Max walked to the microphone first and spoke about his meeting with Chief Flanders, the Chief’s insistence to maintain control of the substation and his reasons why, as well as the support he was providing to that end. Max went on to explain about Homeland Security’s attempt to arrest him, Godfrey’s involvement, and his subsequent escape from Tattoo and Shorty, thanks to Walt and Maureen. At that point, Max surrendered the podium to Louis and Steve, who explained the events leading up to the standoff at the gate and what each of them did.
As the presentation progressed, Max could see the tension in the faces and body language of the people in attendance — frowns, arms crossed, seat shifting, things whispered through tight lips. Some of the couples grabbed hands or leaned into one another. A few just sat stone-faced and staring.
Finally, Max returned to the front and played the recording of his discussion with Godfrey, holding his phone close to the mic. When he was through, he said, “Now you know everything we do, and I’d like to hear your thoughts and questions.”
A man wearing a blue, long-sleeved shirt, stood and said, “Godfrey saying all those things doesn’t make them true. I mean come on, the government destroying everything. For what purpose?”
Phyllis Barns, one of the council members, got to her feet and said, “You don’t think those people in Washington would do something like this? This is exactly what they would do. They make rules. Then they make more rules. And when we let them get away with that, they make even more rules. They think they know how we should live our lives better than we know how to live them. How’s the saying go? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Max said, “Look, I agree we really don’t know if what Godfrey said is true. But it seems true, and the way he told it, seemed truthful. It never made sense to me why they were interested in this place. What Godfrey said, fits. I also spoke to the Chief last night about Godfrey’s story, and he told me he feared something like this and reiterated the need to keep the substation secure and everyone in it safe.”
A man wearing shorts and a tee-shirt followed his hand up. “Okay, look, I understand what you’re trying to do here, it’s a good thing, and the Chief is a good man, but with all that’s happened maybe we should let DHS run things. I mean you gotta admit that it’s out of control out there,” he made a broad stroke with his hand in the air, “and the regular police aren’t able to deal with it. That poor couple, the Briones, they were murdered. We’ve had how many shootings now outside and around this place. And you,” he pointed at Max, “the train being blown up. When it comes right down to it, what’s more important than being safe?”
From somewhere in the room a male voice said, “Yeah, and that’s exactly the kind of thinking that got us in this mess, letting someone else solve our problems because it’s too damn hard for us to deal with them ourselves.”
Phyllis again, only seated this time, said, “And look what happens when we do let them handle things. If the President hadn’t signed all those orders there wouldn’t be resistance groups, there wouldn’t have been the train explosion, and the DHS wouldn’t have all those prisoners to contend with, and things wouldn’t be half as bad as they are now.”
Jessica stepped to the front of the room and said, “Okay, we have plenty of time to hear everyone out, so one at a time, please, and raise your hand so everyone gets a chance.”
“Let me just say something real quick,” Max said. “Nobody is a prisoner here. Any of you, or all of you for that matter, are free to leave, no hard feelings. But as long as there is just one police family that wants protection, I’m staying and doing everything I can to keep DHS out and you safe.”
A tall man with gray hair and wire-framed glasses raised his hand. Jessica pointed to him and he rose to his feet. “I don’t like the government telling me what to do or not to do any more than the rest of you. But if what this man Godfrey says is true, there’s a good chance our only choices will be take up arms against Homeland Security and lose, or surrender without a fight. They have bigger guns and more equipment. I mean either way the outcome will be the same, we lose, they win.”
Frank, who was leaning against the wall about mid-way in the room, pushed off it and said, “That’s not necessarily true.” The heads in front swiveled in his direction. “It all depends on how determined we are. There’re plenty of examples, some very recent, where people rise up against a better organized, trained, and equipped government and, if not flat out win, fight them to a standstill where they can bargain a compromise. And you can bet your ass that not everyone in the DHS will be behind this little plan of theirs, once they find out what it is. They’re Americans just like the rest of us.”
A woman in her mid-twenties with a butterfly tattoo on her wrist raised her hand and was called upon by Jessica. “That’s crazy talk; you’re saying we should paint our faces and go to war against our own government? I’ll bet half the people in this room have never even held a gun, let alone shot one. I know I haven’t.” And then with a smile she added, “Besides, I don’t have the outfit or the shoes for it.”
That got a few chuckles, giving Max another chance to break in. “Look, nobody is saying it’s time to take up arms and march on the Federal Building. For now, our one objective is to keep everyone who’s behind our fence safe and out of the hands of the DHS, so the police department can continue to operate. And there are things we are doing to make sure that happens. That’s in the short term. In the long-term, we’ve got some pretty smart people here who may be able to come up with ways to ensure we stay safe and our Constitution stays intact. It’s not all about guns and bullets. For instance, there’s gotta be other groups like us out there. If one of you Twitter, Facebook, internet gurus can figure out how to contact them, and our council can talk with theirs, well, there is always strength in numbers. Information is another thing that can help. What’s the DHS up to? Anyone know anyone who can tell us?”
