Resistance na-2

by Richard Stephenson

  “Howard, sweetie, just stand up. A quick smile and wave is all they need.”

  Howard obeyed and was delighted when his brief acknowledgement did the trick. Once everyone was seated, he breathed a sigh of relief and focused once again on his chicken.

  Senator Wilson continued. “In the darkest day of our former nation’s history, we had one shining beacon of hope, one man who stood up to preserve democracy, one man who kept liberty and freedom alive. I’m proud to call him my friend; I’m even prouder to call him my president. Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the Pacific States of America, Howard Beck.”

  Once again, a thunderous standing ovation ensued. Senator Wilson took a step back from the podium and extended a welcoming arm.

  Howard was busy eating his lemon pepper chicken.

  “Howard, honey, you need to say a few words,” said Elizabeth.

  “What? Now? I’m still eating!”

  Max leaned over his wife. “Howard, no more speeches after this. Just say thank you and talk about how great the PSA is and how bad the UAE is for a minute. That’s it.”

  “This is ridiculous. Have the waiter reheat my food; it’s going to get cold.”

  Max smiled at his wife. “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Enough of that! You know I hate that.” Howard put his fork down and walked to the stage while Max and Elizabeth looked on with loving admiration. Howard smiled awkwardly at the crowd.

  “Let’s make this quick; my food’s getting cold.”

  The crowd laughed, completely unaware that Howard wasn’t joking.

  “Thank you, Senator Wilson. Thank you everyone in attendance. A special thanks to the men and women in uniform here tonight. They will be on the front lines taking back our country soon enough.” Howard stopped and clapped, the audience didn’t hesitate to follow suit. “Yes, yes, the brave men and women of our armed forces deserve our respect. In the coming weeks, we will take the fight to the UAE. Most of our military forces are preparing for an invasion so grand in scale it approaches the Normandy invasion of World War II. Under the tyrannical rule of Simon Sterling - the man who murdered the great Malcolm Powers - the UAE has driven our once exalted nation further and further into the pits of hell. Men and women are starving, men and women are dying, men and women are being sold into slavery while the UAE is content to do nothing but consolidate their own wealth and power. I say no more! We must save our brothers and sisters on the other side of our borders!”

  The crowd was instantly on their feet and cheering. Howard left the podium and returned to his newly warmed meal.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Regional Governor Roberto Jimenez was nearly comatose, thanks in large part to Ambien and Elavil. He slept so deeply that his nurse was able to check his vitals every three hours during the night without waking him. Andrew didn’t have an issue with his boss taking Ambien or Elavil; he did, however, take issue with him taking both of them at the same time right before bed. Roberto ignored his nurse’s wishes since taking the two together was the only way he could get a decent night’s sleep.

  At 3 a.m., Andrew walked into the adjacent room to check on the elderly governor as scheduled. As he was placing the cuff on Roberto’s arm, Andrew caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure across the room. Startled, Andrew muffled a scream. “Remain calm, Andrew. I’m not here to hurt either of you. I want you to take a step back and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Do you have a death wish? Do you know who this is?”

  “Roberto Jimenez, regional governor and former director of the CIA.”

  “Take what you want and leave.”

  “Oh, Andrew, it’s not that simple. I need your help.”

  “You need to leave before security makes their rounds.”

  “Nice try. At the governor’s request, security never enters this room. The man obviously has trust issues. Roberto here doesn’t want anyone to know just how frail he has become and how close he is to death’s door. He’s got an image to uphold.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Well, Andrew, let’s start with this: your sister’s name is Julia Massey. She’s married to Irvin and they have three children. I could tell you their ages and where they go to school, but I think you get the point.”

  “How do you know that? What have you done to them?”

  “Nothing, I assure you. You and Julia were born to Fredrick and Jane Bailey. Your mother is a retired real estate agent, and your father is the chief of surgery at Saint Francis. Are we clear?”

  “I’m starting to get the point. I do whatever you say or they all die?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not killing anyone; I just can’t.”

  “I know you don’t have that in you, given your profession. You won’t have to kill anyone.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to help me keep my family alive.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Let’s just say you’re not the only one whose family is in danger. As long as you go to Florida with your boss, everything will be just fine…for both of us.”

  “I don’t know anything about Florida.”

  “Please stop lying to me, Andrew. You’re leaving for Florida this morning. If you lie to me again, I will kill one of your sister’s children. Are we clear?”

  Andrew began to cry. “Yes.”

  “We have work to do. If you do what you’re told, I’ll be long gone before your boss wakes up.”

  * * *

  “Stop it! I’m awake! Jesus!” Roberto Jimenez hated waking up in the morning. He had a strict schedule to adhere to, and his nurse went to great lengths to keep him on track.

  “We have a big day, Mr. Jimenez. Do you need to use the restroom?”

  “What do you think? C’mon, let’s get a move on. I want to leave here in an hour.”

  Andrew lifted his boss out of bed and settled him in his wheelchair. As Roberto wheeled himself into the bathroom, Andrew went about making the bed and getting his suit ready.

