“Glad of you to join us, Agent Haskins.”
My blood ran cold. I sort of recognized the voice, but I wasn’t entirely sure how. I looked up to see the smirking face of Agent Goodman, from the Rationing Board, only it appeared that she was no longer with that organization.
“Uh, ma’am,” I said hesitantly. Sweat from the quick run up the stairwell oozed down my spine and slid along my butt crack. “Sorry, we were down at the range when the announcement came through the PA system.”
She nodded. “Your team sergeant already explained the situation to me. I was just getting started. Have a seat.”
I hurried to my desk and sat down. Nguyen’s eyes spoke volumes that he couldn’t say right then. He was livid. We’d made him look bad in front of the new boss.
“So, as I was saying,” Goodman began. “I spent the last five months with the Rationing Board here in Austin, really getting a feel for the town. As you know, the city already has a reputation for being…let’s just say, eclectic. There is a strong anti-government sentiment in town, both from the Conservatives and the Liberals, so we won’t necessarily have allies on either front. The New Constitution has been introduced at the National level and has proven extremely unpopular with most citizens over the age of forty, and to a lesser degree, those in their thirties as well. Our job is to enforce compliance with the New Constitution.”
She paused and looked around the room meaningfully. “This agency is suffering from what every new organization in government goes through. Under the leadership of Deputy Director Stansbury, the CEA here in Austin did not have clear guidance as to what it’s roles and functions should be. Now,” she held up a hand, “that’s not a slight against Director Stansbury, he’s a brilliant man with a lot on his plate. There simply had not been enough guidance from Washington as to what the agency should be doing. As part of my preparations to assume the role of director, I attended training with the Secretary of Homeland Security himself. He outlined what all of the new agencies and departments’ responsibilities are, finally giving us clear guidance as to what, exactly, we’re supposed to be doing here. I’m sure his initial guidance will be modified as time goes on and we find our niche in the federal hierarchy, but for now, we will be directly assisting the local, state, and federal police forces. Our primary function is to investigate violations of the New Constitution and ensure compliance with all laws, be they local or federal. We are to be available to act as an additional force pool for the local police, if they need assistance with certain high intensity situations, not to be an extra beat cop down at the Wal-Mart making sure only forty customers enter the store at one time. We have the authority to investigate the local and state police forces—federal offices as well—in order to ensure that the law enforcement branches are in compliance with the New Constitution. There will be no deviation in our purpose. The CEA will be held to a higher standard because we are trained on the inner workings of the System, and will continue to receive refresher training and get classes on NAR programs and policies as they become available.”
She surveyed the room again. “That’s what we know right now. Our mandate is to enforce the New Constitution and local directors have the leeway to determine how best to do so. I’ll be taking briefings from the team leads tomorrow morning to see what their ideas for what our focus areas here in Austin should be. The good news is that there’s a federal PR program that is set to roll out tonight across all of the major networks, social media, internet ads, text messages, the whole public relations deal. The program will direct citizens who suspect violations of the law to contact their local CEA office. That, in addition to the teams’ focus areas, should drum up some business for us and we can adjust on the fly.”
She turned to place her notecards on the desk beside her and half-sat, half-leaned on the edge of the one behind her. There was a momentary second of relief on her face as the weight was taken off her legs, then her iron visage reappeared. “What are your questions?”
There was silence for a few seconds until someone across the room cleared their throat and raised a hand. “Yes, you.”
“Uh, I’m Seth Bell, IT for Team Two. Is the CEA supposed to be like, the KGB or something? Going around spying on—”
“No, Mr. Bell,” Goodman said, cutting him off. “The CEA is not akin to the KGB. This is America for God’s sake. We will simply be enforcing compliance with the laws of the land, same as any federal agency has in the past, except we are also authorized, and encouraged to enforce local ordinances as well.”
“But you said people could inform on violators. Seems a lot like the old Soviet Union days.”
Goodman’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think? You really think we’d allow ourselves to go down the same idiotic trail that the Communists did?”
“Well, um, no?” Bell sounded unsure of himself.
“Let me repeat myself for the slow learners in the room,” Goodman hissed. “The CEA is not the KGB, nor will we be. Ever. We will enforce the laws of our land, though. All police forces rely mainly on tips and notifications from the population that crimes have occurred, or are in the process of being committed. We will need the citizens who respect their way of life to honor their responsibilities as a US Citizen to help us do our jobs. End of story. Next?”
“Director Goodman?”
“Yes?” she answered Sergeant Nguyen’s question.
“Maybe if you share your previous experience with the agents, they’ll be more comfortable. Minus the couple of rookies,” his arm swept across me and Newman, “everyone in the Austin office is a seasoned professional with years of police work or military service under our belts. I think some people may be concerned about how you’ll handle certain situations since we don’t know where you’ve been or what your experience level is.”
“Everyone in the room, or you?”
Nguyen shrugged. “I mean, me, sure. But it’s a sentiment held by a lot of agents that I’ve talked to. We just don’t know anything about you. Your assignment was somewhat of a surprise since we all thought Director Stansbury would remain in the hot seat for at least a few months.”
