by Henry Hack
“Joe,” Mark said, “Keep things pretty much the same. Boyland with Washington, Webb with Pete W, when he heals up and Lizzy Cassidy with…Nick Faliani.”
“What?” They all exclaimed.
“Oh yeah,” Walt said. “I got a call – an extremely irate call – early this morning from our former member demanding reinstatement. Part of his words were, ‘those motherfuckers killed my partner Alicia, and they’re gonna pay for it!’”
“How long did that crazy Eye-talian go on?” asked John McKee.
“My left ear just stopped bleeding. I want him. I want that slicked-hair, pencil-mustached, foul-mouthed, former first grade detective back here. Do you?”
They all answered loudly with various kinds of affirmation, and for the first time in a long time, there were some smiles in the room.
The details were ironed out within the hour. Harry and Nick would be deputized as special federal agents just as Pop Hunter had been a few years ago. Nick would join the team the next morning after obtaining a leave of absence from his job at Sheldrake Associates and Harry would fly back to D.C. with Walt Kobak right after the President’s speech.
Harry invited Walt to join him and Susan for dinner at Pasqual’s and then return to their apartment for a nightcap to watch the speech. Walt gratefully accepted saying, “It’s good to be back with you, partner. I hope you can help me with this. I need it more than ever now.”
“More than when we took down OBL-911 and I got shot for you?”
“Yes, more than that. More than when we took down the Savior and I got shot for you, remember?”
“Okay, but let’s not get fucking shot again. We’re getting too old for that.”
Which reminded them both of their old friend Pop Hunter, who always claimed to be too old for this shit, and he turned out to be right because the Romens shot and killed him anyway.
Chapter Twenty-One
Once more, millions of Americans were glued to their TV sets in anticipation of what President Nelson’s reaction would be to the previous night’s massacre at Cardinal Cooke High School. He began by asking everyone to say a silent prayer for all those killed and wounded in the attack. When he raised his bowed head, he looked directly into the camera and said, “We have captured a dozen of the Minutemen involved in the attack, including the attack leader, and I am confident that the information we obtain from them will lead to many arrests and the end of this reign of terror. But time is of the essence as the deadline imposed by the Minutemen is less than a month away. Therefore, I am directing the law enforcement authorities heading this investigation to conclude this case and bring the Minutemen to justice within ten days. If they do not succeed, I am prepared to take further, stronger measures which I will detail at that time. And I will keep my promise that the election will take place as planned. Our democratic process will not be subverted by terrorism. Good night and God Bless America.”
* * *
As the Committee of five watched the President’s image fade, Red Baker’s face took over the screen ready to begin his commentary. Chris Steadman said, “This is bad. I know what Nelson’s going to do ten days from now.”
“You do?” Nick Santucci asked.
“Yes, he’ll declare martial law.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” O’Grady said.
“He has nothing left if law enforcement doesn’t catch us, and I don’t see how they possibly can in that timeframe.”
“I just hope those captured Brothers didn’t pick up on anything from Herman and Jeremy despite their assurances,” O’Grady said.
“Do you think we should move to our alternate headquarters?” Dennis Nolan asked
“Yes,” Chris said. “Tomorrow morning. Who knows what methods they will use on those bikers? We can’t count on them not cracking. Our only hope is that they know nothing. And I changed my mind about going public. We have to let the country know what really happened. Call Baker’s station and tell them to standby for a fax. I’m going to send him a similar message that I sent to Phil MacDonald and Harry Cassidy and ask him to read it on the air.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Charles Knorland asked.
“We have to minimize our involvement in the massacre. It won’t stop law enforcement, but it might help the public’s perception of us,” Chris said. “I’ll work on it now.”
Fifteen minutes later Red Baker returned to the air after a few commercials and said, “During the break, I received a fax from the Minutemen somewhat denying their involvement in last night’s carnage. I will read it to you verbatim.”
When he finished Red said, “I can’t vouch for the truth or accuracy of this message, but even if it is true, the Minutemen must know they have to be held responsible for the entire attack. Things have gotten way out of hand and there is seemingly no way to put the genie back in the bottle. And I don’t put much faith in the cops to nab any Minutemen in the next ten days, despite the addition of two veteran terrorist fighters to the New York Task Force. My sources tell me that Harry Cassidy and Nick Faliani have volunteered to come out of retirement and join the fight. The reasons are obvious. Cassidy’s daughter, Elizabeth, is an FBI agent who was wounded during the attack, and Faliani’s former Task Force partner, FBI Agent Alicia Johnson, was killed during the attack. Both men are good, tough cops, a compliment I rarely hand out. But this may be too little, too late. I predict ten days will pass and we will all be watching the President on TV again to see what he has up his sleeve – if anything. That’s all for tonight. Red Baker signing off.”
“Dammit!” Chris Steadman said, pounding his fist on the table. “Cassidy’s in the fight! What bad luck that his daughter was injured.”
“You worry too much about this guy,” O’Grady said. “He’s not superman, you know.”
“But he’s been to our meetings. He knows a lot about us and about the Reverend Phineas. He knows….”
