come out of hiding and take over what’s left, because there would simply be no resistance.”
Sanford nodded. “And a land, if not a whole world,” he said, “fresh, clean, empty and ready to inherit. Ruthless in its efficiency, but,” he shook his head, “brilliant nonetheless.”
“We need to go,” Sanford said.
“Give me a few minutes,” Olsen said. “I have to get a few things.”
As Sanford left the office, Olsen heard him on the radio giving an obscure code to someone. Hopefully the Black Hawk they were taking just needed a thru-flight and not a full pre-flight. They ran enough flights that one more bird taking off shouldn’t raise any suspicion.
Olsen closed the blinds, disconnected the radio and encryption unit he had in the drawer of his desk, and put them in a locked and padded ammo can. Then he closed the door of his office. The antenna would have to stay, and getting a new one installed would be a bridge he’d cross when he came to it. Nothing else in the office or his quarters needed to come with him.
As he left the office
he thought he noticed more than a few hostile looks. Sanford was right, it was time to go.
…
Sanford already had a bag loaded and strapped into one of the rear-facing seats behind where they would be sitting. Apparently, Sanford hadn’t taken the time to strip out the extra seats from the Black Hawk before the flight. The Pilot, co-Pilot, and Crew Chief were busy readying for take-off and none of them so much as glanced Olsen’s way as he approached the bird. Not that it mattered, he couldn’t tell who they were with their helmets on and visors down. He was sure Sanford had chosen his flight crew wisely, as his own life was in their hands as well.
Sanford held the door for Olsen and climbed in behind him. It was a little darker than he remembered it being inside since the last time he’d been in one, but he’d just been out in the bright sun and Olsen figured he just needed a second for his eyes to adjust. He strapped himself in and in less than a minute they were airborne.
Sanford handed him a headset so that they could talk during the two-and-a-half hour flight to Savannah, Georgia.
“Nothing else to bring,” Sanford asked, pointing to the ammo can.
“Nothing else worth bringing,” Olsen replied. “Believe me, that’s the only thing worth taking. Everything else can be replaced.”
Sanford nodded.
…
Every five or ten minutes, Sanford would ask a question or say something to break the silence and they would talk for a couple of minutes. After almost two hours and forty-five minutes Olsen initiated the conversation for the first time.
“Shouldn’t we be there by now,” he asked.
Instead of answering immediately, Sanford looked over his right shoulder, looked at Olsen, and then undid his harness.
“No, Sir,” Sanford said.
Olsen felt hands grab both of his biceps as a tug at his waist removed his side arm. Belatedly, Olsen realized that although his eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dimness in the back of the Black Hawk, it was still very dark. He’d also not gotten a very good look into the back because of Sanford’s bag, and now he knew why it had been there–to block the view. How many people had been back there all this time?
“No,” Sanford said. “Change of plans. We aren’t going to Savannah, to Hunter Army Air Base; we’re going to Hanahan, South Carolina.”
At the look of confusion on Olsen’s face, Sanford continued as two black-clad figures came around the seats to secure the Colonel. “Colonel Spencer Donald Olsen. You are under arrest subject to Articles 81, 92, 94, 104, 106a, 109, 118, 119 and not the least of which, 133. You are being delivered to the Naval Consolidated Brig in Charleston, where you will be detained until such time as a full court-martial can be convened. You have the right to remain silent…”
…
“Diego,” Sanford said over the intercom, “how much longer?”
“About fifteen minutes, Sir,” Diego said. “We just made radio contact and they have us on radar.”
Sanford nodded to himself and reached over to start bringing up the lights in the cabin. Olsen was handcuffed and had leg restraints which held his ankles to the floor mounts for the seat. They had also duct-taped the handcuff chain to the seat, so he couldn’t open his harness.
For his part, Olsen had remained silent since he’d received his Miranda warning, which was fine with Sanford. He’d heard all he needed to, twice over now, to convict the Colonel and condemn him to death on at least a half-a-dozen counts. It would be too good for him. He was grateful for the two MPs that Hodges had provided, who had now come around to sit in the jump seats facing them, to keep an eye on the Colonel. Sanford just wanted to be done with all of this.
…
Once they touched down and the engines were cut, Sanford opened the side door in time to see a group of people walking towards them. He motioned to the two MPs to prepare the Colonel and climbed out of the helicopter.
Once out from under the still turning blades, he stood up and walked to meet their welcoming party.
“Major Sanford,” he said, and held out his hand.
“Major Jensen,” Mallory said, and did likewise.
“Major Franklin,” Ben said.
“Colonel Howard Maldonado,” the commander of the Joint Base said, and shook Sanford’s hand.
“Command Master Sergeant Rudy Page,” Sergeant Page, the second in command at the base said.