  “Not that one! I told you I wanted the solid black one! Dammit!”

  “Mr. Jimenez, this is the solid black one. If you put on your glasses, you’ll see.”

  Roberto did so, but he would never admit that Andrew was right.

  Once dressed and groomed, Roberto shooed Andrew from the room and opened his computer. He vigorously searched security reports in Florida and found that the evacuation of Miami and the surrounding areas had been completed. He hadn’t left the former state of California since his arrival. He was not looking forward to flying across the country to bury one of his closest friends.

  * * *

  Once the Leer jet rolled to a stop at the small airport on the outskirts of Miami, Roberto waited patiently as Andrew activated the wheelchair lift. Safely on the tarmac, Roberto smiled as the president of the Unified American Empire strolled up to greet him.

  “Hello, old friend.”

  “Mr. President, I wish this meeting were under better circumstances.”

  “As do I, Roberto, as do I.”

  “Is everyone here?”

  “Governor Walston is due in the next ten minutes. Everyone else is at the funeral home. How was your flight?”

  “Long.”

  “After the services, I hope you’ll join us for dinner.”

  “I’d like that.” Roberto wheeled around. “Andrew! Get your ass over here and meet the president!”

  Andrew quickly exited the jet with Roberto’s bag in hand.

  “Mr. President, this strapping young lad is my personal assistant, Andrew.”

  Roberto never referred to Andrew as his nurse. After all, he had an image to uphold.

  Simon extended his hand. “Andrew, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mr. President, it’s an honor for me to you … I mean …”

  “Shut up, Andrew. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  “Roberto, that’s no way to treat this young man. Tell
me, Andrew, carrying this old geezer around must give you amazing upper body strength. How much can you bench press?”

  “I’m not sure, I don’t lift weights.”

  “Andrew! What are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry, what did …”

  “Always address the president as ‘Mr. President.’ You know what? Stop talking; just quit while you’re behind. Let’s go, start pushing, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Andrew quietly obeyed his boss, the stain of humiliation darkening his cheeks.

  As they walked forward, the two powerful men quickly forgot about the man pushing the wheelchair. Simon didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the embarrassing exchange. “Tell me, Roberto, would you be willing to say a few words on Jim’s behalf?”

  “Mr. President, I was hoping you’d ask. I do have some things I’d like to share about my dear friend.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to it.”

  * * *

  Before the Collapse of 2027, Christ Fellowship Church on First Avenue in Miami had been newly renovated to hold an extra thousand seats, making it one of the largest churches in the former United States. The large capacity was not required during the funeral of Regional Governor James Weygandt. Just under one hundred people were in attendance, the majority of whom were extended family members of the deceased. The remainder included Supreme Commander Moody, commander of the Unified National Guard, the seven remaining regional governors of the Unified American Empire, and her president, Simon Sterling. Regional Governor James Weygandt’s coffin was draped in the official flag of the UAE.

  Once the governor’s wife was seated, it was time for the president to enter the sanctuary. Much of the family found the president’s ego downright disgusting, as if he was somehow the honoree at this event. President Sterling was in the lobby waiting for his chief advisor, Stacy Reid, to cue his entrance.

  “How do I look?”

  “Handsome as always. I’m glad Mr. DeLuca finished your suit in time.”

  “It wasn’t an option. I had him pull an all-nighter to get it finished.”

  Stacy tried to look interested, but she shared the family’s antipathy toward the narcissistic president. She got the go-ahead signal from one of the ushers. “It’s time, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you, Stacy. I’m wondering if you could be a dear and fetch my pen from the car?”

  “Of course, Mr. President.” Stacy was grateful for an excuse to miss the man’s grand entrance, though his need to flaunt his ridiculously expensive possessions – and at a funeral, no less – sickened her. The pen in question cost north of a thousand dollars.

  As the ushers opened the doors, the funeral guests reluctantly struggled to their feet, trying in vain to give the president the respect he felt was due him. Simon strolled down the aisle with an air of regal haughtiness and took his seat on the front row.

  Regional Governor Jackson Butler was sitting on the second row, closest to the outside aisle. He was pleased with himself, delighted to be keeping a secret to which only one other guest was privy. He knew it was juvenile but he couldn’t help himself. If the people in this room had a clue as to why they were really here, they’d be filled with rage. Glancing down the pew, Jackson spotted Roberto Jimenez sitting nearby. Jackson loathed the crusty old geezer with every fiber of his being. He glared at Jimenez in pure contempt as the president took the podium. The asshole’s mere presence was enough to infuriate him. Jackson took notice as the nervous looking gentleman sitting next to Jimenez stood awkwardly in the aisle. What is wrong with this weirdo? Why the fuck is he getting up in the middle of the president’s speech? Sweat glistened on the man’s face as he headed toward the exit. As Jackson turned around in his seat, he saw the man take a small electronic device from his pocket. Car keys? No, he didn’t drive here.

  Oh shit! He’s about to detonate the bomb!