O’Grady smiled and put a comforting hand on Steadman’s shoulder. He said, “Chris, think about it. Cassidy really knows nothing. Let’s start packing for our move tomorrow.”
* * *
“Okay,” Walt Kobak said. “We have ten days. Let’s have some thoughts here.”
“We need a fucking break,” Nick Faliani said.
That comment brought a smile to the older members of the Task Force who fondly remembered Nick’s favorite response to his boss’s questions. And, every so often, a break did come their way, but none seemed forthcoming right now.
“We sure do,” Danny Boyland said. “Do we have any info from the CIA yet?”
“Not yet,” Walt said. “I’m going to fly back to D.C. in a few hours and check things out.”
Harry Cassidy said, “I may have some information on the Committee of five who run the Minutemen.”
All the Task Force members seated around the conference table turned to give their full attention to their former leader. Walt Kobak, who Harry had already confided in previously said unnecessarily, “Please give Harry your full attention.”
It took him twenty minutes to detail his meetings with the Committee and what he knew about the Minutemen. When he finished he said, “Questions?”
“Only about a hundred,” George Washington said, “but why are we sitting here and not out tracking them down?”
“We don’t know where they are, and we really don’t know who they are,” Kobak said.
“But Harry just named them,” Joe Ramos said.
“Indeed I did, but our data specialists have so far come up empty, and I think that will be the end result. There is no person named Christopher Steadman who was a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps. There is no James O’Grady who was a colonel in the Marine Corps. There exists no Dennis Nolan, Nicholas Santucci or Charles Knorland, who could be linked to the Committee. Chris Steadman’s family did not own a business in California. His whole life story is a fabrication. He basically does not exist. I was duped, and too stupid to know I was duped. In hindsight, why would the Committee divulge the
ir real names and backgrounds? They are addressing an audience of supporters, including me, any of whom could drop a dime on them and blow them out of the water. How could I have been so gullible?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Lizzy said. She got off her chair and grabbed a crutch to steady herself. “Sorry, left cheek still hurts. It feels like they left a piece of shrapnel in there. But Dad, even though I read all the material you gave me can you tell us why you thought – or maybe still think – that the Minutemen are the solution to the problems in America?”
“A long one-on-one discussion with the charismatic Christopher Steadman, that’s what. He mesmerized me with his arguments, philosophy and explanation of historical events and possible future occurrences. He convinced me that his way was the only way to save America.”
“And you are still convinced?” Joe Ramos asked.
Harry looked around the table, drew in a breath and said, “Yes.” He then raised his hand to stop any comments and said, “But that’s not for me – or the Minutemen – to decide. My argument to Chris was that we live in a democracy and it is up to the people to decide what’s in their best interests. If the people want to vote themselves out of existence and into the dustbin of history, so be it. We’ve existed for almost 250 years as a great nation. If our time is now over, it’s over.”
“So Steadman feels this upcoming election is the crucial one?” George Washington asked. “And if the liberals win a big majority, we would end up a socialist state?”
“Yes,” Harry said, “and he felt the Minutemen were the last best hope to save America. He cited the Founding Fathers to back up his reasons and to justify a second American revolution. I read all his backup literature. As I said, he was very convincing.”
“Sounds like our old pal from the Romen Society – the Savior,” Spider said.
“Very similar. Both convinced of the rightness of their cause. Both charismatic leaders with devoted followers. And both with those eyes – the eyes of a true believer. But the Savior’s eyes burned bright with fanaticism. Chris’s eyes glowed with absolute certainty.”
“Philosophy and personal beliefs aside,” Kobak said, “are we all agreed that we here are sworn to preserve our constitution and nation?”
They all affirmed their agreement and Walt said, “Okay, we go after the Minutemen and let the chips fall where they may on Election Day. As I asked before, any suggestions?”
“Yes,” Harry said, “The Revered Alton Phineas was at one of Steadman’s meetings. He is no doubt a Minuteman supporter, and I know he made his compound available to them for a meeting. I’d like to fly out there with Danny and George who also met the Reverend during the Romens’ investigation. Maybe he’ll tell us something. And before I leave get a sketch artist over to my apartment, and we’ll work up some composite pictures of the five Committee members to get out there to everybody.”
“And if the reverend doesn’t tell you anything?” Walt asked. “Will you transport him, with or without his consent, to the CIA in Washington?”
“If we are all convinced he’s holding back, I’ll bring him there myself.”
“Okay, get your tickets to Denver and keep me, Joe Ramos and Mark Negron informed of your results. I’m going back to D.C.”
* * *
Harry called the Reverend Phineas when they were two minutes away from the front gate of his compound – just in case the wily old churchman had flight on his mind. But Phineas merely said, “Harry! I’ve been expecting to hear from you – or someone like you. You are welcome to my home and church.”
The Reverend greeted his guests as they exited their rented vehicle saying, “Agents Washington and Boyland, if I remember correctly?”
“Good memory, Reverend,” George said shaking Phineas’ outstretched hand.