“And here comes our boy,” Maldonado said with more than a touch of regret in his voice.
Olsen was obviously stiff from sitting in the jump seat for three-and-a-half hours, but he brightened visibly when he saw Maldonado.
“Don’t even think about it,” Maldonado said. “Sanford here has had a radio on since the start of your last conversation, and before you say anything, Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina are all single-party consent states for recording. Actually, South Carolina has no statute, but case law has set a single-party precedent. If I wasn’t positive you would be found guilty on pretty much every charge and sentenced to hang or a firing squad, I’d shoot you myself right here, right now.”
“Colonel,” Mallory said, “I didn’t actually come here today to see you; I came to meet Major Sanford. I’m glad I was here to see this, though. Even if you don’t get the death penalty, you’ll never set foot outside these walls again, of that I’ve been assured. Good bye, Mr. Olsen.”
Mallory turned to Sanford. “Thank you,” she said. “We all owe you so much, but we’re not out of the woods yet.”
“No, we aren’t,” Sanford said. “We still have one more thing to take care of.”
Ben took a step towards Olsen. “I, on the other hand, did come here just to see you,” he said. Olsen hadn’t been there when everyone made their introductions, but had read nametapes as soon as he walked up and knew he might be in trouble.
“I,” Ben said, “don’t have quite as much faith as Colonel Maldonado here in our legal system; although he guarantees me that he has enough lawyers and a sufficient number of officers to convene a court-martial within a week.”
Ben drew his side arm and raised it to rest the barrel on Olsen’s forehead as he thumbed back the hammer. Everyone but Mallory and Maldonado took several steps back, but nobody made any moves to stop Ben.
“Let’s see,” Ben said. “Seven days’ worth of food, plus the time of the trial, plus the lost time of putting together the paperwork versus one round of admittedly irreplaceable ammunition and a shallow grave.”
Mallory put her hand up on Ben’s and Olsen thought she was going to try to make him put the gun down. Instead, she put her finger in the trigger guard with his. Mallory and Ben pulled the trigger.
The hammer fell.
The gun went…
*click*
Olsen wet himself.
“I lied,” Mallory said. “I came here to see you pee your pants.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Colorado, somewhere between the Denver International Airport and the city of Watkins
“Ready, Sir,” Hodges said.
Sanford took a deep breath and keyed the microphone on Olsen’s encrypted radio. “This is Pillar Four,” he said and completed the authentication the same way Olsen had, except for when he’d gone off on his handler.
“I am afraid I don’t recognize your voice,” the voice on the other end replied.
“Nor should you,” Sanford replied. “That’s completely irrelevant to this conversation.”
“It is obvious that this node has been compromised…” the voice began.
“It would behoove you to stop talking,” Sanford cut in, “and listen for once. This node has been compromised for a long time, friend. And the truth, the real truth about your little game has gotten out. Not just to us, either, but to the entire country. We know about the contingency plan, we know about The Outbreak, we know you’ve been lying to each of the area commanders and pitting them against each other to try and hurry your agenda along.”
Sanford took a breath to see if he would be in
terrupted but he wasn’t so he continued. “It’s over,” he said, “done. Starting right now we’re doing to you what you’ve been having your boots-on-the-ground commanders do to us.”
Sanford hit a key on his keyboard and one of the windows on his screen started scrolling. “You are now locked out of the satellite network to everyone but me,” he said. “At the end of this conversation, even that link will be permanently severed. Hanging up on me right now would be a very bad idea.”
“What do you want,” the voice asked.
“Nothing,” Sanford said. “I don’t want anything from you. I’m dictating to you what you can and cannot do.”
“Nobody…” the voice began.
“WRONG!” Sanford yelled into the microphone. “Your days of making the rules and calling the shots are over. Interrupt me again this conversation is over and you’ll never speak to another person outside of your compound again, end of discussion. From this point forward I will ask you a question and you will answer. If you so much as interject with a ‘but’ I will drop this connection and as of right now, anyone who sets foot above ground outside of your compound in Denver will be shot on sight. Do I make myself clear?”
“As crystal,” the voice said, obviously shaken but not as much as Sanford had hoped or expected.
“You are now surrounded,” Sanford said. “We are setting up a perimeter of five miles around the Denver International Airport. I won’t go into the security arrangements, but suffice it to say; when we are done we are relatively confident you won’t be able to get out without us knowing. Nobody over the age of eighteen will be permitted to leave the compound, ever.”
Sanford waited to be interrupted, but the voice on the other end had apparently taken him at his word.
“Like I said before,” Sanford continued, “we know about The Outbreak and it’s no longer a threat. Not just because we know about it, or because I’ve cut off your communications, but because it has actually ceased to be a threat. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the voice said, “but how.”
Dark Grid (Book 3): Dark Coup Page 24