by John Grit
A shot rang out. Caroline froze for a second, tears running down her face. She looked down at Samantha and saw that she was crying too. “Come on, little friend. We must be very quiet.”
Ramiro looked up from the ground, his eyes wide with fear. Lying on his back, all he could hear was a ringing in his head. His ears useless. The CIA operative had fired his pistol only inches from his left ear, but had not aimed to kill.
Several parents tried to calm their screaming children, who had just witnessed the beating and the faux execution.
One man on the CIA team mopped sweat from his forehead with his jacket sleeve and nervously looked over at the screaming children. “This is bullshit.”
The man who had just shot glanced over at him and glared. “What?”
Ken Rittleman, a former Green Beret sergeant, answered, “I said this is bullshit. Are you really willing to do this in front of children?”
MacKay saw more than ten adults and children she had grown to think of as family struggling at their bindings, terror on their faces. Her anger rising, she yelled at the two operatives standing before her. “You already have innocent blood on your hands. Exactly what crimes have we committed to deserve this?”
Lyndson rushed up to her, his knife in his hand. “I want to know where the other insurgents are.”
MacKay held her chin up and glared at him. “Insurgents? From where I’m standing you’re the insurgents. As I told you, when we left the farm we broke up into small groups and separated before fleeing into the woods. I have no idea where the others are. I do know they have committed no crimes and are not insurgents.”
“Damn you, you old hag,” Lyndson hissed. “I’m talking about those pretend Sheriff’s deputies from Glenwood. Nate Williams, Brian Williams, Deni Heath, ex-Army Sergeant and supposedly now married to Nate Williams. And last but not least, Tyrone Hayes and an old man by the name of Atticus.”
She shook her head in dismay. “Why, I know even less of their whereabouts than I do the people who were with me on my farm. The last I heard, they were still in Glenwood. We haven’t heard from them in weeks.”
Lyndson raised the knife. His eyes turned to slits and he spit his words through his teeth. “I’ve seen how you live around here. I don’t want any part of it. And the thing is you have it easy compared to the major cities where it looks like a medieval world, with everyone walking around looking like skeletons, starving, dying a little every day.” He ran the blade down her left arm to her elbow, cutting one quarter of an inch deep. Blood ran down her arm and dripped from her fingertips, splashing on a bed of pine needles at her feet.
MacKay tried to jerk her arm away, but the ropes had her bound to the tree so tight she could barely move. She clenched her jaw, not making a sound. “Young man, you don’t live as long as I have without becoming intimately familiar with pain. Have you been kicked by a horse? I won’t ask if you’ve given birth.”
He leaned over, bringing his mouth closer to her ear. “My wife is dead, but I have a son and a daughter. The thing is, they are fed three squares a day and so am I. So that my children can eat, I will do what I am told.” He cut her left arm again, deeper this time. “My orders are to hunt down, capture, or kill the people I just named. If I don’t accomplish my mission, my children may not eat tomorrow. They may not ever eat again. That’s what motivates me. It’s what I think of whenever I have an unpleasant task.” He slashed her face from her ear to the corner of her mouth. The others had not been able to see him cut her left arm, because he was blocking their view. But they all saw him cut her face. The children screamed and cried, and the adults screamed obscenities at Lyndson. He either paid them no attention or did not hear. “I’m willing to do whatever I must to please Washington so my children will continue to eat. You need to tell me what you know before I stop playing around.”
MacKay moaned slightly and caught her breath. “It’ll do you no good. I have already told you the truth.”
Ramiro struggled to his knees, rage on his face. As he tried to stand, Lyndson turned and knocked him down by striking the side of his head with the butt of his knife. “I’ve wasted enough time here. Where are they? If I have to ask again, someone’s going to die.”
Stunned, Ramiro lay there on the forest floor blinking. After catching his breath, he said, “If I knew, I would’ve told you already.”