“Yes, yes, that was a bit of unpleasant business with the Apostle and those Romens,” he said. “Yes, indeed.”
“And now we have some more unpleasant business it seems,” Harry said. “Can we talk?”
“Come in and sit down. We’ll get some snacks and drinks and talk as long as you want.”
And talk they did – for hours. And it seemed that Alton Phineas had the same reasoning and conclusions that Harry had – philosophically he agreed with the Minutemen, but after the bloodshed at Cardinal Cooke High School, he felt the election should occur and whoever the people voted for was their choice.
“You seem pretty safe and secure out here in Wyoming, though,” Danny said.
“Yes, we are self-sufficient. We have two senators and one congressman who are staunch Conservative Republicans. Our governor and state legislature are likewise. We are happy, law-abiding, God-fearing people who want no part of the liberal establishment on the coasts.”
“I hope it lasts for you that way,” George said.
“It won’t – according to Chris. He told me that if the liberals win the next election in a big way, they would eventually target us and other conservative states as well.”
“Target? How so?” Danny asked.
“Literally, target – with drones and hellfire missiles raining down on us.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?” Harry asked.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Phineas replied. “He painted such a realistic picture that….well that was one of the reasons I supported him.”
Harry sensed the philosophical chit-chat could now be interrupted with some pointed questions and a glance at Danny and George told him they agreed. “Reverend,” he said, “I believe, despite this highly invigorating and thought-provoking discussion…”
“Yes Harry, you want to know if I know where Chris Steadman is, correct?”
“Correct. Chris and his four Committee members.”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t the foggiest idea. Other than that one occasion where I let them use the compound for a meeting – you were there, Harry – he has never set foot here again. But I sense he is not too far away.”
“Oh?”
“I could be wrong, but the logistics surrounding the meeting, and his comments about the countryside, led me to believe his headquarters was not that far distant. Ten miles? Twenty miles?”
“Can you remember anything else that may help us locate him?” George asked.
“Not off hand, but surely your computer research….”
“Has come up empty. Christopher Steadman does not exist, nor do his Committee members.”
The shock on the Reverend’s face was real, but then it softened and he said, “Of course! How could they not hide their true identities from so large a group? Suppose one of them…?”
“Was a rat. Or a law enforcement informant. Or a guy like me,” Harry said.
“Precisely. But what do you do now?”
“Since I’m sure we all believe you, that you know nothing of the whereabouts of the Minutemen, we have no clue whatsoever.”
“What do you think the Minutemen will do now?”
“Nothing. With the last round of political defections, it appears as if they’ve already won. With limited opponents, if the election goes off as scheduled, the Conservatives will win a landslide majority.”
“Will President Nelson allow that to happen?”
“Good question. If we arrest the Minutemen, the threat is over and Nelson will persuade all the drop-outs to re-enter their races. And the Democrats will insert liberal candidates into those slots left vacant by the murders.”
“And if you don’t arrest them in time?”
“We’ll have to wait and see what the President has up his sleeve,” Danny said.
“Chris told me what he feared most,” Phineas said. “Other than you Harry, Chris feared that if they were too successful, President Nelson would have no choice but to impose martial law and therefore assume dictatorial powers.”
“That’s crazy,” Danny said.
“Couldn’t happen,” George said.
“That’s what I told Chris,” the Reverend said. “Now, I’m no
t so sure.”
“Then we better get out of here and go catch the Minutemen,” Harry said. “Thank you for your hospitality. Here’s my card. If you think of anything that you may have forgotten, please call me right away.”
“I most certainly will. I must admit, however, that Christopher Steadman, or whoever he really is, had me convinced that he is The One. Not the Messiah, of course, but The One in a secular sense. The One to lead this nation back to its original principles and former greatness. I guess I was mistaken.”
“Maybe not,” Harry said. “Time will tell.”
* * *
That night, back in their hotel rooms in the Denver Marriott, each hoping for a solid few hours sleep before the early morning wake-up call for the flight back to New York, Harry, Danny and George wrestled with their thoughts and beliefs, and the possible outcome of this struggle – America’s struggle for its very existence. Finally, Danny’s Kindle slipped onto the floor, the remote fell from George’s hand as the TV played on, and Harry’s eyes closed, despite the brightness of the bedside lamp.
Harry was jarred awake at 1:33 a.m. by the loud chime of his cell phone. “Sorry to wake you up,” Joe Ramos said. “Stay in Denver. We have something.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harry listened attentively, sitting on the edge of the bed, hotel ballpoint poised over the notepad on the nightstand as Joe began. “The CIA has so far cracked several of the Brothers in White including their leader, William Stutzer. And it seems only Stutzer knew anything of value. He was longtime friends with a guy named Herman Muntz. It was Muntz who hired Stutzer’s band of thugs to help hit the high school. But when Muntz, accompanied by another Minuteman known only by his first name, Jeremy, saw the extensive police presence, they told Stutzer they were calling the attack off. After they left the scene, Stutzer decided to attack anyway.”
“So what Steadman told me and Red Baker was the truth?”