Max’s last few comments got several side conversations going that had to be quieted by Jessica.
After things settled down, Max continued, “If anyone comes up with an idea, contact your council member, maybe we can make it happen. Now one more thing, and I’ll shut up. As I said, nobody is a prisoner here, you’re free to come and go if you wish. I would suggest, though, because of what Godfrey said and the general situation out there, you stay put for the next several days. If there’s something you absolutely must do outside the fence, we have vehicles now and several of trained people to escort you to and from. However, even that could be dangerous. That’s all I have.”
“Just to add to that,” Jessica said. “The Fourth of July isn’t that far off. We haven’t heard from the Islamic terrorists in a while. It wouldn’t surprise me if they try something, which ups the risk outside the fence.”
The discussions went on for another twenty minutes, with both sides of the issue being debated, before Jessica called an end to the meeting. That afternoon, five families, a total of seventeen people, packed-up their belongings and left. By the end of the day, they had been replaced with another twenty-seven residents.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Hammers and music, somewhere in the building, woke Max up. He rolled onto his back and turned his head to the left, expecting to see Myra, but she wasn’t there. He checked his watch, 8:35 in the morning. Nine hours. When was the last time that happened, even before all this?
The door opened and Myra backed into the room carrying an industrial grade, stainless steel baking sheet with breakfast balanced on top — coffee, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and honey.
“Breakfast in bed?” he asked.
“It’s a special day.”
Special day? He tried to fake it. Maybe he could figure out what she was talking about with more conversation. “Look at you. I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”
She set the tray down on the bed. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
Shit, caught. I should never have t
o play it off. He smiled and laughed. “Got me. Nope, I have absolutely no idea, but every day with you is special.”
“Oh gawd,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s been an entire week and you haven’t been shot, bombed, or beat-up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without an open wound or stitches somewhere on your body.”
“I know, I know, I’ve been sloughing off. Maybe after breakfast I can muster up a minor flesh wound or something.”
“Perfect, as long as your knees stay healthy.”
“My knees?”
“Hello? Last night …?” She put two fingers to his lips, trailed them down to the point of his chin, took his jaw between her thumb and index finger, and raised it up, before leaning in and kissing him.
He reached out and touched one of her breasts, gawd, she felt good. He started to move his hand up under her arm to pull her to him when she pushed his hand away and said, “Cold scrambled eggs are the worst.”
He closed his eyes, held it, and opened them again. “Yeah, well, let me tell you, there are definitely worse things than just some cold eggs. …When do you work next?” Max asked, still thinking sex.
“I’ve got three days off. Go back on the fourth if there’s anything left to go back to. So pace yourself, buster.”
“Right. Pace myself.” He cleared his throat, put the tray on his lap and added, “Changing the subject, from what I hear, the curfew has helped.”
“A little. Now the average response time is only about forty-five minutes instead of an hour or more. That fifteen minutes doesn’t make much difference, though. We’re still losing people. You want that biscuit?”
Hmm. “What are you willing to trade for it?”
“Gimme the biscuit, eat your breakfast, and then we’ll talk.”
“Oh no. I’ll eat the eggs, we’ll talk, and then I’ll give you the biscuit.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“I’ll show you a hard bargain.”
“Gross.”
Max, wearing his P.D. utility uniform; black leather boots, navy cargo pants, matching shirt with SJPD shoulder patches, cloth badge and cloth nametag, along with nylon web gear, headed toward the arms room for his carbine. He was scheduled for a shift on security. The sworn wearing their uniforms was one of the several recent changes he’d made. Today, he was partnered with Steve’s wife, Beth. It was her first shift on security since the firearms class.
As he approached the communications room he heard laughing and clapping, which caused him to stop and look inside.
Fran, Will, Arnie, and Heidi Leary, a supervising dispatcher and one of the newer residents, were crowded around Will’s son, Seth. He was seated in front of a computer, working away on the keyboard.
“What’s up?” Will asked.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Fran said. “Seth, here,” she patted his shoulder, “just hacked that DHS captain’s email account. Pick a fight with us, will he?”
Max walked into the room and looked over Seth’s shoulder at the screen. “How?”
“Easy,” Seth replied. “I sent him an email saying I was living here and didn’t agree with you keeping the DHS out. I said that I’d help any way I could as long as he didn’t do anything to my family when he eventually took over. To prove I was serious, I attached a couple of generic pictures of the outside of the building. Imbedded in the photos was a key logger program that lets me see what he’s typing, including his passwords. So now we have the password to his email account and can read all his emails.”
“Where did you …I mean how do you know how to do that stuff?”
Seth just shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, did he respond back to you?”
“Yeah. He wanted to know how many people we had living here and how many guns we had.”
“Have you responded to him yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay, let’s think about this a second. First, I suppose it’s not too far-fetched to think he might already have someone in here who is feeding him information, and his question is an attempt to see if you’re legit. Does anyone see a problem with telling him how many people we have here? The way we’re going, it’s a moving target anyway.”
