The Unraveling

by James R. Clifford

  He walked down a long windowless sterile hall lined with armed security agents. He hesitated before knocking on the Homeland Security Director’s door. No agent, no matter how high their ranking, liked to be summoned by the Director for any reasons, under any circumstances.

  He knew he was being paranoid but being paranoid was part of the oath he took when he joined Homeland Security as a field Agent straight out of Columbia. The last sentence in the agent’s oath was “Trust No One” and Graham took that vow seriously.

  He knocked lightly and a beefy voice bellowed, “Enter.”

  Graham opened the door. “Good morning, Director. How are you?”

  Homeland Security Director Jennie Napolitano looked up from a stack of files. “Take a seat Agent Graham,” she commanded briskly.

  He sat and watched the Director return her attention to the documents in front of her. She was a 58 year old heinous beast. The Director always wore the same frumpy grey mens suit she had altered to fit her stocky frame. Her peppered gray hair was cut military short and it framed a meaty face that had a permanent scowl etched into it.

  Despite being one of the most powerful people in the country, and in contrast to her ornate office at the Pentagon, she maintained a small, sparsely furnished office in New York.

  There were no windows, for obvious security reasons, and the only furniture in the office was her desk, the chair Graham was sitting in and a book shelf. A withered plant sat in one corner and the walls were a bland yellowish-white color that desperately needed a couple coats of fresh paint.

  She had only one personal item, a photo of her and the former President after she was awarded the National Patriots Award for her service to the country. She had won the prestigious award primarily for her role in disbanding the Wyoming Militia after they had seized control of the state capital and had taken the entire legislature hostage.

  At the time Napolitano was in charge of the Western region for Homeland Security. While in negotiations with the militia, she ordered a powerful nerve gas to be pumped through the air-filtration system of the capital building. Before the militia knew what had hit them the gas had attacked their central nervous system, rendering them unconscious and neutralized.

  Four legislators, 17 civilians and 3 militia members had died from acute respiratory distress due to the powerful nerve agent.

  Napolitano’s innovative solution led to her promotion as Homeland Director and even Graham respected her ingenuity in eliminating the terrorist threat with minimal collateral damage.

  The surviving members of the militia were tried in military court and found guilty of murder and treason. They were executed with no appeals. Some might have considered her methods extreme but Graham felt her decision was exactly what was needed to halt the spread of anarchy and chaos that was overtaking the country.

  If there was one thing in life Graham hated, it was disorder. He had grown up in a dysfunctional family. His mother was a functioning alcoholic who could take care of the household’s most basic needs but that was about the extent of her ability. His father had been a basic training sergeant for the Marines who treated his two kids like little soldiers when he was home, which was not often.

  Despite his father’s disciplined military training the family’s home life was anything like it. Chaos ruled and every year they packed up their belongings and moved to a new military base in some crappy little town. Graham was perpetually the new kid on the block.

  His childhood grew more unstable when his mother died from a brain aneurism when he was 12. Graham was left to take care of himself, his younger sister and most of the household duties because they could not afford any help. To make matters worse his father was always at the base training fresh recruits to help protect the United States from its multitudes of enemies.

  Two years after Graham’s mother passed away his father was part of a military convoy on a training mission in Texas when their transport vehicle ran over a series of incinerator bombs. Fourteen soldiers were killed, including his father. The Texas Militia claimed responsibility. They left flyers across the state declaring war on grounds that Texas’ sovereignty was being attacked by an illegal military force.

  With no other known relatives Graham and his sister were separated and sent off to military orphanages. He never had contact with his sister again and sometimes he wondered if his family had ever really existed.

  The Director tapped a manila folder on her desk and looked up. “We’ve received some disturbing news regarding the Local Terrorists. We’ve intercepted numerous transmissions that they’re planning a major attack in the fall. From the information we’ve received there is reason to believe it’s not going to be a low-level isolated event. Undercover agents who’ve infiltrated a number of militia and LT groups in different regions of the country all confirm or substantially corroborate the intelligence. The data suggests that the attacks have been in the planning stages for a number of years and they would encompass multiple high-level federal targets throughout the country.”

  Graham shifted uneasily in his chair. “How credible do you think this information is?”

  The Director’s lip curled into the scowl she was famous for. “As you’re aware, we still lack reliable information about who the LT central powers are, and where they originate. Most of the information is chatter but it is being filtered through multiple channels. If the information is correct the scale of attacks would be on an unprecedented level.”

  Graham shook his head. “I just don’t get it. I’ve never understood these people’s hatred towards DC. It just doesn’t make any sense to attack people who are doing their job, who are trying to help protect them and their families.”

