“What happens now?” Ann asked.
“I don’t know,” Ron admitted. “We let the genie out of the bottle, from now on what happens is up to the genie.”
Muslimabad (formerly Washington, D.C.)
“How could something like this happen?” Ohmshidi asked. “For the last week there have been thousands of students all across the country showing up for school, men and women, dressed in burkas, and blocking the entrances to the academic buildings. After the first day you said it would go away, but it hasn’t. It’s gotten larger. What started as a few hundred has grown into tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of protesters!”
“It is bound to go away, Glorious Leader,” National Leader Franken said. “These kind of movements feed upon publicity. And because we control the press, not one word of these incidents has been printed, or discussed. It’s as if it never happened.”
“But it has happened,” Ohmshidi said angrily. “And I want it stopped. That is, if you can stop it.”
“Oh, I can stop it, Glorious Leader. But it will require action of the harshest kind.”
“I don’t care how you do it. I just want this movement stopped.”
“Yes, Glorious Leader,” Franken said.
After leaving the Oval Office, Franken called in several of his advisors to discuss the situation with them.
“How did they manage to coordinate it so that everyone knew when to gather and what to do?” Franken asked.
“Oh, we know how that happened, National Leader,” Clint Waters, the chief of SPS security said. “A blast e-mail was sent out, going to hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of students.”
“Where did the e-mail come from?”
“We haven’t been able to track it back to its source, but we are on the net now so, when another one comes out, we will know about it.”
Franken drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. “Can we do something more than just know about it?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Can we send one out to the same people?”
Waters nodded. “Yes, we can. And I think I know where you are going with this. We can monitor the e-mails and next time one comes out, we can send one right afterward, admonishing them against the meeting.”
“No,” Franken said.
“No?”
Franken smiled. “I want to send an e-mail out, organizing another demonstration. Only this time we will have our men there ahead of time, and when they arrive and start their demonstration, we’ll be there.”
“National Leader, if we arrest that many students, where will we put them? There are just too many for us to handle.”
“Who said anything about arresting them?”
“Well, if we don’t arrest them, what are we going to . . .” Waters stopped in mid-question, then smiled. “It would send a very strong message to anyone else who might try something like this, wouldn’t it?”
“Do it,” Franken said, standing up, then walking quickly from the room.
Philadelphia
A CALLTO ALL STUDENT REVOLUTIONARIES
If you wish to demonstrate against the government, gather in assembly hall at eight o’clock Monday morning.
“Did you send this, Ron?” Carl asked, showing Jack the e-mail he had printed off.
“No, I didn’t send it,” Ron said.
Carl smiled. “Good! You know what this means then, don’t you? It means that our movement is spreading! Now, others are taking the initiative to organize demonstrations.”
“I suppose so,” Ron said. “But I wish they had coordinated this with us. The only way these demonstrations are going to have any effect is if they are well orchestrated. I mean, look at this. Gather in assembly hall? What assembly hall? And what are they supposed to do when they get there?”
“I don’t know, but I suppose all organizations have growing pains. The SDS, the Weather Underground, even the Vietnam Veterans against the War, all began as independent groups before they began to cooperate for a single goal. I’m told that there was one peace demonstration where 250,000 students came to Washington,” Carl said.
“That’s true,” Ron said. “Well, what do you say we go to Assembly Hall on Monday Morning and see what’s going on?”
“Good idea.”
“Ron,” Ann said Monday morning just before they were ready to leave. “Let’s not go. I’ve got a funny feeling about this.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“A feeling like something isn’t quite right. I don’t think we should go down there.”
“We’ve got to, Ann, don’t you see? We are the ones who started this movement. How would it look if we get cold feet and chickened out now?”
“It’s not the same thing. Like you said, there was no coordination on this. It is haphazard at best. Let’s don’t go down there. It won’t make any difference to the movement whether we go or not. We could just sit this one out and see what happens.”
“I tell you what. You and Sally stay here,” Ron said. “Carl and I will go.”
“No, if you’re going then I’m going as well.”
“No, I’m serious, Ann. Maybe there is something to what you say, maybe this wasn’t as well organized. Maybe the SPS has gotten word of it somehow. If that’s the case, it only makes sense to not commit everyone.”
“I agree with Ron,” Carl said. “Sally, you stay here with Ann.”
After several minutes of arguing about it, Ann and Sally finally decided that they would stay back.
“Be careful,” Ann said. “Don’t leap in right away, sort of hang back until you see what’s going on. Promise?”
“I promise,” Ron said.
When Ron and Carl arrived at the assembly hall, they were pleased to see that there were at least two hundred students there, and they were all standing around, talking excitedly, but with a sense of apprehension as well.
“What’s supposed to happen here?” someone asked. “The message didn’t say what we were supposed to do.”
“Maybe someone will come speak to us,” another suggested.
The confusion grew until it looked as if several were going to leave.
