State of Rebellion pc-1

by Gordon Ryan

  “Do you know I love you, Nicole?” he whispered in her ear, the first endearment either of them had confessed.

  Nicole turned, took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately, returning his declaration of love. She was comforted by his acceptance of her chosen career and by his ability to overlook what he might have interpreted as a ploy to merely further her investigation. She knew clearly at that point that she did, indeed, love Dan Rawlings.

  “Colonel Connor,” Del Valle said, “we appreciate your coming out to California and the president’s interest in this meeting. These are trying times, Colonel. What can the guard do to assist in resolving the crisis?”

  Colonel Connor acknowledged General Del Valle’s statement and looked briefly around the room before beginning his comments.

  “The open rebellion from the militia units has risen to crisis proportions. In addition to the murders they’ve already claimed, intelligence points to their involvement in the current race war. General Del Valle, your troops have been called out twice now to put down what were becoming very inflamed race riots. It’s apparent these groups are using the secession issue to further their own agenda. How does your internal assessment compare?”

  Del Valle looked at Captain Rawlings and nodded for him to respond.

  Dan glanced quickly at Nicole and back at Connor before responding. “Sir, we’ve discovered that some of our Guard members also have longstanding relationships with local militia units. We know of at least seven guardsmen-two officers and five enlisted-who belong to the Shasta Brigade, the largest and most active northern California militia unit. We believe the patriot movement shares responsibility for the Oakland riots as well as the ATF ambush. We haven’t been able to confirm their involvement in the congressional murders. We did request further information from the guard’s liaison with the FBI, with no success, I’m afraid,” he said, glancing furtively at Nicole.

  “I see,” Connor replied. “Agent Bentley, were you aware of these requests?”

  “I was, Colonel. As Captain Rawlings indicates, the involvement of several Guard members-it’s actually nine, Captain,” she said, looking toward Dan, “required us to restrict the flow of information until we could ascertain who was and who wasn’t a risk.”

  Turning toward General Del Valle, Nicole gained his attention, and smiled. “General, on behalf of the bureau, I sincerely apologize, but I believe you understand. In military terms, we’ve limited dissemination of information on a need-to-know basis.”

  Del Valle nodded his assent. “So,” he said, “where do we go from here?”

  “General,” Connor began, “that’s what we hope to achieve here today-a direction of sorts. Let’s not mince words, sir. It’s highly likely that we will be on opposite sides shortly if the governor follows through with his decision to implement the constitutional committee.”

  Connor resisted the urge to look at Rawlings, even though he was fully aware of Dan’s assignment within the legislature.

  “It would seem that the brigade has used, and will continue to use, these differences to exploit their openings and to put us at odds. If the worst-case scenario develops, and the federal military units are brought to bear to prevent the secession, the Shasta Brigade and all other militia units in the entire west will openly side with California. But let there be no doubt about it, General, they’ll rub salt in your wounds, too, in order to exacerbate the situation,” Connor concluded.

  “Humph,” Del Valle snorted. “Losers and wanna-bes, Connor, that’s what they are.” Looking over toward Rawlings again, Del Valle queried, “What’s their estimated strength, Captain?”

  “About four hundred, General, but a strong recruiting campaign has been underway for some months, and they’re growing. Only about a hundred and fifty members have more than two years’ experience in the units.”

  “So they could field a trained and equipped, company-sized unit, with the basis for two more companies at recruit level?” Colonel Harman asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Rawlings responded. “Although they’d probably split the experienced men into three, fifty-man units and place them throughout the companies. They seldom go into the field with more than a squad-sized unit. They know they’re no match for a head-to-head confrontation, even against the guard.”

  “Maybe, Captain, maybe,” Del Valle responded. “But we’ve got some ATF agents’ families who might dispute that assumption.”

  Returning his gaze to Colonel Connor, Del Valle concluded the brief meeting.

  “Colonel, we sincerely appreciate your taking the time to meet with us and to share information. I trust the shared intelligence summaries,” he said, pointing toward a stack of manila folders and personnel records, “will assist both sides. The governor has decided to postpone his announcement of the formation of a constitutional committee for one week. But be advised, as much as he’s in opposition to this secession nonsense, he’s more angered at the contingency plans laid down by the Pentagon. And mark my words, if he sees his options being reduced by outside forces, he’ll be forced to choose from those options that remain within his power. I know he plans to contact the president, but California is his primary concern. If it becomes impossible to shift this train onto another track, he will take the throttle and he will control the engine.”

  “I understand, General. Thank you for hosting us today. I hope we can continue to contact one another and move toward the same objectives.”

  “By heaven, so do I, Colonel,” Del Valle said.

  “Please hold, Colonel Connor. I’ll put you through to the president,” the White House switchboard operator said.

  Pug Connor waited for a moment and was then greeted by Vice President Prescott in a hollow-sounding voice.

  “Colonel Connor, how are you today? I’m with the president on his speakerphone.”

  “Good afternoon, Colonel,” the president said. “Hear you’ve been consorting with the enemy, so to speak.”

  “Well, Mr. President, I certainly hope that can be avoided.”