“Damn it, you know where they are.” In a fit of rage, Lyndson kicked Ramiro again. He glared down at him in frustration, pulling his pistol and firing a round into his chest. Ramiro’s eyes grew wide, as he coughed and gasped. Lyndson watched him struggle to catch his breath while he drowned in his own blood. Ramiro’s gasps grew faster and shallower. Finally, his eyes rolled back and life ebbed away.
Shock-induced silence ended when pandemonium erupted among the captives.
Rittleman turned as white as a sheet and threw his hands over his head, letting his M4 hang from its combat sling across his chest. He appeared to be sick.
Another operative, who had been standing watch on the eastern side of the perimeter, came running, ready for trouble. When he saw Ramiro dead and MacKay, blood dripping from her, he surmised the situation instantly. First Sergeant Henry Kramer, the CIA operative who had been captured by Nate and the others, yelled, “Are you insane? If word gets out about this, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
Lyndson yelled at the screaming captives. “Shut up!” His eyes swept them, looking like tandem guns on a turret, dangerous, full of hate. “Shut the hell up!” He turned to Kramer. “Word isn’t going to get out.”
Kramer looked at him, his mouth slightly open and his head tilted. “You can get that shit of your head right now. No one else is going to die. These aren’t the people we’re after. I know what they look like, and they’re not here. I wasn’t able to stop the killing of that other group, but that’s not happening here.”
“But they know where they are.” Lyndson jabbed an accusing finger at MacKay. “She knows. She’s their leader.”
Kramer swept his left arm over the group of terrified captives. “I’m standing between you and them. Your call. Take it or leave it. You want them; you come through me.”
Lyndson glared at Kramer. “We’ll see about that.” He took his pack off and produced a satellite telephone from it. After making contact with someone, he spoke into the receiver, “We have indigenous personnel who refuse to cooperate and tell us where the insurgents are. Do we have authority to go as far as necessary to make them talk?” He listened for a few seconds. The scowl on his face softened somewhat. “I need you to repeat that to my number two man.” He motioned for Kramer to come and take the phone from him.
Kramer held it to his ear. “What are my orders?” He listened for several seconds, his face turning whiter as he held the phone to his ear. “Yes sir. No sir, I have no questions.” He handed the phone back to Lyndson.
“Now you have it,” Lyndson said. “Straight from the president himself.”
Kramer clicked the safety off on his M4. “It doesn’t matter. It’s still an illegal order.”
Lyndson laughed. “Why didn’t you tell him that?”
Kramer stared him down. “Why argue with a madman?”
Lyndson flinched. “Mad or not, he gives the orders. In case you haven’t kept up on current events, the world has gone to hell.”
Kramer braced himself, his M4 ready. “He’s not the only crazy son of a bitch giving illegal orders.”
“Oh shit, Henry.” Lyndson reared back, incredulous. “Most of these people will be dead in a few months from starvation, anyway.”
Growing more angry by the moment, Kramer spit his words. “That’s not for you to decide. These people survived a year and a half. If they can survive that long they’ll probably make it.”
Lyndson threw his hands up. “Whatever. The government feeds my children and feeds me. For that I follow orders. And I don’t give a damn if the president is building himself a dictatorship or not. Nor do I give a damn if he wa
s actually elected or not. Look at the sorry bastards America elected before the plague. Who’s to say the next one they elect won’t be worse than Capinos?”
Kramer shifted his M4, raising the muzzle a few inches. “Again, that’s not for you to decide.”
Lyndson’s eyes narrowed. A shadow fell over his face. “Okay. Where did you get the idea you can decide which orders you follow and which ones you don’t?” His posture changed, and he appeared to look more relaxed and less confrontational. He lowered his M4 and took his left hand off of the weapon, holding it by his shooting hand only, muzzle down. He looked past Kramer with a smile on his face and nodded. “I wasn’t going to hurt any of them.” In a blur of motion, he raised his weapon and squeezed off a short burst. Most of the rounds were stopped by Kramer’s ballistic vest, but he wasn’t wearing full body armor, and his shoulders were exposed. One round went through his left arm, near the shoulder. The impact spun him around, but he managed to raise his own weapon and fire single-handed, hitting Lyndson in the forehead and killing him instantly.
