False Flag

by Bobby Akart

  You pompous fuck! Why don’t I just kick you in the nuts instead!

  “But of course, Governor,” said Brad, gritting his teeth. Former First Lieutenant, now honorary Captain, Chin Gibson was smiling. “Well, Captain Gibson, I will get you those bars forthwith.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Captain Gibson, saluting his colonel. Then Gibson, inappropriately, but for effect, saluted O’Brien. “And thank you, Governor, for the confidence you have placed in me. I look forward to training these men and molding them into the leaders you envision.”

  O’Brien returned the salute. Brad could tell that he was hooked on the attention.

  “After training today, Captain, you will escort me back to my offices,” said O’Brien. Addressing Brad, he used the incorrect designation and said, “Commander, I want you to assign your best men to Captain Gibson to act as my protective detail. Is that understood?”

  “It is, Governor,” replied Brad. “I’ll handpick them myself.” You can count on it.

  “Sir, if there is nothing further, I’ll gather the men and we’ll get started,” said Gibson. He left as O’Brien and Brad turned their attention to an approaching Pearson.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” announced Pearson as he joined them. “I wanted to attend the first day of training to make myself available to you, Governor.”

  Brad stood silently, attempting to avoid conversation with Pearson. Brad sensed that Pearson was always probing him, trying to determine Brad’s intentions.

  “I have some interesting news for you both from the Western White House,” started Pearson.

  “Is this something that I should have been made aware of through more direct channels?” asked O’Brien. “As governor, I shouldn’t receive information second hand.”

  Pearson shifted uneasily and Brad watched the power struggle between the two men. Brad planned to drive a wedge between these two and ultimately create a rift of distrust.

  “I’ve been told by a friend in Hawaii that the President has asked the United Nations to increase its presence here and in Mexico,” said Pearson. “The U.N. has amassed troops along the Texas-Mexico border as a show of force.”

  “Are they going to invade Texas?” asked O’Brien.

  Brad became concerned at the thought of this. Texas continued to defy the President by not complying with his executive orders or his authority in general. Governor Abbott easily tripled his Texas State Guard with volunteers. The ranchers had a sizable contingent assisting them in closing the borders with neighboring states.

  “It’s a possibility,” replied Pearson. “Abbott’s activities, and those who agree with him, are un-American. There are people in need around this country, and Texas refuses to share their good fortune. The President addressed an emergency session of the United Nations General Assembly by satellite. He asked for, and received, a resolution calling on Governor Abbott and the people of Texas to cease all hostilities against the United States. They were instructed to stand down as U.N. peacekeeping and humanitarian forces entered the state for the purposes of gathering food and supplies for the rest of America.”

  “It’s about time!” exclaimed O’Brien. “Why should Texas have it easy? Abbott’s pretty selfish, in my opinion.”

  Brad shifted uneasily on his feet. He wanted no part of this conversation. He’d already expressed his opinion in front of Pearson too many times in the past. He needed to tone it down, or they would use it against him.

  “The President agrees with you, Governor,” said Pearson. “They’re calling the border with Mexico, which follows the path of the Rio Grande River, the blue line.”

  “Why not the red line?” asked Brad. “Doesn’t the President refer to crossing the red line as a point of no return, like drawing a line in the sand?” You know, like the red line he establishes and then quickly ignores once it’s crossed.

  “The blue line is a media term,” answered Pearson. “It refers to the fact that the United Nation’s colors are blue.”

  “Makes sense,” muttered Brad.

  Pearson continued. “The U.N. is determined to keep the borders open between Mexico and the U.S. per the President’s instructions,” said Pearson. “The U.N. has pledged its willingness to move into the U.S. in any capacity deemed necessary by the President.”

  “Do you mean an occupation of America?” asked Brad, unable to contain himself. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves.” Pearson and O’Brien exchanged a glance. Fuck, they baited me into a reaction.