“Fair enough,” Goodman replied. “I got my BS and MA in Homeland Defense and Counterterrorism, then went to work for the CIA in Virginia as an analyst. Did a lot of four- and six-month rotations through multiple shitholes, in the sand and in the jungle. Then I tried out to be an intel analyst for one of the direct action teams and made it. I wasn’t the first woman to do so, but I was the fourth or fifth, which is still an amazing accomplishment if I do say so myself. I was with the teams for almost five years until an unfortunate incident with an IED ended that chapter of my career.” She reached down to mid-thigh and thumped her right leg with her knuckle. A hollow thud echoed across the room. “Spent some time in the hospital, working remotely as an analyst for the Agency again. Then, once I was able to leave the hospital, I applied for the deputy chief of station position in Honduras, working with JTF-Bravo to interdict transregional and transnational terrorist and drug networks. I was assigned there for two years, then the opportunity to transfer back to the States full time presented itself. I spent fifteen years working on Senator Bradley’s staff as a counterterrorism and national security advisor before returning to law enforcement at the Bureau of Citizenship Registration. On paper, it looked like a good fit for my skillset, and it got me back on the street, out of DC, so I took the job. Turns out the going around and making sure people sign up to receive their Citizen ID is a little too low drag for my liking, so I jumped at the opportunity to take the interagency loan to the CEA. They informed me that I would be taking the director’s position here after I interviewed. I didn’t even know it was available at the time.”
Goodman placed her hands on her hips. “Satisfied?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nguyen replied. “Pretty impressive.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly. “I want you all to know that I have the chops for this job. We will make a difference in the city and the sur
rounding community in whatever way we can.” She surveyed the room once again. “Any more questions?”
I think the agents in the room were a little awestruck over her list of accomplishments and didn’t dare to ask another question following up the one that called her out personally.
“Very well,” Goodman grunted, pushing off the desk. There. I noticed the brief, tiny bit of a grimace as she reapplied pressure to her leg. “I need to see the team leaders in my office in ten minutes. We’ve already received a support request from the local FBI office to assist with tracking and taking down an illegal arms dealer.”
She’d said that she was recovered, but it was obvious if you watched her that she wasn’t capable of field work anymore. It was just as well, I thought, since she’d allowed her security goons to butt stroke me when I’d questioned her authority to force Cassandra to become a citizen. Maybe her years in the CIA’s direct action teams and working against terrorists and drug cartels had colored her definition of what was acceptable.
I hoped she understood that the people were not our enemy. US citizens, even peaceful illegals in the US, weren’t bad people intent on sowing the seeds of discontent. They just wanted to live their lives. Work and provide for their family. Nothing more.
I felt someone watching me and I turned. Director Goodman stared in my direction, her eyes unfocused. What was running through that mind of hers? More importantly, what was in store for all of us?
FIFTEEN
Team One stacked up outside the door. I was third man in the stack, so my primary function was to insure there were no illegals or criminals with guns in the farthest right quadrant. My hand rested on the shoulder of the man in front of me and my finger danced outside the trigger guard of my MP5. My kidneys were pumping in overtime, flooding my body with adrenaline. This was it. My first live action after all those months of training with the CEA on tactics and NAR policies.
I had a moment of doubt as we waited for Director Goodman’s order to go. What if the door was wired? They’d blown an entire 4-man team in training like that. It was simulated, of course, but the same thing could happen in real life. Or what about all the heavy weapons that were supposedly in the warehouse that this guy owned? We had the local SWAT team raiding the warehouse right now, but who’s to say he didn’t bring one of them home and was set up behind the sights right now, just waiting for us to enter his house?
What would the agency tell Cassandra? Would they even bother to tell her anything? Our new society didn’t really seem to give a shit about the individual citizen, so why would they bother with telling a widow that her husband had died during a weapons’ raid?
I put those thoughts behind me. I had to. They were distracting and I needed to focus. I wasn’t completely on board with the CEA’s policies or what we could potentially be ordered to do to enforce compliance with the New Constitution, but our target, a thug named Caesar Hernández, was a real piece of shit. I had no problem wiping him off the face of the planet. He wasn’t just some dude who happened to own so-called automatic rifles legally before all of this went down and was considered a criminal now that they were banned. He was an illegal gun-dealing, quarantine-violating, non-citizen whose weapons were linked to the death of dozens of Austinites. He needed to be stopped.
The director’s voice crackled in my ear. “Team Two is in place behind the house. Team One, breach.”
Rogan, the lead man in our stack reached out and tried the door knob, just in case. It was locked. Chris Plummer, our breacher slammed into the door just above the deadbolt with the Enforcer, a bright red battering ram designed for single person use. There weren’t many locks that could withstand the Enforcer, especially when somebody as massive as Plummer was swinging it.
This one did.
“Fuck!” The breacher swung again. The doorjamb shattered as the deadbolt tore through it. Over the top of the Number Two man’s helmet, I saw the door surge inward.
“Go!” the breacher yelled as he ducked away.