“Talk to them, Ron,” Carl said. “We can’t waste this opportunity.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Ron said. He picked his way through the crowd to the front of the hall, then he climbed up on the stage. Walking to the front, he held his arms up, calling for attention. The conversation quieted.
“Hello,” he said. “My name is Ron McPherson, and I thank you all for coming.”
“What did you call us here for?” somebody shouted. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Well, truth to tell, I didn’t call you here, and I don’t know who did,” Ron said. “I got the same message as you, but I figure that if we are all gathered here, then we may as well take advantage of it.”
Two SPS men, dressed as workmen, were in the utility room of the auditorium. They were each carrying a tool bag and, reaching into the bag, they pulled out gas masks. They said nothing as they pulled on the masks, then donned rubber gloves. One of the two men opened an inspection plate to the ventilating system. The other removed a steel container, unscrewed the lid, then, from the cushioned interior of the container, pulled out a test tube. The tube opening was sealed with a cork and, very carefully, he removed the cork, and held it up to look at the liquid.
“You sure that’s enough?” the man who had opened the inspection plate asked, his voice muffled by the gas mask.
“It’s Sarin. You don’t need much,” the first man said. He poured it into the ventilating duct, and the stream of air atomized it, then pushed it through the duct to the outlet grate. Sarin gas quickly filled the room.
“If we can organize students all across the country, we can . . .” Ron was saying, but suddenly his nose started to run. Embarrassed, he reached up to wipe it and saw that many others in the room were also experiencing a runny nose. Next, he felt a tightness in his chest.
; “What?” someone shouted. “What is happening?”
Ron started having difficulty breathing, then spittle began drooling from his mouth. That was followed almost immediately by vomiting and, even though he was in distress he saw that he wasn’t alone. Everyone in the auditorium was having trouble and many were already down. Ron lost all control of his bodily functions, he began to defecate and urinate at the same time. He tried to call out, but he couldn’t make a sound. Falling to the floor he began to twitch and jerk, then, in a final series of convulsive spasms, he found it impossible to breathe.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER TEN
Muslimabad
Ohmshidi and Franken were in the presidential quarters of the White House, watching a newscast on TV.
The program began with a full screen shot of the new national flag. The words CMN, America Enlightened Truth Television were keyed onto the screen, replaced by the words Obey Ohmshidi, then a reverent voice over intoned the opening lines.
“All praise be to Allah, the merciful. Whomsoever Allah guides there is none to misguide, and whomsoever Allah misguides there is none to guide. You must live your life in accordance with the Moqaddas Sirata, the Holy Path. Those who do will be blessed. Those who do not will be damned.
“You are watching CMN.
“In a series of unrelated incidents today, more than two thousand college students died at several universities when malfunctions of their ventilation systems introduced some sort of unknown toxin into the air supply.
“Officials at all the schools that were involved say that they have looked into the problem and made the necessary adjustments. The purposes of the simultaneous meetings are still unknown, as there were no survivors at any site who could shed light on the incidents.
“There has been some suggestion that these gatherings may have been meeting to protest against the government. If that was the case, then the cause of these accidents can easily be surmised. The accidents were visited upon them by Allah as punishment against those who would turn against the Glorious Leader, President for Life, Mehdi Ohmshidi, may he be blessed by Allah.
“Because of the just punishment of Allah, it is believed that there will be no more of these ill-informed and illegal demonstrations against a righteous government, and the Glorious Leader, President for Life, Mehdi Ohmshidi, may he be blessed by Allah.
“Obey Ohmshidi.”
Ohmshidi picked up the remote and clicked the TV off. He smiled at Franken.
“You did well,” he said. “I think, perhaps, those who would make a demonstration against me will get the message.”
“Thank you, Glorious Leader.”
“Of course there are those people down south to worry about. Where is it? Florida? The people that call themselves Phoenix Rising?”
“It is Alabama, Glorious Leader, and now they are calling themselves United Free America. We are monitoring them closely, but they are so isolated that I think we will see little from them.”
“It isn’t enough merely to keep them isolated, National Leader Franken. I want them destroyed. It is not good to have any element that is so openly in rebellion. If we are to maintain absolute control over the country, then we must be prepared to put down any dissent, wherever it might be.”
“I will find their weakness, Glorious Leader, and when I do, we will exploit that weakness to crush them.”
“Good.” Ohmshidi walked over to the bar and poured two shots of whiskey. Handing one glass to Franken. “Islam and Moqaddas Sirata prohibit the consumption of alcohol,” he said. “Except for the chosen ones,” he added with a smile as he took a drink.
Natchitoches, Louisiana
All up and down Parkway Street lawn sprinklers whispered as they worked, and the little bubbles of water that were clinging to the perfectly manicured grass flashed in prismatic colors. In the driveway of one house a father and son threw a baseball back and forth. Next door to the baseball-tossing father and son was a brick colonial house with four bedrooms and two and half baths. This house, like its neighbors, had a long backyard that ended at the bank of the Cane River. This was the house of John “Stump” Patterson, who, in the pre-O time had been a colonel in the U.S. Army.
