Election Day: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  * * *

  Colonel Zinnit had his secretary book a flight to Yellowstone Regional Airport for him and one of his agents, Teddy Mallick. He had mulled the situation over and decided to tread carefully with Cassidy – after all, he was a national hero of sorts. He would approach him softly and if his answers were unsatisfactory he would call his boss, the Secretary of Homeland Security, for advice. If the Secretary agreed that Cassidy should be brought to D.C. he would stay in the area with Mallick until more agents arrived. “Betty,” he said, “get me a rental car also.”

  “Okay,” she said. “How many days?”

  “Four should do. Oh, what time is the flight tomorrow?”

  “Ten-fifteen, getting you in around four after two changes.”

  “Tough place to get to, but nice once you’re there,” he said.

  “It should be beautiful there, Colonel. What with all those trees changing color and the cool, mountain air. You should take some hiking boots.”

  He chuckled and said, “You know, that’s not a bad idea. And I’ll call you to let you know when to book our return flight, when I make that determination.”

  * * *

  When Harry returned from the Phineas’s house and explained what he found to Susan she said, “It was probably the IRS that arrested them for the back tax violations.”

  “I disagree. Their letter said he had to the end of the week to pay up.”

  “Maybe they lied.”

  “And maybe Homeland Security is torturing them in D.C. as we speak, and they are telling them all about Harold T. Cassidy and his relationships with the Committee.”

  “What could he tell them that would hurt you?”

  “Susan! I was the go-between for George Washington and Jonathan Bradley. Remember?”

  “Oh, shit. Does Alton know about that?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know. I just don’t know. But he knows of my meetings with the Committee and the conference calls with Phil MacDonald…”

  “Should we run? Get out of here now before they come for us – if they come for us?”

  “I know you think I’m paranoid, but let’s not panic yet despite the fear I know was just in my voice. Let’s play it a bit by ear, but let’s have a basic plan if things go sour.”

  After an hour of hashing things out it was near cocktail time and Harry said, “I could use my martini a little early anyway. How about you?”

  “Sure, but I’m not so sure about the gun. We haven’t shot in a long time.”

  “We can’t. We’re not supposed to have handguns, and even if we could safely practice in the woods we couldn’t afford to waste our ammunition. Can’t buy more, you know.”

  “How much do we have left?”

  “Two boxes of fifty for each weapon. Listen, you don’t need any practice. You use Uncle Mike’s revolver. Just point and shoot. No safety, no clip, no slide to worry about.”

  “When do you think they’ll come?” she asked sipping the drink Harry had just placed in her hand.

  “Right now,” he said glancing out the window as a black Ford SUV pulled into their driveway. “Just in time to join us for cocktails.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Harry and Susan took a long swallow from their drinks then turned to watch the two casually dressed men walk up onto the porch and ring the bell. Harry waited a few seconds, opened the door and said, “Yes?”

  “Commissioner Cassidy?” Zinnit asked.

  “Former Commissioner Cassidy,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Colonel Zinnit and this is Special Agent Mallick from Homeland Security.”

  “Colonel Zinnit! Of course! The lack of uniform threw me off, but now I recognize you from your picture in the papers and TV. Come in, please.”

  They entered into the room and Zinnit says, “Ah, cocktails, I see.”

  “What can I get you two?” Susan asked. “Have you had a long trip?”

  “We traveled all day from D.C. Would you have a beer? Teddy?”

  “Beer would be fine for me also, ma’am.”

  “Please call me Susan,” she said, flashing them both a dazzling smile.

  When she returned with a tray containing two glasses and two long-necked bottles of Sam Adams, Zinnit remarked, “That’s where the so-called patriotic Minutemen belong – in tightly capped brown bottles just like this ancient patriot, Adams.” He laughed heartily at his own joke as the others chuckled.

  “Well, you and your men took care of them, Colonel. Congratulations on the capture of Bradley and Connelly and the end of the Committee.”

  “Thank you, Harry…may I call you that?”

  “Of course,” he said as they all clinked glasses and drank to the demise of the Minutemen.

  Susan had an eerie de ja vu of the scene in Quentin Tarantino’s movie Inglorious Basterds where the Nazi Colonel, known as the Jew-hunter, is sweet talking the French farmer while his soldiers are waiting outside for his signal to enter and machine-gun the Jews hidden in the basement. But now, fortunately, there seemed to be no one else outside.

  The friendly chit-chat continued for a few moments and then Colonel Zinnit began asking some probing questions. Be careful. This guy is a highly-trained Army C.I.D. criminal investigator. He’s probably better than you. Keep your guard up.

  “When was the last time you saw the Reverend Phineas?”

  “About a week ago. We had dinner over there.”

  “Did he mention that he and his wife were planning a trip?”

  “No.”

  “They were going to Canada – permanently.”

  “Canada? They never said anything about that to us,” Harry said, fearfully wondering if Phineas told Zinnit that he had assisted them in planning their getaway.

  “They were fleeing the IRS,” Zinnit said. “They felt they would be arrested at week’s end for failure to pay their taxes.”