  “Colonel, it appears there have been mass defections across the country by our soldiers and law enforcement personnel,” said Pearson. “Apparently, they felt it was important to put their needs ahead of their country.”

  “Have you had defections?” asked O’Brien.

  “We have experienced soldiers leaving,” replied Brad. “That is a real problem. I’ve heard this from other base commanders around the country.”

  “So, you would agree that a United Nations presence is necessary to keep the peace, since our military is depleted or otherwise occupied,” stated Pearson.

  This guy sounds like a damn lawyer. “That’s not up to me,” replied Brad. “First Battalion, 25th Regiment stands ready to help our country get back on its feet. We’re ready to do whatever it takes.” Even if it means taking you two down.

  Chapter 14

  Monday, September 12, 2016

  6:00 p.m.

  Citizen Corps Region I, Office of the Governor

  99 High Street

  Boston, Massachusetts

  As newly ordained Captain Gibson entered the conference room at 99 High Street, he found O’Brien pacing the floor. He took Brad’s advice to heart and tried not to come on too strong with his governor, but the opportunity to gain his confidence worked out perfectly. O’Brien and Pearson watched the training exercises most of the day before getting bored. Captain Gibson had no intention of creating leaders out of the band of thieves designated the Citizen Corps enforcement team. In fact, the physical aspect of the training today made them look more foolish than like leaders.

  This was Gibson’s first opportunity to be alone with O’Brien and Pearson. He would have to tread lightly to further gain their trust.

  Pearson announced himself as he entered the room. “Great training day, don’t you think, Governor?”

  Good start.

  O’Brien pulled up a chair at the end of the table and crushed the cushion as he sat. “I thought so too, Pearson,” he replied. “Captain, you seemed to work them pretty hard at times. These men aren’t soldiers, they’re leaders. I need them to understand tactics, not how to run through an obstacle course.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” said Gibson. “The training schedule for the week will be progressive in nature, sir. I’m trying to take a twelve-week basic-training matrix and condense it into a week or so. Certain aspects can be eliminated, but they’ll be ready when I’m done with them.”

  “How long?” asked O’Brien. He motioned for Pearson and Gibson to sit. “When will they be ready?”

  “I think I can have them ready by Monday to perform basic law enforcement functions,” replied Gibson. “You refer to them as team leaders. May I assume that they will have subordinates under their command? And will they require similar training, sir?”

  “I need them ready by the end of the day Thursday,” said O’Brien.

  “Ready for what, may I ask, sir?” asked Gibson.

  “Ready to do the President’s business, that’s what!” O’Brien sternly replied. “In case no one has noticed, there is chaos in the streets and I need a fighting force to deal with it. My people!”

  Gibson was taken back by O’Brien’s sudden change in mood. He went from a normal state of mind to a much more volatile attitude. His face showed the sudden shift as well. Even Pearson noticed it.

  “Of course, sir,” said Gibson, trying to pacify the man. “I will accelerate their program. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to focus on?�
�� Gibson was probing, trying to see what the governor had in mind.

  “Arrest procedures, for starters. They need to learn how to quickly gain control of a situation and subdue someone who refuses to cooperate with their demands. I want them to learn advanced interrogation techniques as well. They also need a day of weapons training.”

  “Speaking of weapons, the President is insisting that we try to get all weapons off the street,” said Pearson. “I can provide you some suggestions based upon successes in other jurisdictions.”

  “Let’s hear them,” said O’Brien.

  He was calming down again. Gibson observed these highs and lows in O’Brien’s demeanor. He was an open book. This would make it easier to manipulate him. Gibson had already used the fear-then-relief procedure earlier in the day. By playing on O’Brien’s ego, he was able to elevate his importance while placing an element of fear in the back of O’Brien’s mind. Gibson was able to disarm O’Brien’s defenses, which made him less likely to be mindful or make rational decisions. Gibson had easily manipulated O’Brien into accepting him as head of his security detail.