Everyone just kind of stood there shaking their heads. Finally, Will said, “We’ve probably got, what, three hundred and fifty, sixty full-timers, more even …yeah, I think maybe more. That’s a lot of people. I’d think that would be more of a deterrent to his trying something than not. So what would be the problem with telling him?” He turned his palms up. “Nothing, I can see.”
Max nodded his head. “I agree. So let’s do this; find out what the exact number is and give it to him. If he’s got someone else among us giving him intel, that will make him think you’re legit. As far as the guns, though, I think we should be a little vague about that. Any thoughts?”
“How about we tell him something like it’s hard to get an exact count because they’re kept locked up and swapped back and forth, but it seems like there are a lot of them?” Heidi offered. “It’s kinda the truth, isn’t it?”
Max pursed his lips, looked at Seth and said, “Okay, but maybe also ask him if he wants you to try to get a look in the room where they’re kept to give him a better idea. Maybe that will keep him interested in continuing the conversation.”
“Another thing.” Max stepped to the door and closed it. “We gotta keep this tight. Only those in this room right now should know Seth here hacked Calhoun’s account. If there is somebody among us giving Calhoun intel, we damn sure don’t want it getting back to him we’re reading his emails. Everyone in agreement? Not your best friend, not your significant other, nobody?”
Everyone agreed.
Max looked at his watch. “Okay, look, I’d love to sit here and go through Calhoun’s emails with you, but I gotta get out there. If you come up with anything interesting, though, let me know.” He started for the door but stopped and turned back. “This is also a timely warning to all of us. Watch our own communications. He might be doing the same thing to us. Be careful what you say about this, about everything. Face to face is probably the safest. Good job, Seth …again.”
Outside, the air hinted vaguely of wood smoke, though no plume was evident. In the parking lot, where someone had rigged a net and backboard on a light pole, a constant, good natured, back and forth, challenge and insult, could be heard from a three on three basketball game played by five young men and one woman, all wearing tee-shirts and baggy shorts that hung below the knees. Near the front of the building two boys, maybe ten or eleven years-old, had contrived a ramp from scraps of plywood and were doing jumps with their skateboards. Near them, on a small patch of brown lawn under a scrawny tree, three young girls sat in a circle, knees practically touching, playing dolls. And in the distance, a young, dark-haired woman in tank top and lycra, led a half dozen joggers along the perimeter fence, lapping walkers wearing earbuds and pumping their arms in exaggerated strokes. It was the easy routine the residents of the substation had fallen to in the past week of self-imposed confinement. Except for the fence and armed guards, things almost seemed normal.
Around noon, the generators kicked-on, signaling yet another power failure. Nobody seemed to even take notice, though, maybe because it happened so often, or perhaps because Frank had switched things up for lunch. He was barbequing teriyaki something or other near the picnic benches and the line was a constant thirty deep.
About an hour before the end of his shift, Max heard a series of gunshots somewhere in the distance. Within a few minutes a white Acura with custom wheels blew past the front gate with a Dodge Charger hot on its rear bumper. The man in the front passenger seat of the Dodge leaned out the window and fired several shots at the Acura with a handgun. Anna Espinosa, who was manning the front gate barricade, ducked down and pointed her carbine but didn’t fire. Max and Beth jogged to one of the SUVs and drove to the gate where they backed the sand truck away and signaled Anna to open up.
There was little hope of catching up to the chase, they had way too much of a lead on them, but something was definitely going on in the neighborhood and Max wanted to check it out.
They turned left out the gate, in the direction the cars had been travelling, and followed the curve of Great Oaks Boulevard. At Charlotte Drive, they slowed, looked left, and a block and a half away saw the Acura, front-end into a light pole, which rested across its roof. Both the driver and passenger doors were open. Behind the Acura, stopped in the street, was the Dodge. Its doors were open as well.
Max made the left and stepped on the gas. Beth gripped the handle above the door-frame with her right and braced her left against the dash.
Two men in jeans and colored tee-shirts popped-up on the far side of the Acura, looked at the marked SUV coming their way, and ran toward the Dodge. One of the pair got in the driver’s seat. The other only got halfway in the passenger side before standing back up with what looked like an AK47 in his hands and started shooting in Max’s and Beth’s direction.
Max, who was driving, stopped the SUV a little less than a block away, grabbed his carbine, opened his door, and used the V formed by the door and the door frame to rest his weapon on while he fired back. He could hear Beth doing the same, firing a little too fast, but for her first gun battle, making a good account of herself.
The passenger shot until he ran his magazine, thirty seconds at most, his bullets going God knew where, before jumping back in the car, which took off with the rear wheels smoking.
Max and Beth followed suit, with Beth getting on the radio and advising they were in pursuit of armed subjects in a Dodge Charger. Not only did no other officers answer their call for assistance, but they were forced to a stop when it became apparent they had a flat front tire from one of the AK bullets.
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