Stump was standing in his backyard holding a large fork as he watched four steaks sizzling on the charcoal grill. Stump got his nickname when he played football in high school. During football practice a pulling guard was chastised by the coach for not taking Patterson out.
“Damn, Coach, I’d have more luck knocking over a tree stump,” the young player said. Patterson was stuck with the name Stump, and it had stayed with him. Powerfully built, the onetime linebacker for LSU looked as if he could still put on pads and a helmet, and take the field once more for the purple and gold.
“Kitty!” Stump called into the house. “How are the baked potatoes coming?”
“The potatoes are done,” Kitty said. “So is the salad and bread.”
“Then we are about ready to eat. Have you heard from Arlie and Paula?”
“We’re here, Stump,” Arlie Grant said coming out the back door of the house at that moment. Arlie had been a lawyer in the pre-O time, but only lawyers who were proficient in Sharia Law could practice now, and Arlie refused to learn it.
Stump picked the steaks up one by one, then forked them onto a serving platter where they lay brown and glistening in their own aromatic juices.
Kitty and Paula had set the table on the patio and the four sat down for their meal.
“Damn,” Arlie said as he carved into his steak. “It’s been a long time since I had a steak like this.”
“We wouldn’t have it now if it weren’t for Jimmy Barnes,” Stump replied. “I talked him into butchering and selling me a whole cow.”
“Ha. I’m surprised Barnes would accept Moqaddas as payment.”
“He doesn’t like accepting them any more than I like using them,” Stump said. “But we don’t have any choice.”
“For now,” Arlie said.
Stump was just about to take a bite of his steak, but he put the fork back down and looked across the table at Arlie.
“What do you mean, for now?”
“You’ve heard of United Free America?”
“Yes, who hasn’t? I’ve been following Gregoire on the Internet. What are you getting at, Arlie?”
Arlie pulled a thumb drive from his pocket and showed it to Stump. “After we eat, I want you to take a look this.”
“All right,” Stump said.
Nothing else was mentioned about the thumb drive until after they had finished their meal. Then they went into Stump’s office where Arlie plugged the little memory stick into a USB port, and called it up. On screen was a man, sitting behind a desk, looking into the camera.
“I know him,” Stump said. “That’s Major Lantz. We served together in Germany when I was a captain and he was a lieutenant.”
“I know you know him,” Arlie said. “That’s one reason I came to you.”
“How are we going to hear him if you two don’t stop talking?” Kitty asked.
On screen Lantz began to talk.
“Six weeks from now on the fourth of July, and the choosing of that date is no accident, we are going to hold a convention at the Old Civic Center in Mobile, Alabama. You, by virtue of viewing this video, are being invited to be a part of the delegation from your state.
“It will be our intention to expand upon what we have done with United Free America, to broaden this platform until we have created a completely self-sustaining nation, built upon the same principles that guided the founders of the United States.
“Please make every effort to be here.
“Thank you, and God bless America.”
“Will Louisiana send a delegation?” Stump asked when the video ended.
“Yes, we are definitely sending a delegation.”
“Who all is on the delegation?”
“I’m hoping you will be on it,” Arlie said. “I am being very s
elective as to who I contact. As Jake Lantz says in the video, I have to be very careful and contact only those in whom I have great trust, as well as those who I think will be able to make a valuable contribution. That’s why I’ve come to you.”
“Well, I’m flattered and honored, Arlie, that you would think of me.”
“Will you accept the invitation?”
“Yes, I will. I’m curious though, who else is on the delegation?”
Arlie smiled. “So far, just you,” he said.
Stump laughed. “Just me?”
“Yes. I thought that you might have some suggestions and, between the two of us, we could come up with just the right people.”
“How many do you think?”
“The suggestion is that each state bring a delegation of ten.”
“I wonder how many states are being invited.”
Arlie shook his head. “I don’t know how many have been invited, and of course, I have no idea how many will respond. It could be that when this is all said and done that Louisiana and Alabama will be the only two states to respond.”
“I would hope that Mississippi does as well,” Stump said. “It would be very hard to form a coalition between us and Alabama, if Mississippi is not a part of it.”
“I’m sure they will be,” Arlie replied.
Fort Morgan
Chris was walking on the beach when he saw someone coming toward him. Because Chris, and the person approaching him, were the only two on the beach, Chris went on the alert. He pulled a small pistol, a DB9, from his pocket and held it concealed by his side as he and the approaching walker closed the distance between them.
Then he recognized Bryan Gates. What was Gates doing here?
Chris and Gates had been friends for a long time, but he was pretty sure that Gates knew he was the one who killed Rahimi. Was Gates working for the AIRE government? Was he here on an extreme prejudice mission?
Phoenix Rising: Page 8