Shock slowed Rittleman’s reaction, giving Kramer enough time to aim with one hand. “How about it, Ken?” He held his M4 on him. “Am I going to have to kill you too?”
Rittleman swallowed and shook his head slowly. “I guess I should’ve done something sooner. But…” He looked down.
“Well,” Kramer said, “in that case, cut these people loose and help me with my arm.”
Rittleman jolted and then ran to MacKay. In a few minutes, he had everyone free of their bindings. He got out his medical supplies and cut Kramer’s jacket sleeve away. “What about Capinos? The bastard’s going to be pissed.”
“Let him.” Kramer’s eyes wandered over to his dead team member. “He was convinced that if he didn’t do what Capinos said, his kids would starve.”
“He went too far.” Rittleman examined the wound. “No major blood vessels hit and nowhere near the bone. If you can avoid infection, you’ll be okay.”
Kramer looked at the people gathering around him while Rittleman wrapped his arm in gauze. “I apologize to you people for what happened. We’ll do what we can for the wounded and then you’re free to go.” He swallowed. “I have no idea if it’ll be safe for you to return to your farm. There’s no telling how the president will react to this.”
A man working to staunch the bleeding of MacKay’s wounds glanced over at them and said, “Maybe you should be worried about how the people react to this.” His anger boiling over, he added, “There are still enough combat vets left alive to give Washington a guerrilla war they’ll never forget. They better back off and they better do it while they still can.”
MacKay ignored her pain as she reached to touch Ramiro’s shoulder. “My dear old friend.” She blinked tears. “I will never forget you.
~~~
Capinos greeted CIA Director William Shekel at the door to the Oval Office. “What’s so important you needed to speak to me immediately, Bill?”
Director Shekel closed the door behind him before speaking. “We’ve lost contact with two of our men in Florida and found another one dead.”
Capinos froze for a second. “What? Communications problems?”
Shekel shook his head. “We don’t think so. Their equipment was working fine earlier today. They’re not answering. We sent a nearby team to check on their last known position and we found one of our men dead. Shot. The other two must’ve been taken prisoner.”
Capinos sat on the front edge of his desk. “I had direct contact with two operatives only hours ago. They wanted authority to use enhanced interrogation techniques on insurgents. Was there any other sign of a struggle, more bodies? Of insurgents I mean. Those guys aren’t that easy to get the better of. I can’t believe local yokels were able to sneak up on them or outfight them.”
“They found one grave. A Hispanic man was in it. They also found blood that must’ve come from another person, maybe two – no body. There were spent casings from military style weapons, but no sign of any other type of weapons being fired.” Shekel adjusted his suit. “Uh, I think I should mention at this time there has been a killing a few miles from where we found the grave and dead operative. Another one of our teams killed over a dozen civilian adults. The civilians refused to drop their weapons, so our men shot them all.”
Capinos waved him away. “That’s not pertinent to the lost team we’re talking about.” He hardened his expression. “They’re not related, are they?”
“No way to tell. Could be our lost team was attacked by locals out of retaliation for the killing of the civilians. They may have taken the two missing operatives captive or we just haven’t found the bodies yet.”
Capinos shook his head. “No. There wasn’t time for word to spread about the killing of those few locals.” He rubbed his chin. “Could be we have a mutiny. Operators against operators. I got the impression from my last communication with them that one on the team was being pigheaded about harming civilians.”
Shekel blinked and swallowed. “That could be bad.”
Capinos glared at him. “Of course it is! No doubt about it.”
“What I meant to say is if that’s what happened, it could be the start of something much larger. I’ve been getting reports of growing discord in the military. Many high-ranking officers are losing patience with your administration.”