  “We knew about that situation,” Susan said, “and it’s a damn shame what the IRS is doing to them.”

  “Are you saying you do not agree with the actions of our government in their efforts to collect rightfully owed taxes from wealthy churches and pastors? That is law now, you realize.”

  Be careful, Susan.

  “I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen, Colonel. I’m just upset at the heavy-handed collection tactics being used against these fine people.”

  “I see. However, the IRS didn’t arrest the Phineas’s. I did.”

  “For what?” Harry asked.

  “For treason and sedition and giving aid and support to the Minutemen.”

  “Where are they now?” Susan asked.

  “Resting comfortably in their cells in Washington,” he said. “They need a rest after talking so much the last couple of days. And they told us a lot about you, Harry Cassidy, and your support of the Minutemen.”

  “Let me tell you about my alleged support of the Minutemen, and then I’ll tell you of my fight against them,” Harry said with what he hoped was severe indignation in his voice.

  “Please do,” the Colonel said, swallowing the last of his beer.

  “May I get you another?” Susan asked.

  “No, thank you. Go ahead, Harry.”

  Harry spoke for several minutes, Zinnit evaluating every word, and so far his story jibed exactly with Phineas’s. Too exactly. Too pat. He decided to take a shot and watch his quarry’s reaction very closely. “I’m afraid you left out a substantial part of your relationship with the Committee, Harry.”

  “What part?”

  “The part which Alton Phineas told us in specific detail. “You were the traitor George Washington’s contact. You were the one who passed on the information to the Committee of where we were going to strike. You are a traitor!”

  Harry felt the color drain from his face, but he couldn’t stop it. He shouted, “Bullshit! That’s a load of crap, and you know it!” hoping some color would rise up in his cheeks.

  Colonel Zinnit smiled that evil smile. He had him! H
e caught him in a lie, and Cassidy knew he had been caught. He said, “Perhaps you’re right, perhaps you weren’t Washington’s contact, so I’d like to give you the opportunity to prove it.”

  “How?”

  “By taking a polygraph examination.”

  “Let’s do it,” Harry said.

  “I’m afraid you will have to accompany me to Washington for that. Susan is invited also,” he said reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. “Let me make a call to start the arrangements.”

  “Put that phone down,” Harry said withdrawing his Glock from his ankle holster and pointing it directly at Zinnit as Susan pulled the revolver from her purse next to her on the sofa, pointing it at Agent Mallick.

  Zinnit chuckled and said, “Don’t be foolish. Don’t make it worse for yourselves than it already is. Come on, you know you’re not going to shoot us.”

  “Yes we are,” Harry said. “We are going to shoot you fucking dead.”

  He pulled the trigger twice followed by two shots from Susan. Both men, sitting not six feet across from them, opened their eyes wide and fell over dead. “Oh, my God,” Susan said dropping the revolver on the carpet. “We killed them!”

  Harry put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to him laying his Glock down on the sofa. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Susan, listen to me. They were going to take us to D.C. They were going to torture us unmercifully. I could not let that happen to you. I could not let them disfigure your beautiful face and inflict untold pain on you. Because as soon as they started I would have told them anything – and everything – for them to stop. I would have betrayed Bradley and Connelly and Phil MacDonald. I would have betrayed America’s only hope to rise again. We did the right thing – the only thing we could have done. These two are terrorists, worse than bin Yousef and OBL-911. Worse than the Romens. Worse than all of them because they are our fellow Americans who have turned into monsters. Okay?”

  “Yes, I understand all that Harry, but I just killed a fellow human being…”

  “No, you killed a monster, and so did I. And I’m damn glad that they are both dead and we are both still alive, and not awaiting our own deaths in a D.C. prison.”

  “Now what?”

  “We dispose of the bodies.”

  “Where?”

  “I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

  * * *

  Harry dragged the bodies into the kitchen. There had not been much bleeding as their hearts stopped almost immediately. An examination of the backs of their jackets and the back of the sofa revealed none of the bullets had exited. Harry said, “Make us another drink. I’m going to check their car.”

  When Harry returned Susan was putting the two beer glasses into the dishwasher. “Where are the bottles?” he asked.

  “Wiped clean and put out in the re-cycle bin.”

  “Good. I think I have a plan.”

  “Tell me,” she said handing Harry a cold martini and avoiding looking at the bodies.

  “First, I think we have some breathing room here,” he said. “They have hiking boots and thick coats in the car. My guess is that they came up here to feel me out first and if I passed muster they were going to get in some R and R in the woods.”

  “But that changed when Zinnit brought up George Washington, right?”

  “Right. He flat out caught me. I have to admit he was damn good.”

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “We dress them up in their outdoor gear and put the bodies in our car. I’ll drive their car to one of the trailhead hiking parking areas and you follow me. I’ll lock up their car and then we’ll dispose of them several miles away in the deep woods. We’ll tie them up and gag them and make it look like they were robbed while hiking. If the snow comes soon, they may not be found until the spring.”

  “And then?”

  “We come back home and do what the Phineas’s set out to do – run to Canada.”

  “How much time will we have?”

