Charlie's Requiem: Resistance

by Walt Browning

  “Bedford,” Kuris said. “Look at me.”

  The former director fought back tears. Snot ran from his nose, and his breathing was shallow with gasps and fits.

  “The general gave me control of your fate. Your failures as director and, more importantly, your negligent behavior before the EMP event have brought you here. I am officially charging you with murder for causing a meltdown at the Watts Bar nuclear power plant, which led to the contamination of millions of acres in Tennessee and the death of the general’s grandson.”

  Bedford couldn’t understand what Kuris had just told him. “What meltdown? I’ve never been to Tennessee. You’ve got the wrong man!”

  Kuris didn’t react. He didn’t even flinch. The captain pulled out a thick file from his leather messenger bag and threw it on the table. Pulling out a set of stapled papers from the file, he laid them on the table and spun them toward Bedford.

  “These are orders for the transfer of generators to Orlando from their storage units in Virginia. Are those your signatures?”

  Bedford saw the orders and recognized his handwriting on the papers.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s my signature. But what does that have to do with murder?”

  Kuris explained the catastrophic events that came from his illegal reassignment of the equipment, leading to the nuclear disaster that poisoned the general’s family.

  “General Lester’s grandson died because of you. He was only four years old.”

  “But—”

  “We also found four more bodies at the plant. That’s FIVE dead because of you.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Before Bedford could say more, Kuris grabbed him by the neck and lifted him from the chair.

  “You son of a bitch!” Kuris hissed. “You may well have condemned thousands by giving them cancer.”

  Kuris flung Bedford back in his chair, sending him toppling backward onto the floor. Bedford’ sniveling returned as he struggled to stand back up.

  “You…you can’t do this to me! I know people. I demand you give me a sat phone, now! I have rights!”

  “Under the Patriot Act, and with the president initiating martial law, you have no rights. You’ve been classified as an enemy combatant and an environmental terrorist. Bedford, I own you.” Kuris slammed his fist on the table. “I OWN YOU!”

  A knock on the door interrupted Kuris’ tirade.

  “ENTER!” Kuris commanded.

  One of the guards came in and handed the captain a satellite phone. Kuris took it, and both he and the guard left the room, leaving Bedford in an expanding puddle of his own urine.

  Ten minutes went by before the door opened once again. Kuris strode into the room, his face pale and eyes burning with anger.

  “Well, Bedford. You seem to have another problem. I just received word that the general’s other grandchild, his last one, is in a coma. Her immune system is shutting down, and they don’t have a match for a bone marrow transplant.”

  Bedford whimpered and shook his head. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

  Kuris walked up to the broken man and grabbed Bedford’s chin, lifting his face so he could look into the man’s eyes.

  “You are vermin. You are scum. And you are a dead man.”

  Kuris slapped Bedford’s face and spun out of the room. Bedford sat, his brain frozen in fear as spittle dripped from his forehead and down his puffy, red face. The condemned former DHS director didn’t move even as the overhead lights were extinguished, leaving him in total darkness.

  ***

  Ramona Qualls returned to her new office precisely two hours later. The room, which had felt dirty and seedy when she had first entered it, was now bright and clean. The heavy curtains that had covered the room’s picture windows were gone, letting in the afternoon sunlight. The pictures and sculptures had been removed, along with the heavy furniture that the former director had stolen.

  Qualls sat in the standard-issue government chair and scanned her new metal desk. The room was cold, sterile and functional. She liked it. There was nothing to distract her from the job at hand.

  She had heard herself referred to as the “dragon lady.” She had to admit it applied to her. Qualls was the daughter of an Army colonel and his Vietnamese wife. If you asked her to describe herself, she’d say that she was strong woman who used any means necessary to get what she wanted. Deceit, domination and an easy willingness to use her power dovetailed with the legend of the dragon lady. Her ebony skin, combined with Asian eyes, gave her the exotic look that had attracted the right men in her early years of her ascension to power. A few nights under the sheets with a couple of married supervisors gave her the leverage to advance quickly. After that, she’d done it on her own by using her power without hesitation and with brutal efficiency.

  Orlando was a step in the right direction for her. Leaving the secret world of the NSA and joining the political realm would allow her to advance toward her ultimate goal. She wanted to be a United States Senator and, depending on her luck, she’d run for president. At forty years of age, it was all within her reach. She was attractive, smart, and ruthless. Nothing was going to stop her now.

  Nixon arrived to see her right on time. He advanced to her desk and saluted with precision and style. Qualls studied the tall young man and admired his physique. Not bad, she thought, as she returned his salute.

  “Agent Nixon reporting, ma’am.”

  “Take a seat, Agent,” Qualls said as she produced the video recorder from a drawer in her desk. “So, tell me about Purgatory.”

  Nixon reviewed the after-action report and detailed the operation.

  When he was finished, Qualls nodded.

  “So, Agent Nixon. Who was responsible for Operation Purgatory?”

  “Ma’am. Director… I mean former Director Bedford gave me the green light.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. Who came up with this idea? Who planned the job?”