  Pearson continued. “Two things have helped in this regard. First, the governors are ordering all gun stores and pawnshops to turn over their weapons to the Citizen Corps. This not only removes a large portion of weapons off the street, but it helps arm the newly designated law enforcement personnel in performing their duties.”

  “How the hell does that work? Do we just send them a fucking certified letter?” O’Brien laughed. “What’s the other suggestion?”

  “In my capacity with Federal Protective Services, I am able to gain access to the National Guard armories in your jurisdiction, Governor,” replied Pearson. “This option is a little tricky politically and requires more time to implement. But it is an option for you.”

  O’Brien sat back in his chair as he clearly pondered his options. Gibson didn’t like either one. Arming his band of thieves with a large arsenal was not an option. He needed to buy some time and report this back to the colonel.

  “Sir, may I make a suggestion?” asked Gibson.

  O’Brien didn’t answer, but waved his hands as if to indicate by all means.

  “Organizing a group of men to confiscate weapons from local gun shops would be a fast and effective way to get weapons for your team. We could use them to train as well. I presume that under the President’s Declaration of Martial Law, you are not required to give notice of such activity. Am I correct?” Gibson looked at both Pearson and O’Brien for the response he anticipated.

  “Yes, we can do whatever the fuck we want,” replied O’Brien. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, sir, during tomorrow’s training session, let me handpick four men for this task,” replied Gibson. “I will identify those men who seem to be more advanced than the others. You know, capable of getting the job done, sir.”

  “I like the way you think, Gibson,” said O’Brien. “Then what?”

  “Tomorrow evening, under your authority, sir, this team will go store to store and confiscate every last weapon and box of ammunition,” replied Gibson. His mind was reeling. He needed to get Pearson involved somehow. “If Mr. Pearson doesn’t mind assisting, he could work with the men tomorrow afternoon at Camp Curtis Guild and prepare a list of stores for the first night’s work.”

  “Sure, I’d be glad to help,” said Pearson. “I just need to know where to start.”

  Gibson stood and walked over to a telephone table. He found the yellow pages and thumbed through to the gun shops. “Just a suggestion, but you could hit them geographically,” he said. “Maybe hit the stores north of the Charles after training tomorrow. On Wednesday, hit the stores west of the city, and so on.”

  “Okay, I like Gibson’s plan,” said O’Brien. “Now, what about the armories?”

  “It will take me several days to gather the keys to the vault, as they say,” replied Pearson. “But I should have everything in place by Friday.”

  By O’Brien accepting Gibson’s suggestion for confiscating the weapons from gun stores, he now accomplished the foot-in-the-door method of manipulation. He’d offered an easy solution to the problem, which was quickly accepted by both Pearson and O’Brien. Now he would manipulate them into following his lead on the real request—access to the armories.

  “With respect to the armories, if Mr. Pearson wouldn’t mind working with me directly, I have a couple of ideas,” said Gibson. This was Gibson’s chance to gain control of this situation and set up Pearson at the same time. “Of course, I will have to accelerate the training of the men,” started Gibson. “It’s not ideal, but they are fast learners.” Gibson had command of the room.

  “I’m listening,” said O’Brien as he lit up a cigar.

  Gibson continued. “Let’s face it, gentlemen, we’re raiding the armories of the Massachusetts National Guard. This will be a shock to the system in that a clear message is being sent to state and local politicians—Governor O’Brien is the man in charge now.”

  O’Brien leaned back in his chair and let a huge puff of smoke into the air. He was clearly enjoying this moment. Gibson recalled later that O’Brien resembled Boss Hog from the Dukes of Hazzard.

  “Ironically, there are forty-four armories and support facilities in the commonwealth,” continued Gibson. “Some are remote, and others may not have sufficient assets to warrant our efforts. I believe that Mr. Pearson and I can work together to identify the two dozen most lucrative targets and hit them one by one. We’ll divide the men into two-man teams and assign an armory to each. Mr. Pearson and I will make the rounds opening the facilities, and while they clean out the weapons, we’ll travel to the next location.”

