“Got it,” Taya’s voice came over the little earpiece I wore, startling me slightly. It was the first time anyone had said anything and I’d almost forgotten that I wore it. “Offline,” she stated concisely. Even though we were confident that we had good communications security, everyone was still extremely careful about keeping the messages as short as possible to overcome possible tracing efforts.
Rogan pulled a cell phone from the same fanny pack and powered it on. “Hey, I thought we were under a no cell phone order?” I asked in confusion.
“It’s for the drones.”
“Oh…” I should really learn to stop second-guessing Rogan’s motives. The guy has more operational experience in his little finger than I’ll ever have.
I peeked over his shoulder. There were two numbers on the screen and he selected one of them. A second later, the bottom of a concrete barrier came into view. Rogan manipulated the phone, moving it this way and that until the drone had turned right-side up. Then he elevated the device and the drone lifted off straight into the air.
In the drone’s camera, we could see the crowd. The front rows were down, held in place by the massive amount of water spraying against them as the water cannon swept back and forth. Further back, people pressed forward, not allowing those under the onslaught in the front to leave. It was typical of a large crowd as those in the back either wanted to see what was happening—or they wanted to stay in the back.
Rogan rotated the little drone toward the Texas State Capitol building. As he did so, the line of state and federal officers came into view, stretching all the way to the far end of the fence line. The drone rotated further until the tanker truck with the water cannon came into view. There were three officers on top manning the weapon.
“Watch this,” Rogan grunted.
The drone sped toward the water cannon and thunked audibly against the base of the cannon. Then the camera started flashing red as he activated a set of lights on the drone’s body to give the officers a warning. I could see boots scrambling away from the camera’s view, then the camera blinked off.
Nearly simultaneously, a loud explosion came from the direction of the crowd. The chants and shouts of indignation against the officers for spraying the protestors with high-pressure water turned to screams of terror.
I peeked around the corner of the building we hid behind. In the distance I could see a bright fire burning on top of the water cannon vehicle. It would likely put itself out soon because of all the water in the tank, but for now, it was lit up like a beacon across the way. I tried to make out the water cannon’s condition, but it was much too far for me to see. Plus, people were already streaming away from the scene. That explosion had been much louder and obviously different than the flash bang grenades the cops had used throughout the night to disperse the crowd.
By the time I turned around, Rogan already had the second drone up. “We’re about to have company,” I said.
He looked at me and asked, “Protestors or cops?”
“Protestors,” I confirmed.
He didn’t acknowledge the statement and turned back to the cell phone. I maneuvered myself for a better view.
On the screen, he flew the second drone close enough to the water truck to see that the cannon was a twisted, mangled hunk of metal. The fire was already starting to go out as water from inside the tank sprayed up in a fountain overhead.
“Mission accomplished,” Rogan stated. “I had two of those in case the first didn’t do the job. Suggestion for a secondary target?”
I thought quickly. The Capitol was right there, we could hit that, but wouldn’t that make us no better than a bunch of anarchist thugs? It would be akin to all the revisionist assholes who tore down statues because it was concrete evidence of truths that had happened in the past and demanded that all references to the old Confederate flag be removed, even from museums and history books.
“I mean, we’re right by the Capitol…” I trailed off, not happy with the suggestion. Then, I looked up. Across the way was a tall, glass-faced building. “CEA,” I declared.
Rogan’s hand dropped to his hip and he started to pull the pistol from under his shirt. “No,” I said, putting a hand on his arm. I pointed at the large building, standing in stark defiance against all that was well and good in this world. “The CEA field office headquarters,” I clarified.
“Yup,” he rumbled.
He manipulated the cell phone and the drone sped away from the chaotic scene at the first explosion site. I stared hard into the night air in the direction of the Capitol. I couldn’t see the little drone speeding toward its target or hear the whir of the rotor blades over the roar of the fleeing crowd, but I knew it was on its way.
The explosion took me by surprise. I’d still been looking over the crowd while Rogan had already passed them and made it to the CEA building.
My eyes darted upward to where a fireball was already in the process of collapsing upon itself. Ragged shards of glass flew outward in all directions and I hoped that none of the larger chunks fell into the crowds pressed against the fences surrounding the building. The Texas State Capitol had been the subject of tonight’s protest, but the proximity of the CEA building had meant that people were everywhere, including up against the barricades around my old employer.
Security guards inside the perimeter scattered as the first of the glass and a few larger items of unknown design fell amongst them. Hundreds of pieces of burning paper drifted downward on the wind, creating a magnificent light show against the intact windows of the building’s lower floors.
Rogan hit me hard on the shoulder. “Time to go. You can watch the footage on the news.”
I turned and followed the man who was so intimately involved in every aspect of the Revolution here in Austin. We sped down an alley and then turned south on Red River. Jogging a block over, we joined the press of bodies as people fled the scene of the incidents. In another few blocks, we slipped from the crowd down another alley, then walked quickly for nine blocks to where we had a car waiting for us.