  Jackson burst from his seat and sprinted to the stage. The president’s protection detail squared up against him, effectively blocking his path.

  “BOMB! BOMB! BOMB!”

  The security detail reacted instantaneously. They lifted the president off his feet, carrying him to the baptistery. Once they cleared the steps, they threw the president in the murky water. Jackson dove to the floor and curled up in the fetal position against the wall.

  The small explosive device strapped to Roberto Jimenez’s wheelchair detonated, instantly killing the family of James Weygandt, Supreme Commander Carl Moody, and the six regional governors in the audience.

  * * *

  Several states away, Charles waited quietly in his vehicle. As his phone vibrated, he tapped his headset.

  “It’s done.”

  Charles smiled. “Dispose of Mr. Everton and his family. Did the nurse survive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dispose of him as well.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Tell our mutual friend we’re ready to proceed with the final phase of the plan.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Holy shit! What in the hell was that?” Jessica Bradley, Benjamin Black’s top lieutenant, was on a rooftop two blocks from the church. The blast had blown out all the windows in the front of the building and shattered car windows for blocks in every direction.

  Her partner, Robert Mathias, was face down on the roof, his hands protecting his head. “Fuck! Are we being bombed? Let’s get the hell outta here before we get killed!”

  Benjamin Black had sent the pair on an eight hour trip through the Florida wasteland to the church on the off chance that some lucky opportunity would present itself. Jessica had a knack for sneaking around the Florida swamps, and her skills proved useful for infiltrating the perimeter around the church. Robert had a high-powered sniper rifle and was under strict orders to shoot Simon Sterling if he was foolish enough to present himself as a target.

  Jessica and Robert watched as a limousine and three black SUVs raced away from the building. Before they could plan their next move, a man appeared on the street below them, chasing after the now distant motorcade. “Stop, Mr. President, don’t leave me! I’m alive! I’m alive!”

  “Is that who I think it is?” asked Robert.

  “Yeah, that’s Jackson Butler.

  * * *

  “Mr. President, are you okay? What happened? What was that?”

  “I’m fine, Stacy, I’m fine. My ears are ringing a little, but I’m fine. I don’t know how Jackson knew something was about to happen, but he did. If he hadn’t rushed the stage and warned my security detail, I might not have gotten out of there in time.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay. Did Jackson make it out?”

  “I have no idea. Driver! Pull over, right now!”

  “I can’t do that Mr. President, we have to get you to the security checkpoint.”

  “How much longer?”

  “ETA, two minutes.”

  “Mr. President, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I can’t believe those blockheads ruined my new suit! Why did they have to throw me in that slimy, germ-ridden water? No telling what kind of diseases I caught in there!”

  “It probably saved your life, Mr. President,” said the driver. “Being submerged in water lessens the impact of the shockwave.”

  “It took me four weeks to get this suit from Italy! It’s ruined!”

  I’d like it better if you were wearing the suit when it’s burned, thought Stacy.

  * * *

  The entry point to the funeral perimeter was the headquarters for the Miami-Dade Metro Police Department. The president was being held in the armory since it was the most secure room in the building. The room had a master lock inside the room, so the armorer could remain inside and keep it secure from outsiders.

  “Mr. President, what happened?” asked Stacy.

  “Roberto’s nurse got up just as I began speaking. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve. Jackson must have seen him do something suspicious because he stormed the stage and warned my
detail.”

  “Did Jackson make it out?”

  “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”

  “It’s okay. You need to relax for a minute. I’m going to find out what happened. Just take it easy, and I’ll come back with some answers.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  Stop calling me dear, you bastard.

  Stacy was relieved to get out of the room but knew her respite would be a brief one. Digging in her purse for the buried Xanax bottled, Stacy took a few precious minutes to review the situation and plan her next step. If Howard Beck was responsible for the attack and didn’t warn her, she would have to accept the fact that Howard was willing to kill her along with Simon Sterling. The sacrifice was worth it. One thing was certain: more than half of the regional governors were dead. The UAE was crippled - no, it was dying - given what had just happened. Stacy knew she had the chance to put an end to this nightmare – right here, right now. She had precious few minutes to act.

  Stacy looked around for a weapon. Anything would do: a pistol, rifle, shotgun. It didn’t matter. At first, her room-to-room search turned up nothing useful. At the end of the hall she hit the jackpot: an otherwise empty room now being used by the troops to stage their gear! Stacy tore through crates and backpacks, certain that someone must have left something behind. Then she saw it – a duty belt complete with holstered gun.

  Stacy reentered the armory, a terrified look on her face. The two security officers look concerned; the president appeared terrified

  “What? What’s going on, Stacy?” the president asked, obviously frightened.

  Stacy looked at the armed guards. “They need one of you up front. The lobby is under attack! Hurry! I’ll lock the door behind you! Go!”

  The security officer turned to his partner for approval. “Stay here. Don’t open this door no matter what!”

  “I got it! Go!”

  Stacy closed the heavy steel door and locked it. Taking the pistol from her coat pocket, she turned around and opened fire.