  “I like it, Governor,” said Pearson. “We can do this quickly and efficiently.”

  “When?” asked O’Brien.

  “Here’s what I suggest, Governor,” replied Gibson. “Vehicular and pedestrian traffic drops considerably after dark, sir. Also, we don’t want to throw our activities in the face of local politicians trying to hold onto some semblance of authority. If I may be frank, sir? The political struggles for power between your office and the obsolete local officials need to be fought another day. Our singular focus should be on confiscating these weapons and equipping our teams.”

  “I’m glad you’re on board, Captain Gibson,” said O’Brien. “I’ve always had a knack for picking damn fine personnel.” He took another draw off his cigar.

  Chapter 15

  Monday, September 12, 2016

  8:00 p.m.

  Citizen Corps Region I, Office of the Governor

  99 High Street Rooftop

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Once again, O’Brien found himself alone atop the 99 High Street offices assigned to him by the Citizen Corps. He hated the FEMA offices he’d inherited within the building. They were too simple—typical government bureaucrat cubicles and cheap furniture filled every room. He was the governor of Region I, and his offices should reflect that status.

  This evening would set the tone for the next few weeks in his quest to subdue Boston and create long-lasting alliances. Once that was accomplished, he could spread his influence throughout New England. His new man, Captain Gibson, was a great addition to his team. He was very impressed with the first day of training, although it was focused too much on military protocol. He told Gibson afterwards he needed the training sped up, and he wanted the men to learn interrogation tactics as well.

  O’Brien turned as the stairwell door opened and his first guest appeared, escorted by Marion La Rue. O’Brien sized up his new potential ally, Joaquin Guzman.

  La Mara Salvatrucha, or MS-13, was an international criminal enterprise that originated in Los Angeles. The majority of the gang was comprised of Central Americans, primarily from El Salvador. Known locally for their drug operations, they gained particular notoriety for their illegal immigration and human-smuggling operations.

  In 2005, MS-13 began meeting with al-Qaeda in El Salvador
for the purposes of assisting them with entry into the United States. Boston, in particular, became a port of entry for Islamic terrorists. One of the al-Qaeda operatives who trained the suicide bombers for the attack on the USS Cole was an Eastie, the nickname for those who live in East Boston.

  Guzman had over a thousand hard-core gang members under his control. For decades, the Italian Mafia ran drugs in East Boston, until MS-13 arrived on the scene. Guzman had been deported four times by Immigrations and Customs Enforcement—I.C.E., only to return via their underground smuggling network. His feats were legendary, and the loyalty of his MS-13 soldiers was undeniable.

  As he approached O’Brien, Guzman observed Boston Harbor. He looked nervously around the rooftop, then turned his attention to his host. O’Brien spoke first.

  “My name is Governor O’Brien. I trust that Marion explained to you the purpose of this meeting?”

  “Yeah,” replied Guzman. “Am I the only one here?”

  “For now, but we’re waiting on one more.”

  As the stairwell door opened, Guzman abruptly swung around and felt the back of his waistband for his gun.

  “Here’s our other guest,” said O’Brien. Captain Gibson led a man across the roof through the dark. When the man’s identity was known, Guzman reacted.

  “Yo! What’s that mutherfucker doin’ here? Nobody said nuthin ‘bout that jerk-off bein’ here!”

  “Calm down, Guzman,” said La Rue. “We’re all friends today. This is a meeting that will benefit us all.”

  “Rockwell, I take it you two know each other,” said O’Brien. “Captain, you can leave us now.”

  Gibson moved in to respond. “Sir, these men are notorious gangbangers and murderers,” he said. “The purpose of this meeting is none of my business, and as the head of your security detail, I am sworn to secrecy. But there is no way in hell, sir, pardon my French, that I’ll leave you alone with these two.”