  “So do I-a poor choice of humor on my part. How’d it go?”

  “General Del Valle was quite sincere, Mr. President. He was cooperative, and we shared most of what we have been able to glean from our respective investigations. This young Daniel Rawlings fellow I profiled in my last written report finds himself in a tough spot.”

  “How so, Pug?” Vice President Prescott asked.

  “Madam Vice President, he’s been given the assignment to draft the republic’s new constitution, even though he’s been quite outspoken against the secession. I presume that Rawlings is one of Governor Dewhirst’s responses to your meeting with the governor last month. But on top of that, he’s a captain in the National Guard and is likely to be called upon to defend the state house if our contingency plans are implemented and the federal marshals move in.”

  “What’s Del Valle’s position if we federalize the guard?” the president asked.

  “Sir, General Del Valle advised that although the governor is adamantly opposed to the secession, his options are narrowing, and should federal intervention tie his hands, he’s likely to be pushed into a corner and required to take action in defense of California.”

  “Action?” Eastman queried.

  “Political action, sir,” Pug replied. “At least to show some opposition to federal intervention.”

  “Colonel,” the president continued, “I’ve got my own brand of pressure back here. Senators from at least six western states have been pushing me to squash this rebellion-as they’re calling it-before it spreads to their states. They tell me the militia units in each of their states are growing bolder as a result of California’s actions. We’ve got to be decisive. And the joint chiefs don’t like the idea of one of their own military units being used against them. They want to activate the guard now and take control. Colonel, until we can see a better route, the federal marshals have their orders. If the governor announces the implementation of a constitutional commit
tee, they will act to enact martial law-and the Army will be in support to enforce.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Pug,” Prescott added, “I got your last report. Unfortunately, we can’t use the normal international channels to find Jean Minards-an obviously false identity-who worked with the California elections office. Those reports filter back through your former employer, and you understand that we can’t tip off Grant Sully.”

  “Understood, Madam Vice President. Perhaps I can trade for this one.”

  “Trade?”

  “I could contact Kevin Donohue in Ireland again. Once before, he provided identification of someone we needed to uncover. If Minards, or Wolff, is an internationally recognized operative, Donahue might be able to identify or locate him. I don’t know what he’d want in return, however.”

  “Absolutely not, Colonel,” the president interjected. “We’re not dealing with those cutthroats. They killed the vice president, for crying out loud. If I could find them, I’d have them snatched and put in rendition. No contact with these IRA terrorists. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Pug replied. “There is one other option at my disposal. Madam Vice President, I believe you know this person also-Ambassador Molenski?”

  “The Russian Ambassador to the U.N.?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He was most helpful with the USS Cherokee incident a few years ago. Recently he assisted in helping me with some information about the IRA.”

  “We’ll discuss it, Pug, and I’ll get back to you,” Prescott replied. “Meanwhile, keep us abreast of the developments with this Rawlings chap. Can you work with him?”

  “It’s an unusual situation. He’s been developing a relationship with Agent Bentley, and his former brother-in-law is a member of the militia.”

  “Oh? Did you say former brother-in-law?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Rawlings’ wife was killed a couple of years ago in a skiing accident shortly after they were married. Kenny Bailey is her brother. He was shot and killed in a failed ambush on Captain Rawlings several weeks ago.”

  The president spoke up. “Rawlings shot and killed his own brother-in-law?”

  “No, sir. Some members of the Shasta Brigade shot him as he was trying to get on their plane before they took off. Rawlings killed the other ambusher. As far as Rawlings goes, Mr. President, Agent Bentley is convinced he’s in opposition to the secession and is actively working to prevent it.”

  “So is Governor Dewhirst, Colonel,” the president chimed in. “But as you said, he’s ready to do what’s necessary to protect California. Be very careful how involved Rawlings becomes with the task force. I don’t think involving him would be such a good idea.”

  “Understood, Mr. President. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Good luck to you, Colonel.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  President Eastman pressed the key to disconnect the speakerphone and leaned back in his chair as Clarene Prescott took a seat in front of his desk. She raised her eyebrows, revealing to Eastman her chagrin at his failure to inform Colonel Connor of impending military operational orders. Eastman watched her for a moment, assessing her agreement with his actions.

  “I know, Clarene,” he said, raising his hands in a surrender mode. “We’ve left the colonel in the dark.”

  “Pug Connor is a good man, and he’s worked in the dark before, but I’m surprised that you chose not to inform him.”

  “It’s not a question of trust. You know that. Connor can be trusted, but there’s still the possibility that I’ll be able to abort the troop movement and stop this foolishness, and the fewer people I have to ‘stand down,’ the easier it will be. The JCS, however,” he said, shaking his head, “are dead set to move forward. We’ll bring Colonel Connor into the picture by Thursday night if things don’t change.”

  “I think that would be fair, Bill. He’s walking a tightrope out there.”

  “Yeah. Aren’t we all?”

  Chapter 28

  Modesto, California

  Dan Rawlings lightly touched his brakes for the third time in as many miles and decided once again that utilizing cruise control on old Highway 99 was an impossibility. Ten miles west on Interstate 5, traffic flow was suitable, but the stop-and-go traffic, intersecting roads, and general limitations of 99 precluded such relaxing driving aids.