Then everything was a blur. Training took over. Number One peeled left. Number Two went right. I followed them in, my weapon sweeping across the large living room as I ran in at a crouch. I stopped when my weapon was pointing at the back right corner.
All around me, I heard the other agents yelling, “Clear!”
Oh yeah. “Clear,” I yelled.
“Move to the next room,” Goodman’s voice directed.
It took less than a minute to sweep the house for Hernández. He wasn’t hiding anywhere obvious like a closet or behind a shower curtain. Our drone had watched the guy enter the home an hour ago and he hadn’t left. Where was he?
“Status?” Goodman demanded.
“We haven’t found him yet,” Sergeant Nguyen said. “We’ll keep searching.”
We began to systematically lift away rugs and look for entrances to safe rooms, but came up empty once more. “This place isn’t that big,” Newman complained beside me. He’d been the Number Four man in the stack. “Where the hell could he have gone?”
“He’s still here somewhere,” Nguyen stated. “It’s just a matter of where.”
Once again, we went room-to-room, searching every space possible in two-man teams. I was in the guest bedroom with Newman when I noticed that the bed skirt was tucked in weirdly on one side. I tapped my partner and put my finger to my lips, then pointed at the bed skirt. Newman shrugged. He was an idiot.
I activated the flashlight alongside my MP5’s barrel and knelt down. Lifting the bed skirt with one hand, I swept my weapon back and forth underneath the bed. There was a set of hinges lined up under the bed. Son of a bitch had a trapdoor.
I stood back up and put two fingers to my eyes, telling Newman to watch the bed, then I went out into the hallway. I keyed my mic. “Sergeant, this is Haskins. I think I found where Hernández is hiding.”
“Location?”
“Guest bedroom.”
It took Nguyen and Rogan all of ten seconds to make their way across the house. I told them what I’d seen. Sergeant Nguyen crept past me into the room and checked under the bed for himself. Satisfied, he stood up and came back to me in the hallway. “Good job, Bodhi. I’ll call this in and then we’re going down.”
The mattress was on a set of hinges as well. It was secured to a sheet of plywood that lifted away to the side where I’d noticed the bunched up bed skirt. With the bed out of the way, we could see the trapdoor clearly.
Nguyen pulled a flashbang grenade from his vest and pointed at me, pantomiming lifting the hatch up and away. I nodded and stepped inside the bedframe.
Then I crouched down, grasping the small metal ring quietly, waiting for the sergeant’s order to open the door. My ankle screamed at me in protest. It was fine for doing squats and normal everyday activities, but my full 245 pounds resting on it for a prolonged period was agony.
Finally, he got clearance to use the flashbang and pulled the pin. He crouched down and looked me directly in the eyes as he whispered. “One. Two. Three…”
I pulled the hatch up about a foot and he released the grenade inside. Gunfire erupted from below as I dropped door. Heavy impacts of rounds against the flooring were suddenly drowned out as the flashbang went off. Despite the thickness of the floor and heavy ear protection I wore, the roar of the explosion was deafening. I was momentarily disoriented. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it did to Hernández.
Nguyen shouted at me, then slapped my hand roughly to get me attention. I looked up and he yelled for me to open the door. I fumbled for the handle once again and pulled it upward. The sergeant moved quickly, dropping down inside the hole.
Rogan followed him down. He’d been Special Forces, a Green Beret, before the CEA acquired him on an interagency loan. He was fearless. Newman stayed outside of the room, providing security in case there was another exit somewhere in the home.
There was a lot of shouting and then several rapid shots, most of them unsuppressed. I was able to distinguish a couple of suppre
ssed reports from the MP5s that both of our men carried. I wanted to go down into the tunnel to see what was happening, but my post was at the hatch. I had to ensure the target didn’t get past me.
The radio crackled. It was Rogan. “Target KIA. We need a medical team down here now! Nguyen took a bullet to the neck.”
I sat back in shock. Nguyen got hit? How? He’d used the flashbang like they taught us. Hernández shouldn’t have been able to function, let alone aim his weapon. How had he hit my team sergeant?
I was pushed out of the way as several medics rushed by. I was too big to be in such a confined space, so I moved back and then stood up. By the time I made it to the hallway, Rogan was climbing up the ladder. His hands were covered in blood.
I looked at him imploringly and he shook his head. Sergeant Nguyen was gone.
My vision went red with anger. The Civic Enforcement Agency was supposed to be ensuring compliance with the laws of the land, not acting like some goddamned GI Joe motherfuckers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Didn’t we have police, military, and other state and federal agencies to do this sort of work?
How the hell had I gotten mixed up in all of this? Hell, how had America come to this point? One moment we were all living the American Dream and the next, everything had gone to shit. I hated it. I hated everything about our new society.
I needed to get home. Cassandra always knew what to do. She’d listen to my fears and provide me with solid advice . I knew that I could trust her. With all of the bullshit going on in this world, that much was certain. She’d keep my feelings about what was happening and what we were being told to do private.
American Dreams | Book 1 | The Decline Page 13