Fortress Farm Trilogy: Volumes 1, 2 & 3 (Fortress Farm Series)

by G. R. Carter

  Jalen studied his wife’s cousin’s face. Why does he seem so excited about this? Does he believe what he’s saying, or does he think this will be a chance for him to get more power? He never had concern to doubt the Masen family’s loyalty. Marti was a strong woman in her own right, and once she came to terms with the career of the man she fell in love with, there had been no stronger advocate for Jordan Inc. Strange times, strange deeds…and the power’s only been out for less than twelve hours!

  “Okay, Malik. I’ll bite. Tell me why I would even want to have all that flyover country. Nothing out there but redneck towns and hillbillies.”

  “Resources, plain and simple. If we want to live, we need food, fuel, water. In the distant past, land was the only real wealth. There were no electronic digits to show what you were worth…only what you could hold in your hand. What could be grown in the soil or maybe what was buried underneath. Illinois screwed up everything it touched for the last one hundred years. But before that it was an economic power house because of its resources. If we’re looking at a collapse of epic proportions, the ones left holding the resources are in the driver’s seat. Our family will be set up for hundreds of years, no joke.”

  Jalen Jordan rarely found himself breathless or at a loss for words. He seldom spoke more than necessary, but he was always ready when the notion moved him. The thought of his daughters being aristocrats – the true ruling class – spoke to a man brought up the hard way.

  “Yo, JJ,” Elijah broke in. “Come back to us, JJ. Malik, I’m afraid our leader has been transported to another land. You got him thinking he’s the next King Arthur!”

  Jordan Incorporated’s president forced himself back to the current situation. “Malik, E is right. You had me going for a moment. I think I see where you’re headin’, and I like it a lot. But cuz, we’ve got a lot of things to get done between now and then.”

  “I understand, Jalen, and I’ll be right there to help you. You know that. But I just wanted to give you the bigger picture to consider as we’re going about the first steps. Remember, you have to lay the foundation before building the empire,” Malik said, finally allowing himself a slight smile.

  *****

  “Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.”

  “That’s probably never been said about this place, Malik. I mean, like, ever. No one would ever call any prison beautiful, especially not this one.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. But they never considered it under these circumstances. Look at those walls, man. They have to be three feet thick! Three separate twelve-foot high fences, each with a clear kill zone. Towers on the corners able to see across hundreds of yards of open terrain. No way in without an invitation.”

  Malik stood in the prison parking lot, taking in the sight. He looked over at his cousin Robbie, missing from Jordan Inc. for the three days since the power failed and the lights went out on the world. Robbie Masen was smiling nervously; he knew what Malik’s plan was but he still wasn’t convinced it was the right move. So far, things had gone according to schedule. Jalen and the rest of the GangStar leadership assumed that Robbie had been killed in the chaotic hours shortly after the outages since he didn’t attend the emergency meeting and no one had seen him.

  Robbie instead remained quite alive and active. Secretly, Malik used him to solidify his own private army outside of the city before anyone else had a chance to. Malik’s work securing the corrections union contract with the St. Louis law firm MC Consultants gave him the opportunity to make contact with the location managers of every prison within a ninety-mile radius of their home city. The private company that owned the prisons paid their managers quite well, and MC Consultants taught Malik to pay people in positions like that even better. With the support of the most powerful person on site at each facility, the GangStars’ front company, Jordan Inc., was a shoo-in for the contract. Now that there was no corporation to employ them, these same people were thrilled to join Malik’s payroll full-time.

  Luckily, a few of the prison guards at each facility also agreed to stay. They all had families to take care of, and there wasn’t much else to turn to where they could provide for themselves. With the help of the few that signed on, others were recruited to fill out the ranks of a private security force loyal to Malik himself. From the prison population, GangStar members emerged to join the guards to keep order inside.

  Malik and Robbie didn’t discuss how old disputes with other gangs were being settled, but the violence was necessary to establish the hierarchy. Leave no doubt about who was in charge and get it done immediately was their only stipulation. GangStar members were thrilled that someone had come to help them, never knowing that they were now working for Malik and not Jalen Jordan. Wisely he left them in the dark about what his next steps were, instead planning to take the mercenary prison guards when he returned to Springfield.

  Malik always hedged his bets; the prison building in front of him would serve as his backup headquarters, just in case something went wrong. He planned to keep two hundred loyal men here safely behind the thick walls and high fences. With a population of over two thousand prisoners and several hundred staff before the lights went out, the supply rooms inside would provide enough food and medicine for a smaller group for months. And that didn’t take into account the foraging groups already “shopping” throughout the surrounding towns.

  He wasn’t concerned about the terror being inflicted by hardened criminals on the small-town people. In fact, the last couple of day’s activities helped recruit men to join his security force. A special code was placed in front of the homes of his people, and the penalty for messing with someone under Malik’s protection was immediate death. Once men in the community figured out that working for Malik meant safety for their families, the choice was simple; join or die.

  Everything was happening so quickly. Malik never planned on the Masen family instigating a coup. He really had been loyal to Jordan all these years. But the simple metal disc in his pocket called out to him, leading his mind back to the Path each time he began to have second thoughts about what he was doing.