  The Director held up her hand. “That doesn’t matter right now. We’ve acquired intelligence from multiple sources that they have acquired one, maybe two nuclear devices, and these traitors are so damn fanatical they might threaten or blackmail the government of the United States.”

  Graham sat back in his chair because what the Director had just told him was a game changer. “Even if they have acquired a nuclear device you don’t really think they’d make good on any threat, do you? It would be suicide.”

  “You know the mindset of these lunatics, their fucking fanatical anarchists,” the Director rebutted. “Who knows what they are capable of? But we can’t underestimate them and we have to consider that any possibility is a probability, no matter how remote. Any rogue group, no matter how small they are, who has possession of a nuclear, chemical or biological weapon is everyone’s worse nightmare.”

  “What kind of specifics are we looking at?”

  “Our best analysts believe they have a two-pronged attack planned. First, they would use a nuclear threat as a distraction while assassination teams would be dispatched to try and eliminate high-level targets throughout the country. Heads of government agencies, state-aligned CEO’s, key politicians, union bosses, and various members of the media. They would also target large-scale destruction of government facilities, especially surveillance and information technology centers. It goes without saying their main target would be to destabilize DC.”

  “So what’s the plan to stop these lunatics?” Graham asked.

  “This evening the President is going to declare a National Emergency.”

  Graham wasn’t sure what good that would do since DC had regularly declared some type of a national emergency for the better part of two decades.

  The Director continued, “The President is going to raise the Homeland Security Warning Level to Code Seven.”

  “Seven,” Graham repeated with a bit of shock.

  The alert system ranged from Code One to Code Seven and it had never been higher than Code Five before. The implications of a Code Seven were enormous because the President then had the power to operate without constitutional and legal restraint, or even Congressional oversight. The Homeland Security code change also was a declaration of War resulting in local and state law enforcement officials and
all military agencies being placed under the President’s direct command.

  “The United States of America has entered its second Civil War, Agent Graham. We are officially declaring war on the LT’s. The very existence of the country is at stake and we have to take drastic actions to ensure its survival. That is why I asked you here today.”

  “Of course. What are my orders?” Graham asked.

  “You went to school with Tank Wilson?”

  Graham winced at the mention of his former friend. “Yes, we were college roommates,” he answered, wondering what in the hell Tank had to do with this.

  When Graham had turned 18 he received A Fallen Soldiers College Scholarship via Homeland Security which gave him a free ride to any school of his choice. He chose Columbia where he roomed with Tank and, despite their obvious differences, they had become friends, at least until their senior year.

  The first cracks in their friendship started when Graham was being heavily recruited by Homeland Security and Tank constantly harassed him about it. He would needle him and continually asked him why he would ever want to work for DC fascists.

  They were the quintessential odd couple and looking back on their college relationship Graham wondered how they had even lived together, let alone become friends. Graham loved organization, routine and order whereas Tank thrived on the exact opposite. School hadn’t come easy for Graham who had to work twice as hard as his classmates. After studying and working his part-time jobs Graham didn’t have much time for sports, beer or girls.

  Tank on the other hand hardly picked up a book, passed all his classes with flying colors, played multiple sports and chased the co-eds around the campus with reckless abandon.

  For a few years after graduation they stayed in touch with an occasional phone call, although both of them grew more and more distant as they concentrated on building their careers. As the years passed they spoke less frequently and an unmistakable underlying tension seeped into what few conversations they did have.

  Their relationship ended for good more than a decade ago with an ugly episode. Graham had traveled to New York for a security training seminar and the two men had met at a bar to have a few drinks and catch up.

  The more they drank the more Tank kept goading him about working for Homeland Security. After the constant ridicule and having consuming more alcohol than he was used to, Graham’s usual stone-faced composure left him and when Tank insulted him one time too many, he snapped.

  Graham had never been athletic or played much in the way of sports but with extensive training including hand-to-hand combat Tank never had a chance. A well-placed blow to the solar plexus laid out his college friend with a single punch.

  Graham remembered how good it felt to watch Tank writhing around on the floor sucking air like a beached fish. After a few minutes Tank managed to stand and had surprised Graham when rather than get angry he began laughing.

  Even after all these years he remembered Tank’s last words, “You’re no better than some Nazi storm trooper and you know it. I know your bureaucratic mantra that I’m just doing my job. But that is just an excuse of a weak minded, evil man. It is a pathetic attempt to shift the blame for your lawless, immoral actions. You are the enemy my friend and quite frankly you make me sick. You’ve been brainwashed and have turned into a card-carrying sociopath but I suspect I am not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  They hadn’t spoken since but in an odd way Graham had to admit that Tank was right, at least on one point. In the past he had always thought the reason Homeland Security recruited so many Ivy Leaguers was because of their high intelligence. But as the years passed after the incident he did come to realize that most of the agents for The System were byproducts of Ivy League schools and that they all shared certain similar distinctive character traits.

