He stared at his nephew and could read the dead seriousness in his face. “Who is this man?”
“Burt Logan, with Washington Watchers. He’s already there, and he has a whole stack of files we want you to see.”
“Christ, Stephan, are you sure this isn’t just another of those radical conspiracy things?”
Stephan stood and stretched, then untied the reins of his horse from the branch. “You’ll never know how much I wished it was that simple, Uncle Russell. I used to laugh at those anti-government people myself. This isn’t anything like what they worry about. I think this is a plot by foreigners and some of our own people to get rid of our government and replace it with something of their own. That conspiracy stuff about a One-World Government may not be as radical a notion as I used to think.
Damned sure something’s going on that just isn’t right. I know what we placed in those remote locations, Uncle Russell. I know the expert that went to Turkey with us was murdered as soon as we got back. I know several of the most powerful and influential people in Washington accepted huge campaign contributions from foreigners.” As he swung into the saddle, he asked again, “Will you go with me?”
Parker mounted his horse and turned it back toward the house. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. When do you want to go?”
“Today.”
The Colonel laughed, “You really are serious, aren’t you?”
Stephan smiled and rode alongside him.
~~~
When they had put the horses up, Stephan said, “I need to get something out of the car. When I come in, don’t say anything you wouldn’t want the world to hear.”
Parker shrugged and briskly walked toward the long front porch as Stephan opened his car trunk and removed a small plastic case. When he opened the screen door and went in, he put his fingers to his lips for the Colonel not to speak and sat the small case on the couch. Then he removed a two-part metal detector type device and assembled it. When he flipped the switch, the light immediately began flashing. It flashed faster as he held it close to an outlet on the wall and he motioned for his uncle to get a screwdriver.
When Parker returned from the kitchen with the tool, Stephan laid the detector on the sofa and very slowly and carefully removed the cover plate. He nodded at the Colonel to have a look.
Parker almost spoke when he saw the tiny listening device lying in the bottom of the plastic receptacle box. He was even more amazed, when they found six more devices – one in every room of the small ranch house.
Finally, Stephan motioned for him to go outside and as they walked he whispered, “I want to check the barn.”
They found four more devices. It was enough to not only surprise the hell out of Parker but to make him place a lot more credence in what Stephan had told him down by the creek. Stephan left the devices activated and walked around the house, checking even the bushes and trees. When Stephan walked out a ways from the house, he followed his nephew in silence until they were some distance away. His mind reeled with thoughts of him not having privacy . . . anywhere.
Then he asked, “Why do you suppose anyone would have my house bugged?”
“How much you want to bet your entire office suite is bugged and probably your house in D.C.?”
“Why?” It was obvious the Colonel found it all incredulous.
“Hell, Uncle Russell, you’re commanding officer of all the Ranger forces, most likely to remain loyal to our government and our country. They’re the people most likely to fight against any foreign takeover. And, within a year or so, you’ll probably become a Brigadier in charge of all the military’s Special Forces.”
“What can we do?”
“When we go back in the house, write Aunt Evelyn a note that the house is bugged and she should act perfectly normal. We’ll tell her a buddy of mine from high school is going to fly us down to South Padre to go deep sea fishing for a couple of days. If anyone calls or stops by, tell her to stick to that story.”
With the ruse in place for whoever was listening to everything said in Parker’s ranch house, Stephan called his “buddy” and asked if he was ready to go wet a hook down around South Padre. They climbed in Stephan’s car, each with a small suitcase containing a change of clothes and Stephan’s bug detector in its case.
"Uncle Russell, It’s been so long I can't remember the last time the two of us went fishing together. This is going to be fun."
~~~
Arriving at the airport, the Colonel immediately knew this wasn’t a buddy from high school. The guy started to raise his arm as if to salute, but caught himself.
“You must be Uncle Russell I’ve heard so much about. Ya ready ta catch some biguns?”
“You bet. What are we flying in?”
“She’s an oldie but a goodie and checked out mechanically sound. A nineteen seventy-two model. All gassed up and ready to go.” He led them down the long row of small open-front storage sheds to a Cessna 190.
Stephan quickly assembled the detector for a fast check of devices when he settled in the rear seat. When he turned it on and scanned, it showed nothing registering on the meter. He grinned. “We’re good.”
No one spoke until they were off the runway and had turned toward the southeast. Then Colonel Parker asked above the roar of the engine, “What do you normally fly?
Cord looked to the right seat and grinned. “Mainly Hawks, Cobras, and Apaches, Sir.” Reaching over with his right hand to shake the Colonel’s, he said, “Major Wes Cordel, Sir. Anything I can do for you, you just ask.”
“Could I ask why we are flying away from Colorado?”