  The conversation had started so simply when he was in college. Malik could still remember his religion professor asking, “What is Truth?” From that starting point, the class discussed the different world faiths, finding their similarities and then discussing why each one was wrong for humanity. Unlike most other classes, few people ever skipped this one. The discussion was so engaging and the professor so enlightening. The Masen family was never really religious. Of course they attended church, as most people in their community did. But it was really more of a social gathering and not a spiritual experience. But then Professor Baldwin helped Malik see true spirituality, helped him understand what it meant to be a sentient being. Malik never truly saw the end of what the professor was telling him, but he knew from then on that he was meant for something greater.

  After he graduated, Malik went through the motions with church to please his family and stay involved with his friends. Once his cousin Marti met Jalen Jordan, the leader of the GangStar criminal enterprise, Malik’s life changed. He became a man of respect in the city. He was aware that Jalen’s first thought was that he would make a good-looking front man for the organization. But over time, Jalen looked to him for guidance with complex issues facing the ever-growing enterprise. As they made the move into more legitimate businesses as a way to launder ill-gotten cash flowing in, Malik negotiated the contracts providing cover to the Jordans. As the years passed, his quest for spirituality slowly took a back seat to worldly gain.

  Priorities changed when he met the senior partners at MC Consultants. After several generations of growth it now was one of the largest firms in the country, second in influence only to their arch-rivals Rosenberg, Kane & Associates, better known as ARK. Malik found himself at MC’s headquarters at least once every couple of weeks. There was always plenty of business to discuss. Jordan Inc.’s bid for the prison contract was actually MC’s idea and they g
uided Malik through it the whole time for a very small percentage of the take.

  MC also helped bring Syn to the GangStar organization. Customers couldn’t get enough of the blue pills. MC made introductions to get the product flowing from wherever it originated, and even helped the Jordans develop a production facility of their own on the city’s south side. Profits skyrocketed, allowing the organization the dollars they needed to buy as much influence as they wanted.

  What really intrigued Malik were the Progressions; a series of self-improvement sessions all members of MC joined in. He was especially pleased to discover that his old mentor Professor Baldwin even came to give lectures on Progressions. Malik’s fire was rekindled at the classes, giving him the same passion for Continuity he had while in college.

  He found he just couldn’t get enough of the teachings. Even while back in Springfield with Jordan Inc., his mind drifted to the fulfilling experience of adding skills to his Profile. Longing to have his Profile added to Elite status, and thus ensure he remained on the Network even after his physical body failed, Malik spent every free moment studying and completing any available task.

  Then, just last year, MC’s senior partner met privately with Malik. As she slid a simple metal disc across the oak desk between them, one of the most powerful people in the country told him how important he was to her future plans. The prison contract gave MC the opportunity to have access to manpower that might be needed for chaotic times. No one knew when or if something catastrophic might happen, she assured him. But just in case, Malik needed to be ready to act on the strategy they laid out together. All GangStar leaders knew how to use violent thugs to their advantage, even Malik. This plan was more complex than usual, but no more sinister.

  She then confided that someday he may have to do difficult things, and choose between Continuity and his own family. Malik remained mildly ashamed about his decision; the choice should have been more difficult when the time came.

  Though he received no indication or secret signal like he expected to come, when the power went out and stayed out, the Masen family put their plan into motion. Originally Malik thought it might take up to a week to get all the prison’s personnel on board. Secrecy was paramount until he reached the tipping point in manpower. But with Jalen and his right-hand man Elijah occupied with consolidating the neighborhoods in Springfield, Malik had the freedom to do what was needed.

  Robbie finally broke his stream of thought. “Malik, are you 100% sure about this? You haven’t done anything yet that isn’t in line with Jalen’s interest. You can still do the safe thing. We’ll all be more powerful than we ever dreamed.”

  “I understand your concern, Robbie. But this is the Path. You and I may participate in it, and build from it. But we cannot stop it. Search your mind’s center, and you will know the truth,” Malik instructed.

  He continued with a comforting smile. “I know you’re worried. You and I have both been loyal to Jalen for years. And he has profited handsomely from it. I promise I will give him one last chance to see the truth of Continuity. If he sincerely accepts, we will welcome him in. But we cannot do the work assigned to us if he tries to stop us.”

  “Ok, cuz. I believe in you. How many soldiers do we have now?”

  “In addition to the two hundred we’ll leave here, we’ve got over three hundred more with weapons training,” Malik replied.

  “All are loyal to us?” Robbie asked, unsure of how quickly loyalty had been built in such a tough crowd.

  “Without a doubt. We’ve been teaching the Progressions in these prisons for a year now. The owners thought the system was great because we lowered the violent outbreaks by 50%. There’s at least two thousand more followers spread out in the other prisons that I’m sure we’ll be able to use in St. Louis,” Malik assured him. “And just in case they need more motive, remember we’ve been stockpiling thousands of doses of Syn. The formulation we concocted changes their brain chemistry, makes them as loyal as dogs.”