  As Graham’s career had progressed and he became responsible for recruiting prospective agents he was indoctrinated with the criteria for Homeland recruitment. Basically, Homeland was seeking out candidates whose psychological profile displayed an amoral, borderline sociopathic personality trait with a character complex that gravitated towards a strict, unquestioning hierarchy structure. There was no such thing as right or wrong or good or evil as long as you were following your superior’s orders.

  But eventually he came to think of these traits as morally superior to the average person. He believed humans functioned best when there was order and stability in their lives and that was what Homeland agents provided. It was their job to keep order and give the people the stability they needed and deserved.

  The Director handed him a manila folder. “Open it.”

  He pulled out a report with a picture dated from the previous year stapled to the front. He stared at his old friend. Tank had a short haircut peppered gray. His face had filled out some but other than that he looked very similar to the man he had first met more than three decades ago.

  He turned over the photo and scanned the Classified Insider Surveillance Report on Tank.

  He looked up in astonishment. “This can’t be right. Tank Wilson works for the government?”

  “He’s more of a subcontractor. He manages one of our GMO food distribution facilities. And he runs it pretty damn well too. But for the last few years we’ve been watching him closely. We’ve always assumed he has some high-level connections to the LT’s.”

  “I don’t understand. He was placed in control of a government facility? I placed a letter in his surveillance file regarding his anti-government tendencies. How could anyone have thought it was a good idea to hire him, especially if his LT connections were known?”

  “I personally signed off on it,” the Director snapped. “Homeland does many things that seem counter-intuitive and sometimes the reasons are not clear or obvious, but there is always a purpose. We’ve been aware of Mr. Wilson’s predilections for years. He sought us out and after some consideration he was hired and promoted to the position. As they say, keep your friends close but your enemies closer. This is highly classified but we believe he is connected to high-level LT’s, so rest assured we always felt he had ulterior motives but he has been placed in a position where we could monitor him and get to him quickly, if we needed to. This is one of the reasons I called you here today. We want you to pay him a visit under the guise of a Homeland Facility Inspection Report.”

  “Me,” Graham interrupted with a crushing fear surging through his body. “Director, I don’t understand. Am I being demoted?”

  The Director held up her hands. “Absolutely not. Consider this assignment your most important job to date.” She handed him a letter with the President’s seal on it. “This is the other reason I asked you here. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to Director of Homeland Security for the Midwest.”

  A wave of relief then euphoria replaced his surging fear. Graham read the White House letter announcing his appointment.

  “This is truly an honor,” he replied.

  “You earned it, Agent Graham. Do you have any questions on your assignment regarding Tank Wilson?”

  “Don’t you think he’ll be a little suspicious with me showing up and inspecting the facilities?”

  “Probably, but with your appointment it would be standard protocol for the regional director to make a surprise visit. Let’s assume he’ll be a little suspicious but it’s worth the risk. We believe he has information or could be directly involved with the LT fall offensive. You know him better than anyone and we’re hoping you might be able to pick up something we can’t. There’s too much at risk here and one way or another we have to flush these guys out. We have dozens of these operations going on as we speak. I hate to say this but failure is not an option.”

  Graham nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good, because this nuclear issue is the single most dangerous threat this country has ever encountered. I need you to get me results.”

  “Of course.”

  “There is one last issue we need to discuss. After
the President’s Code Seven issuance tonight you will be granted Black Authorization Status.”

  Graham tried to contain his shock. Black authorization meant he would have carte blanche to pursue his operations with no legal or constitutional restraints. He was completely exempt from prosecution for any act he might commit in the line of duty. He answered only to the Director.

  “Thank you, Director. I appreciate your confidence in me. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t. I’ve followed your career for some time now and that is why I am giving you Black Authorization. I need results and I need them quickly.”

  The Director looked down to her papers and Graham took that as his cue to leave. He got up and left her office with a feeling of pure elation. All hell was about to break loose.

  “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  – John Aton

  Chapter 6

  Graham sat back in his chair, studying his team of agents who had gathered in his office to watch the President’s address to the nation. Each agent was handpicked because of their specialized talents and even though he was 99 percent certain each one of them would follow any order he gave with no questions asked, he still could not explicitly trust them. Part of his basic training was to always assume there was a traitor in the group.

  Graham smiled after the President announced he was issuing an Executive Order to raise the Homeland Security Threat Level to Code Seven.

  “That’s it boys.” Graham held up a copy of the directive from the Director. “It’s official. I’ve got Black Authorization. We are now on our own.”