  Crossing the Dry Creek Bridge at Galt, Dan ejected the CD, the sudden ensuing silence bringing Nicole to life from the twilight-zone nap she’d been taking since their departure from Dan’s apartment in Davis.

  “Welcome to central California, Agent Bentley,” he said.

  Nicole yawned and stretched her arms up and toward the back of the car before raising the seat from its reclined position. “Ever played this golf course?” she asked as they crossed the bridge and she observed the fairway extending out on both sides of the highway.

  “Had one of my most memorable rounds here several years ago. Two under on the front and twelve over on the back side,” he said, laughing.

  “Is that when you decided to forget turning pro?” she teased.

  “Long before that, Agent Bentley.”

  “What do you think Senator Turner really wants, Dan? Why do you think he wanted you to come down to Modesto?”

  “It’s his home court. As to what he wants, I’m not certain, but he must have discovered I’ve been given the assignment to draft a constitution. He knows my stance because we debated the issue during the election-well, sort of debated. We were on the same podium, and questions were thrown at both of us.”

  “Dan, if he doesn’t already know who I am or what I do, I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

  “Understood. At least he’s chosen to meet us on relatively neutral ground. Modesto has this wonderful tradition of summer concerts in the park. They have a completely amateur band, usually about a hundred members or so, and every Thursday for six weeks in the summer they provide an open-air concert. When I was a young boy, my father lived in Modesto, and each year when I went to spend the summer with him we’d attend these concerts, although I was more interested in the playground equipment and snow cones than the music.”

  “Boston Pops comes to Modesto,” Nicole said.

  “You could say that, but maybe not quite so formal.”

  About forty-five minutes past Stockton, Dan pulled off Highway 99 and headed for downtown Modesto, where he found parking more difficult than he’d anticipated. They ended up parking about two blocks away and walking to the amphitheater. They passed hundreds of people who were already lying on blankets on the grass, their small hibachis smoking and picnics in process, ranging from buckets of KFC to barbecued ribs. The semicircular stands had blankets draped over whole sections of seats in a sort of honor system for reservations.

  Dan spotted Senator Turner center left, down front, and led Nicole to the politician. Turner saw him approaching across the crowd and stood, smiling broadly as he shook hands with people who were filtering through his row toward their own seats.

  “Assemblyman Daniel Rawlings,” Turner said, somewhat officially, “welcome to Modesto. Let me introduce you to our esteemed mayor. Steve La Barbera, meet Daniel Rawlings, one of our newest state legislators, from Yolo County, and, of course, one of California’s newest authors.”

  “Of course.” Mayor La Barbera smiled. “A great read, Mr. Rawlings. But as you well know, Stanislaus County offers all the wonderful benefits you extol for Yolo County in Voices in My Blood.”

  Mayor La Barbera was a tall, trim man with a full beard and thick hair, both of which were fully gray. He was quite distinguished-looking and from initial impressions, cordial. To be expected, Dan thought, in a political role.

  “I’m sure it does, Mayor. Perhaps I’ll have to broaden my horizons for my next effort. Let me introduce Nicole Bentley. Ms. Bentley graciously accepted my invitation to come down to hear the famous summer concert series in the park. Coming from New England, she’s looking forward to a West Coast Boston Pops special.” />
  Turner and the mayor greeted Nicole, who remained silent, but smiled pleasantly.

  “Well, when you start your next novel, you come on down, son,” the mayor said, “and we’ll convert you to the merits of our lovely valley. I understand you and the senator have some light business. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go greet a few of the guests we’ve invited tonight.”

  “Certainly, Mayor,” Dan replied. “It was a great pleasure meeting you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rawlings. Malcolm, I’ll see you in a few minutes. You’ve got your fire and brimstone ready for the crowd, I presume?”

  “Just a little hometown talk, Steve, nothing more,” Turner said, at which La Barbera laughed.

  “Malcolm, if John Phillip Sousa can’t stir ’em up tonight, I know I can count on you. I’ll see you later, Mr. Rawlings. Very nice to meet you, Ms. Bentley.”

  Turner gestured to the bench, and Dan and Nicole joined the senator as he resumed his seat.

  “It was good of you to invite us tonight, Senator. I’ve had the pleasure of attending these concerts before, some years ago, but Nicole hasn’t. I hope you don’t mind my extending the invitation to her this evening.”

  Turner glanced admiringly at Nicole. “Mr. Rawlings, I’d have been disappointed in you if you hadn’t taken the opportunity to promote our central California traditions. Ms. Bentley, you’re most welcome.”

  “Thank you, Senator,” Nicole replied. “It really is lovely outside this evening.”

  “Senator,” Dan said, “how can I be of assistance?”

  “All in good time, my boy, all in good time. This is an evening for enjoyment, and I merely wanted you to catch the flavor, or perhaps the fervor, of our local residents. We’re all staunchly supportive of the movement, you know,” Turner said, glancing around the rapidly filling stadium. “Notice anything unusual, Dan?”