  “Depends on when they find the car, or when whoever they told back in Washington that they were headed to visit the Cassidy’s in Wyoming starts to look for them.”

  “Maybe they didn’t tell anyone. Maybe Zinnit and Mallick went on their fishing expedition on a whim.”

  “Maybe, but should we chance that?”

  “No, besides, we are here all alone now. None of our friends have come out this way to live our lifestyle.”

  “Good point. They shouldn’t come here anyway. It was my pipe dream. They should all go to Canada.”

  “Canada it is,” Susan said gulping down her drink. “Let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  They dumped the bodies in the woods as far back off the dirt road as they could, both huffing and puffing and sweating profusely with the exertion despite the cold early November air. They had previously removed their cell phones, badges, cash and jewelry, and bound both men with rope and duct tape. After wiping their wallets clean of fingerprints they tossed them into the brush several feet away. Both bodies were on their backs with jackets open exposing their blood-stained shirts. “That should do it,” Harry said. “Let’s cover them lightly with brush and leaves so the animals can get to them easily.”

  “Ugh,” Susan said. “Can we get out of here now?”

  “Yes,” he said taking a last look around with his flashlight. He grabbed up the bag with their belongings. “We’ll bury this halfway between here and home.”

  “What about the cash?”

  “We’ll donate it to the new political party.”

  “What political party?”

  “The one that’s going to take back America someday,” Harry said.

  After Harry went back into the woods with a shovel and the bag of the agent’s belongings, Susan pondered their future in a new country. So much had happened in a year. They had been so happy and now… She jumped as Harry opened the car door. “What’s up, Miss Gloomy Puss?”

  “I’m scared, Harry. I’m scared of our future, our lives, our family, our friends, and our country. I’m scared of everything.”

  “Me, too, but look on the bright side.”

  “What bright side?”

  “Tomorrow is election day. Let’s vote these bastards out of office.”

  And vote the people did. Susan and Harry listened to the results the next afternoon as they slowly drove toward the Canadian border. And the people spoke in a loud voice. Seventeen state legislatures and fourteen state governorships switched from Republican to Democrat in this off-year election. The President’s approval rating topped 80%. The people were happy and they were grateful. All their needs and wants had been satisfied. This wonderful administration had finally given them their fair share.

  * * *

  A few days later, as Harry and Susan neared their pre-arranged border crossing point loaded down with their most valuable belongings, a bear began to paw at the face of Colonel Zinnit, and the season’s first snow began to gently fall on Wyoming.

  Phil MacDonald held a reunion party with the Cassidy’s and a few ex-pat friends, and handed over the Canadian dollars he had converted as well as the remaining gold and silver coins. “That should do for starters,” he said. “Now let’s set up a meeting with Jonathan and Kevin and start making some plans to take back America.”

  As they raised their glasses to a new America, back in Washington, D.C. a perturbed Secretary of Homeland Security called Betty and said, “Where the hell is Zinnit?”

  PART FIVE

  RETURN TO OUR ROOTS

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A year had passed and another election day was upon America. The people returned President Nelson to office with a stunning 87% of the popular vote. He carried all the states in the Electoral College except two – Wyoming and South Dakota. These were the last remaining states that had not imposed a state-wide income tax, the others succumbing to the insatiable needs of their ever more depende
nt residents.

  Colonel Zinnit and Agent Mallick had never been found, and their disappearance was chalked up to two inexperienced hikers caught unprepared in an early mountain snowstorm and forever lost in the woods.

  All the jailed dissidents were publicly hanged at judicious intervals spaced out over the year preceding the election. Red Baker was the first to go. Since no one had been publicly hanged for a long time in America, the execution team modeled their procedure after the hanging scenes in the old western movies. They marched Red in, hands bound behind his back, and up to the platform built right in front of the Capitol steps. With the noose dangling behind him, the Secretary of Homeland Security, stern-faced and tight-lipped, said in a deliberately dramatic tone of voice, “Have you any last words you wish to say?” Cameras flashed, hundreds of microphones pointed at the aging, haggard columnist and he said quietly, “Yes, I do.” The press corps crowded closer to hear Red’s last words. Would they be words of attrition, or words of defiance?

  “Give ‘em hell, Red,” Harry Cassidy said as he watched with Susan in their apartment in Toronto. Red did not disappoint.

  Looking straight ahead he said, in his best and loudest New York voice, “Fuck yizz all, you commie bastards. You ruined our country…”

  They swarmed Red and gagged him. He began to struggle and kick and the executioner quickly threw the black leather bag over his head, placed the noose around his neck, and nodded at his assistant. Fortunately for Red, the fall through the trap door snapped his neck causing instant death. The execution team would not make this mistake again.

  Harry wiped away a tear and said, “Good for you, Red. Good-bye, tough guy.”

  The rest of the executions proceeded more calmly. The victim was let out bound and gagged, the bag was immediately placed over his head and the noose affixed. The executioner announced the name of the victim and the crimes he had been convicted of, and the lever was pulled. Alan Acorsi and Jim Anders of Triple N Network – treason and sedition. The Reverend Alton Phineas and his wife Anne Marie – treason and felonious income tax evasion.