We drove way out into West Lake Hills and switched vehicles. Then south over near Zilker Park where I’d often gone with Cassandra before the Crud’s quarantine order. It seemed like a lifetime ago and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for the simpler days of the past. There was even a little bit of guilt that snuck in there since I’d been a part of the NAR for over a year.
We ditched the second car and got into an old farm truck that probably had less electronics in it than a regular, old cell phone. I was silent on the trip as we negotiated the city’s streets, getting updates from Taya over the earpiece. She was still acting as our team’s overwatch, informing us where to avoid as to keep away from any police presence.
When we pulled up to Beth’s house, I breathed a sigh of relief. Rogan had gotten us in and out of the most heavily-guarded area in the city. The dude was rock solid and I was glad he was on our side.
Of course, that made me wonder how many were just like him, except they were loyal to the NAR. They could be sneaking around in the dark, observing us even now…
TWENTY
I stared in surprise at Chris Plummer. The man had clearly gone through some hard times. I hadn’t seen my friend in probably six months, maybe a little more. He was still very large, but he was no longer massive like he had been before. His barrel chest pressed against his shirt and his biceps stretched the fabric of his sleeves to the point of ripping. Still, he looked…deflated. There was no other way to say it. Being the leader of an organization actively attempting to overthrow the government was taking its toll on him.
The big man shook my hand, there was a large grin on his face. “You look a might bit better than when I saw you the last time,” he laughed.
“Being beaten by a bunch of fascist dickwads and made to piss and shit on yourself will do that.” He frowned. Oh yeah, I reminded myself. Plummer was known to use profanity occasionally in stressful situations, but he didn’t rea
lly like it.
“How’s your wife?”
“She’s good. We’re settled in at a sympathizer’s house.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I heard that.” He held up his large hands, palms facing me. “I don’t need to know where you are. You know, keeping the cells separate and all that stuff they taught us about at the CEA ATC.”
I grunted. The CEA Assessment and Training Course was the first time I’d been exposed to some of the inner workings of our new administration. I hadn’t liked it then and I sure as shit hated it now that I knew even more. The agency was rotten through and through. I was ashamed that I’d been a part of it for so long and that it had taken such an extreme measure to make me leave.
“Got it,” I nodded.
“So long as you guys are okay, then that’s all.” His face softened and he said, “I heard about your parents and what happened to your brother. I’m sorry, buddy.”
I shrugged helplessly. The gesture wasn’t meant to be a sign of indifference, but what else could I do? “They’re in a better place right now,” I said. “I just want to make sure the NAR doesn’t make any more orphans.”
Chris smiled. “That’s my boy—and that’s why I wanted to talk to you. Rogan got called out east to help with something big, but he told me about your idea to kidnap Goodman. He’s not on board with it, but I think it’s solid. I’ve wanted to take that…that woman down since we started this whole thing. Given her connections with Senator Bradley, arresting her might be pivotal in taking the Revolution to the next level and getting the cronies to come out from their hidey holes. What’s your plan?”
“Um…” In truth, I hadn’t put together a full plan. “It’s more in the conceptual phase right now.”
“Okay, so are you thinking about attempting it while she’s at the office—not recommended, by the way—or at home? What about while she’s traveling to her house? What type of resources do you need?”
“I, uh—”
“So, I had somebody brainstorm on your idea. They think the best thing to do is to ambush her vehicle while she’s headed to or from work. It would take about four or five guys, plus at least three vehicles. I think—”
“No,” I stated flatly. “Too many moving parts. Rogan always tells me that the more complex the plan, the easier it is for something to go wrong. That includes having more people involved.” I was thinking as I talked, which is almost never a good thing for me. “Grabbing her while she’s at her house is the best bet. I would only need Taya, or some other cyber whiz to cut the feeds or duplicate false ones, and a second person, one who can drive the vehicle. They drop me off, circle the block and come back once I have her. She lives alone, so minus whatever weapons she could get to, it should be okay.”
“Getting into a firefight wouldn’t be ideal if you’re trying to keep it quiet. Only about a quarter of Patriot Estates residents have left, so there are a whole lot of loyalists staying put.”
“Are they loyalists or are they just afraid of becoming a criminal if this all goes south?”
He stared balefully at me for a moment before saying, “This isn’t gonna go south, Bodhi. We are in the right, here.”
“I believe that too, but how many times have we seen people who are one hundred percent in the right take on the government and come out losers?”
“That won’t be us.” He clapped his hands together and said, “We have a bunch of the university’s top scientists assisting us on the down low,” Chris said. “I bet they could create a gas to flood Goodman’s house with that would knock her out or something.”
“You mean like chloroform?”
He grunted. “Maybe? I don’t know, man. Let me pose the question and ask about what they think we could do. These are the twenty-pound brain guys, real nerds who want to be allowed to conduct their own research instead of what the government tells them to do. If there’s a way to develop something like that, then they’ll have an idea.”
“It would certainly make things easier if she were just passed out instead of trying to sneak in and use the element of surprise to get her,” I agreed.
“Good, then it’s settled. We’ll table that discussion until the UT nerds can tell us what they can do. In the meantime, I have another mission that I need you to do.”