Capinos snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. Damn near every general officer just stabbed me in the back. They signed a petition demanding national elections as soon as possible.” He clenched his jaw. “Can you believe that shit? They’re saying my presidency isn’t legit and they will not follow my orders much longer.” He moved to his chair and collapsed in it. “I’m not sure how to respond. I’m afraid if I get tough with them, it’ll be counterproductive. On the other hand, if I show weakness, it’ll encourage them to demand more, maybe my resignation.” He looked out into empty space, focusing on his thoughts and not the Oval Office or Shekel. “They say things could’ve been much better by now, but my leadership has been lacking, hindering the recovery of the country.” He shuttered. “They’re full of shit. I’ve helped this country through its darkest hour. Why, if not for me…” He noticed a strange look on Shekel’s face and his voice trailed off into thin air. “Oh, to hell with all of them.”
Shekel had to speak fast. He didn’t want Capinos to realize what he was thinking. “I have an idea. But first I need to find our lost men. We might be able to blame them for the killing of civilians. Rogue CIA agents or something.” He tried to gauge Capinos’ reaction to his next words. “But I think you should back off in Florida for now. Until all of this simmers down. Those Southerners can be hotheads, and we don’t need locals down there riled up. On top of that, your trouble with the military makes matters worse. It’s no time to get tough on the people in Florida. The whole idea was to keep your operation quiet. If we go in with guns a-blazing, there won’t be anything quiet about that. In fact it’ll be all over the country in no time. What’s the point of it now? Best to handle this more delicately.”
“Our operation,” Capinos interjected.
Shekel nodded. “Our operation. Sacrificing two men to defuse this ticking bomb is well worth it. We need time. The military wants results. If we can give them results over the next few months, they’ll be pacified. They don’t give a damn if a chimpanzee in diapers is in the White House. What they don’t like is the American people suffering unnecessarily, and they believe we in Washington have failed them. You’re the president, so you take most of the blame.” He clicked his tongue and smiled, pretending he just thought of it. “I’ve an idea. Lift that blame off your shoulders and dump it in the military’s lap! Give them a free hand, both as far as law and order goes and the food relief efforts too.”
Capinos almost yelled, “What?”
“Think about it. Those jarheads in the military are only good at war and then they pour tax money out on the ground like so much water. When it all goes to hell, and it will, you ste
p in and take over, telling them they had their chance.”
Capinos frowned. His eyes turned to slits. Anger rushed to his head, turning his face red.
Shekel braced himself, believing he had failed. He just will not give up an ounce of power, even to save himself and his presidency. And of course to hell with the American people and the country.
Then the president’s frown turned into a smile. “They’ll not dare try any kind of a coup after they’ve failed to handle the country with the government’s help. They’ll damn sure not be in a hurry to try it on their own.” He jumped up and paced the room, punching his open left hand with his right fist. “I’ll give them three months.”
Shekel quickly spoke up. “That’s not long enough for them to get themselves into trouble deep enough. You must give them enough rope to hang themselves with.”
“Six months then,” Capinos said.
Shekel tried again. “I would think nine or ten.”
“No. Six months.” Capinos seemed firm on the matter. “They’ll be wanting elections by then and I must have their tail feathers trimmed and their ass singed before they start insisting.”
Shekel relented. “Six months then.” He appraised the president’s face, trying to read him. Making a snap decision, he moved in to finish it. “We both know your election was a farce, as was the election of most of those in Congress and as a consequence the appointment of every new justice on the Supreme Court. The generals have that to hang over your head and use as an excuse for their insubordination. My guess is all they want is results. I’ve been keeping an eye on this little revolt of theirs. And I can tell you not a single one of them is interested in a coup. Nor is a single one of them wanting to take your place or hungering for power. It’s the American people they’re worried about. If you want to hold on to your office, you’re going to have to do a much better job than you’ve done so far.”