  “I did, Ma’am.”

  “Bedford doesn’t have the imagination for anything like this. His brains were between his legs.”

  Nixon sat stoically, earning more points from the new director.

  “I like you, Agent Nixon. You’re creative and ruthless. Qualities I need for the job.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “And you know when to talk and when not to. That’s a rare quality, to be able to know when to shut up.”

  Nixon nodded but said nothing. Qualls looked him over once again. It was nice to see someone else that could do what they needed to, apparently without hesitation and with no moral fences. She’d read about the harem he’d kept at a local resort. That didn’t bother her too much. He didn’t flaunt it like Bedford had. Nixon just took what he wanted and didn’t feel the need to show it off to the rest of the world. He’d followed vague orders from Bedford and, through guile and imagination, he’d managed to eliminate a huge threat to her rule.

  Qualls began to feel a stirring that she hadn’t felt in a long time. The new assignment had put her on a path to the ultimate position of power, and it excited her. She could smell the agent’s earthy sweat and fell his animalistic aura. He was a kindred soul and she liked it.

  “How about dinner tonight? I’d like your input on staff changes. You could help me weed out any undesirables.”

  Nixon had already been struck by the new director’s beauty. She was older than any woman he’d been attracted to before, but her eyes and skin were oddly erotic. But it was her powerful presence that had really gotten his attention. She was dangerous as well as beautiful, and that excited Nixon as well. He would have to be careful with this one. Ultimately, the challenge to mix it up with the new director was too powerful to ignore.

  “I’d be honored, Director Qualls.”

  “Eight o’clock, then. You are dismissed, Agent Nixon.”

  With that, Nixon rose and snapped a crisp salute. He left the room, well aware that she was watching him leave. After closing the door
, he felt his face flush when he realized that he now knew how women felt as he leered at them from behind. Strangely, it felt both exciting and demeaning at the same time.

  Later that evening, as the moon rose over the city, Nixon stared out of the living room panoramic windows of Quall’s apartment. Servants had just removed the last of the dishes, and he was enjoying a snifter of brandy while the director freshened up in the bedroom.

  The blue-tinted moonlight bathed the tops of the buildings but created purplish black shadows that enveloped the lower floors and street. It almost looked like the top halves of the buildings were floating in a dark ocean.

  “Do you like the view?” Qualls asked as she returned, now dressed in a black maxi dress. Its neckline and spaghetti straps exposed her shoulders.

  “The view is incredible,” he replied with a smile. “And the city skyline is nice as well.”

  Qualls smiled back at him, and Nixon thought she may have just blushed a bit. But by the time she retrieved her own snifter, she had returned to the in-control woman that he’d been watching all night. She sat down on the couch and invited Nixon to join her.

  She handed him a folder. “Look over these names and give me your opinion.”

  So, it’s business, he thought as he took a seat next to Qualls and opened the folder.

  She had a remarkably accurate package of the top thirty or so agents that had worked under Bedford. Nixon saw that his own file was missing but didn’t let on that he had noticed that omission.

  The files were broken down into three groups. A green sticker indicated a positive review and likely retention. The red group were those who she was going to let go or, in some cases, have arrested for gross negligence or theft. The third group, marked in yellow, caught Nixon’s eye. He immediately recognized one name in particular.

  “I agree on almost all of these assessments,” Nixon said after looking over the files for the better part of fifteen minutes. “You have two files I’d reclassify. The first is Schneiderman. You have him in the red stack. I’d take into account the trouble he’d had with Bedford. Most of the poor reports are from the director himself because Schneiderman objected to the former director’s predilection for young girls. Bedford took every opportunity to bury the man.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Qualls said. “I appreciate your input.”

  “The second person is John Drosky,” Nixon said as he appraised Qualls for a reaction.

  Without his own folder present, Nixon had no idea if the Qualls knew about their feud. He needed to tread lightly here, because if he unfairly condemned Drosky, it would look like an act of vengeance. On the other hand, Drosky was a jerk, and having him removed would be deliciously sweet.

  “Agent Drosky had been in charge of Bedford’s personal protection detail,” Nixon began. “Now, I don’t know if you are aware of it, but he and I have had problems in the past.”

  Nixon saw a flash of something briefly pass over Qualls face. She knew. I’m glad I brought it up and got ahead of it.

  “Some of that goes back to our OPD days. I was on the SWAT team and he was a patrolman. For some reason, we never got along.”

  Nixon put the file down on the coffee table and sat back as if pondering how to proceed. The self-reflection was all an act, given that he had been planning on stabbing Drosky in the back since she had invited him to dinner. After a heavy sigh, Nixon spoke.

  “The thing is, all those girls that Bedford assaulted? Drosky sat back and let it happen.”

  Qualls remained quiet, her demeanor calm and face stoic.

  “You see,” Nixon continued, “my men and I have women we live with. Those ladies are there by choice, not by force.”

  “That’s debatable,” Qualls replied.

  “I know how it looks,” Nixon said. “But it’s true. Ask any of them. They are free to go as they please. We don’t force them to do anything they don’t want to.”