I ducked my chin. “Sure thing, Chris. What’s up?”
“I think it’s time we invited some folks to come back home.”
“Huh?”
He pointed over to a table that held a large map. “Come on over here, we need to discuss a few things.”
I held my hands in the air to show that I was unarmed and meant the group no harm. The nearest guys eyed me cautiously, but no one made a move for a weapon as far as I could tell.
“My name is Andrew Ortelli,” I called out, lying about my first name and using my wife’s maiden name as my own. I was aware of the very large reward that the CEA had on my head, so there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to reveal my true identity to these guys. Three million dollars is enough to make anyone turn informant, but that much money to someone in this community would be astronomical.
“We ain’t got no room for any more people,” one man said, gesturing around the small collection of ragged tents, broken sunshades, and blankets stretched between trees. “Go find some other camp.”
They did look like they were at capacity in the camp. There was so much junk in the small clearing that it was difficult to see where one little personal patch of ground ended and another began. There were folding chairs, old suitcases, random office furniture, and a wide assortment of other household crap that they’d either brought with them or accumulated in the year-and-a-half that they’d been out here. Half-naked kids ran around the encampment following cleared spaces through all the stuff. Just being in such close proximity to it all made my skin crawl.
“That’s not why I’m here,” I said. “I represent an organization that wants to bring everyone back home, to Austin.”
“Austin?” someone else grumbled. “Why the hell would we want to go back there?”
“Food, for starters. Shelter, for another,” I said as I pointed to one of the makeshift tents. “I mean, a parking garage is a whole lot better at keeping out the rain than a blanket.”
“They passed a law,” a woman’s voice came from behind a clump of trees. “It’s illegal for us to be there.”
I dropped my hands, feeling a little foolish. Damn Chris and his plan to invite the homeless back to Austin. He thought that they’d come back to the city willingly. That’s not the feeling I was getting right now.
“That’s true,” I said, “but that law was passed by an illegitimate government. There’s a revolution going on right now to take back our nation. Part of it involves just changing things back to the way they were before the NAR stole power from the old government.”
“Bullshit,” a man yelled. “Why do you really want homeless people back in Austin? We ain’t no better than trash in your eyes, so why do you want trash back on your streets?”
I sighed. They’d seen through my half-hearted attempt to just convince them to return to the city. “We think bringing you back will be good for negative media coverage. Getting rid of the homeless is one of the only quote-unquote ‘good’ things that the NAR has done for Austin. Eighty percent of the city’s population is on the sidelines and not participating in the protests because they’re scared of the government. Bringing back the homeless will show them how thin the government’s control really is. Hopefully seeing that truth will galvanize them into action to stand up against the NAR.”
I took a deep breath. I’d rehearsed that part, but it had sounded much better in my head than it did now that I was delivering the message in person.
“So, you want to use us as bait?” A chorus of grumbles and jeers erupted from the small crowd. This wasn’t going so well. I’d envisioned them jumping at the opportunity to return to the city.
“No. We don’t want to use you as bait. It’s—�
�
“I ain’t being used as some pawn in y’alls’ game,” the same man from before stated. “Count me out. I’m staying right here where there are plenty of rabbits, chickens, and the garden is almost ready to harvest.”
More people agreed with him. He appeared to hold sway over most of the group. “Sir, please. I can—”
He sliced a hand across the air. “Nope. We ain’t going back to the city. Them government men might not have been nice about roundin’ us up and dumping us off out here, but they gave us seeds, chickens for eggs, snares to catch rabbits, pots and pans, and they come by every couple of weeks with a whole truckload of emergency rations. Beats digging through the trash for somebody’s half-eaten sandwich. We ain’t ever had it so good. We’re staying here.”
I glanced around the group and was met with nods of affirmation. They were happy enough out here that they didn’t want to go back and deal with the hassle of life on the streets. I couldn’t fault them for it.
“Okay. Do you know the way to the next camp?” I asked.
“Yeah. You take your city-slicker ass up that way,” a different guy said, pointing down a worn dirt path leading off into a thicket of cedar trees. “It’s about a mile or so. They ain’t gonna want to go with you neither.”
I thanked everyone and followed the trail to the next camp, which was in a similar state as this one. And then I went to the next encampment, and the next.
In the end, I had about twenty people who said they’d return to the city. There had to have been close to three or four thousand homeless in Austin when they were rounded up and kicked out. Those weren’t good odds.
I assured the residents that there would be a bus sitting at the nearest highway overpass the next day to take them back to the city and then made my way back to the car I’d driven up here. Chris had a hundred busses on standby, ready to go. We’d have to turn those off. I’d been a miserable failure at convincing these people to leave. It had been a decent plan, but my heart really wasn’t in it. In my eyes, cleaning up the homeless population and taking down their settlements that had overtaken parking lots and sidewalks was about the only good thing that the NAR had done. Bringing them back to the city was not high on my to-do list, regardless of what Chris thought.
American Dreams | Book 2 | The Ascent Page 14