  Once Springfield was secured, the plan had always been to bring the armed forces Malik gathered to St. Louis. There, he would give MC Consultants the security they needed to establish a Continuity Safe Zone. St. Louis would be to Continuity what Mecca was to Islam. The ultimate step to Elite Profile status, Malik thought proudly.

  Chapter Three– Red Hawk Rising

  GangStar Headquarters

  One Week after the Great Reset

  Jalen peered over the city maps, listening as acting police Chief Earl Wyatt pointed out neighborhoods still shaded red. Over the last week, nearly every sector of the city came under complete control of the GangStars. Using the city’s police force as the face of the organization helped in some neighborhoods, but hurt in others. Even after years of Jordan’s influence, the city still harbored a few rival organizations, mostly Hispanic and Russian who refused to do business with his family on principle. We’ll see where that gets them now, Jalen smiled.

  “Can I join on the joke, Mr. Jordan?” Chief Wyatt asked impatiently.

  “Don’t worry about him, Chief. JJ’s just thinking about how he doesn’t have to wait in line at Club 111 anymore. He can just walk right up, now. Immediate service,” Elijah laughed.

  “Shut up, E. I could do that before, remember? I owned the joint.”

  “Well then why don’t you let us in on what was going through that giant brain of yours? We all might be enlightened,” Jalen’s best friend prodded.

  “Nothing pressing, just a little pleasure in the form of unfinished business. Now, why don’t you tell me exactly how I’m supposed to feed all these people that are now our loyal followers?”

  “That’s Malik’s area of expertise. He’s at the National Guard base out by the airport. Supposedly they have several years of rations stored up for their overseas ‘kill the little brown people’ missions,” Elijah said disgustedly.

  The chief interjected, “Why would they help us?”

  Jalen answered, “We gave them assurances that they have free passage through our areas of control. They’re going to head out east of here for something. Link up with another National Guard force, I guess. They’ll leave us some food from their storage when they do.”

  Elijah continued, “In the meantime, they’re going to let us use some of their big transport trucks, the old kind that are still running, to bring in food supplies from those prisons that Malik’s been working with. I guess they had a bunch stored up, and Malik said they wouldn’t need so much of it anymore.”

  The interim chief of police shivered. He came to power just a couple of days ago, agreeing to terms with the GangStars that the previous chief found unacceptable. From the look on Jalen and Elijah’s faces, he knew what the implication was. Anyone not willing to pledge loyalty to the GangStar organization faced immediate termination. And not in the employment definition of the word.

  “They’ll be bringing that food in tomorrow, we’ll store it here in the Ice building, in the basement so nobody gets any ideas about trying to take it,” Jalen informed Wyatt.

  “In fact, why don’t you and I map out the safest route in?” Elijah added with a determined scowl, the good-natured smile quickly fading from his face. “We’ll sketch it out and then give it to Malik’s drivers on the way in. We don’t want any unfortunate incidents, right, interim police chief?”

  Wyatt felt the shiver again. Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

  *****

  Fumes enveloped twelve diesel transport trucks as exhaust drifted into a crisp Midwestern morning. Snorting like metal camels while idling along Interstate 72, the six-wheeled beasts sat waiting for their drivers to receive route maps highlighting the safest route to reach downtown Springfield and their destination, GangStar headquarters. Each man had a homemade black arm band with a white circle, and each vehicle had the same symbol painted on the door. Malik hadn’t instructed anyone else in the area to do that; this was their only way of telling friend from potential foe.

  Malik stood close to Robbi
e, watching as two police officers in wrinkled uniforms instructed the camo-clad drivers to follow their old patrol car closely, but not too closely. There were only five police cars still running in the entire city, all serving as neighborhood drug resistance program vehicles until the grid shut down. The department’s electric patrol cars became paperweights with wheels, and now they couldn’t afford to lose a single surviving car to a rear-end collision with a multi-ton truck. Springfield was no longer the capital of Illinois, but tourist dollars still flowed to the infamous 16th President’s adopted hometown. Federal dollars followed the fame to pay for high profile feel good projects such as environmentally-friendly city vehicles. That all seemed like a great idea when the future was bright with electric light, but worthless now on the other side of the event horizon.

  The policemen were oblivious to the real cargo held in the trucks. Behind a roof-high stack of canned food crates nearest the fold-down tail gate, twenty men sat crammed and concealed. These Trojan horses gave Malik’s men the opportunity to pass right through the armed guards Jalen posted at every entrance of the Ice Building. Once inside, the men would pour out of the trucks and seize control of the GangStar headquarters. While the main assault occurred, six-man hit teams were using borrowed Humvees to strike at the neighborhood headquarters of Jalen’s lead associates. With luck, the entire Jordan Inc. leadership would be decapitated within a fifteen-minute time frame.

  Malik pushed down concerns welling within him, concerns that the complex plan might fail due to relying on men who weren’t used to pulling commando style raids. Most were merely prison guards until he recruited them to his personal security force. To his pleasant surprise, he found many had prior military and police training. Most left the service after a four- or six-year stint and the private company that Illinois leased prisons from paid well for combat training. Malik’s tour of the prisons during the contract negations left no doubt in his mind why that experience was so valuable.