  “In exchange for food and a safe place to live?”

  “Was it any different before the darkness?” Nixon argued. “How many women do you know that slept their way into money or status?”

  Qualls briefly looked unsure of herself as Nixon made that point. He instinctively picked up on her reaction. It meant that she had engaged in some tit for tat in her rapid rise to power. Nixon sensed an opening and stood up as well. Sliding behind the new director, he gently placed his large hand on her smooth, bare shoulder. He felt her quiver at his touch.

  “Power and money are as attractive to most women as beauty is to most men. It’s just the way it is. Anyone, man or woman, that is open to that truth will live a happy and prosperous life.”

  He’d just given the director absolution for being attracted to the power and doing what she had to in her pursuit of it.

  He put his left hand on her hip and stared over her head and out onto the night skyline. She drew in her breath at his touch, and he knew he had her.

  “Drosky should be removed. I have it on good authority that he helped procure under-aged girls for the director to molest. No one should be allowed to turn a blind eye to that.”

  Qualls turned and faced the tall man. Her breathing was rapid, and her eyes told Nixon that he’d won. He pulled her to him and sealed the deal with a long, passionate kiss.

  Drosky’s finally out of my life, he thought with a smile. And tonight is going to be a great night!

  CHAPTER 27

  ORLANDO, FL

  “You only have power over people as long as you don’t take everything away from them. But when you’ve robbed a man of everything, he’s no longer in your power—he’s free again.”

  — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

  TWO DAYS AFTER HER LIAISON with Nixon, Qualls signed the order to have Agent Drosky arrested. He’d been transferred to patrol following Bedford’s arrest, and he and Bru were halfway through their shift when the radio came to life.

  “What do they want?” Bru said as he picked up the radio. “Agent 437, receiving.”

  “Agent 437, is Agent 283 with you?”

  “Yes, we’re both here.”

  “Agent 283, return to headquarters immediately and report to your shift sergeant.”

  “Copy that. Returning at once.”

  Bru put the transmitter back in its cradle and gave Drosky a questioning look.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said with a shrug.

  The men drove their M-ATV back to DHS headquarters and parked just a few spaces down from where Drosky had left little Bree’s body those many months ago. He glanced at the spot where he’d deposited the tiny corpse and shivered.

  “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria,” Bru said. “It’s almost four, so I doubt we’ll be sent back out.”

  “Sure,” Drosky replied. “See you there.”

  Drosky turned in his weapons and spare ammunition to the armory and went directly to the shift sergeant’s office. After a quick knock on the door, he walked into the crowded room. The moment he did so, two pairs of hands grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. He felt zip-ties cinch around his wrists.

  “Agent John Drosky,” said the shift sergeant. “You are under arrest for gross negligence and conduct unbecoming of a federal employee.”

  He’d heard perps complain that they were in pain as they were handcuffed. Now, being on the receiving end of an arrest, he could literally feel their pain. His shoulders felt like they were a half an inch from being dislocated, and his hands were already going numb.

  He wasn’t read his rights. With martial law in effect, the rules had been thrown out the window. He said nothing as he was dragged out of the room and taken to the building’s holding cells. The only saving grace was that most of his friends were out on patrol, so there wasn’t anyone else being held at the time to see his shame.

  The agents that escorted him to the cell cut his wrists free and backed out of the room. As the metal door clicked shut and the electronic lock bolted in place, Drosky rubbed his wrists and sat down on the padded b
ench. Confused and a bit frightened, he sat back and tried to think of what he could have done to deserve his incarceration. After a few minutes, he figured out why he was sitting in the old OPD holding cell: Travis Nixon.

  It was just gossip at first, but Natasha confirmed that Nixon had spent the night with the new director. And now that Bedford had been arrested, there was no more intelligence to gather, so Drosky’s purpose with DHS was gone. Unfortunately, he’d underestimated the speed of Nixon’s influence and now he sat in a holding cell because of that miscalculation.

  Yesterday, he had told Bru everything about their espionage ring. The new director was thinking of arresting Bedford’s wife. There was no way that Bru would allow that to happen, and if they didn’t take Bru and Tanya with them, his partner would likely end up dead.

  They had all been planning on bugging out that weekend, which was just a few days away, but it was obviously a few days too late. They were supposed to travel north to Mike’s family’s home in Sanford. But now fate would send him to wherever it wanted, and Drosky had little hope that his final destination was going to be a good one.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.”

  — Walter Scott

  AS DROSKY SAT IN THE holding cell, Captain Kuris was entering former director Bedford’s basement prison cell. For two days, he’d been grilling the man about the charges that had been levied against him. Beyond his culpability in the radiation poisoning of the general’s family and the radioactive poisoning of hundreds of miles of Tennessee countryside, charges of rape and graft were being added.

  The first day, Bedford had denied his culpability, but now he was in the bargaining stage.

  “Captain Kuris, please listen,” he begged. “I’ve got treasures stashed away that the government will never find.”

  “I’m not interested in your bribes,” Kuris said.