“Two reasons, Sir. First to throw off anyone keeping tabs on us and because that’s where the Citation X is parked, at the airport at Port Isabel.”
It was a two and a half hour flight to Port Isabelle, the small town across a causeway from South Padre Island. When they landed at the surprisingly nice, modern airport, Wes taxied the Cessna to a parking space, and they walked into a hangar. Inside, Wes led them to a locker room where he changed into a sort of pilot’s uniform, and the Colonel and Stephan changed into business suits. The three men awaiting their arrival changed into their clothes, and walked back out of the hangar, and headed for the small airport restaurant. Colonel Parker was amazed that they had preplanned all this. The three people were all the same sizes as himself, Wes, and Stephan.
“Colonel, I’m going out and do a pretend walk-around inspection. Then, you two saunter on out like any businessmen, talking up a storm or whatever businessmen do. The briefcases are empty, but carry them along.”
Thirty minutes later, they flew toward Denver at twelve thousand feet.
~ 3 ~
It had been hot in Port Isabel, but as they de-planed inside a hangar at the new Denver International Airport, the weather was sunny and seventy-six degrees. They continued to play the part of businessmen, taking a taxi into town and checking in at a hotel. Stephan had passed out complete sets of identity, which had been in the Citation before hand.
As they sat in the hotel restaurant eating, Parker quietly asked, “Gentlemen, how many people are in this with you?”
Stephan, continuing to pile sour cream on a baked potato, simply answered, “Quite a few, Uncle.” He lowered his voice and continued. “When we leave here, we’re going to a well known local club. We’ll change clothes there and leave for Pueblo.”
All Parker could do was shake his head at how well organized they had things ahead of time.
Two hours later, they were dressed in casual shirts, jeans, and tough hiking boots, driving down Interstate 25 toward Colorado Springs, where they refueled the gas-guzzler and continued through the night into the lower mountains of Southwestern Colorado.
The rough road awakened Parker, and he was surprised to find it was daylight, and they were in an area of heavy pine forest. They had been in the rather sparse landscape outside Colorado Springs when he fell asleep. Sitting up from his prone position he asked, “Where are we?”
Stephan laughed and said, “In the middle of God’s country. We’re almost there.”
“I hope so. I need coffee and food.”
He had no sooner spoken than they rounded a curve and were in a small town of perhaps five hundred. The small weathered hand lettered sign at the edge of town read Pine Top. Colonel Parker thought they would stop to eat, but Stephan continued through the town about a mile and then turned off on a badly rutted road. This was little more than a beaten down path that ran nearly straight up in places. After bouncing and being jarred a half-mile, Stephan made a sharp right onto what could be called . . . no road at all. Then, they topped a small rise on the side of the mountain and were directly in front of a large house.
“Someone had damned sure better have some food cooking in there, Stephan,” Parker warned as he opened the vehicle door.
A man of about thirty walked from the trees beside the house, carrying an automatic rifle slung on his shoulder. As they stepped out of the vehicle, he waved and came toward them.
“Colonel, this is Captain Blake Holden.”
Holden saluted and said, “Good to meet you, Sir. Glad you could make it. Breakfast is ready, if you’re hungry, Sir.”
“I was about ready to pull off a boot and start chewing on it,” Parker said.
It was a surprisingly nice home inside. Holden led them directly to the kitchen and introduced the Colonel to his wife, Alice.
The smell of ham nearly made him drool. “Missus Holden, if that tastes as good as it smells, I’m never leaving.”
“Thank you Colonel. Now if you all will excuse me, I have chores in the barn to attend to.” Alice winked at her husband and quickly left through the kitchen door.
As they sat down at the huge oak table, Blake Holden told him, “Sir, everyone here is well aware of everything we’re into, so you can speak freely. And I assure you, there are no bugs of any kind except those nature provides.”
As Parker sipped at the mug of coffee Blake sat in front of him, he said, “I’m quite anxious to hear what this is all about.”
Stephan spoke up and asked, “Where’s Burt?”
Blake sat a plate of ham, eggs, and hash browns in front of Colonel Parker. “He’s downstairs. Let’s have breakfast first, and then we’ll join him.”
Parker wondered, What’s downstairs? At this point, he was ready for anything.
He had to admit, if nothing else, Alice Holden was a good cook, and he felt stuffed after having not only the two biscuits on his plate, but two more as well. The Colonel was also surprised to learn everything they had eaten, except the dry ingredients in the biscuits, was raised right there on the small farm.
~~~
Stephan led his uncle down the basement stairs. There was certainly nothing unusual about the basement. An oil-fired furnace sat directly in the middle, with the normal collection of boxes and miscellaneous “junk” one would find in most basements. And, like most any farmhouse basement, several sets of shelves were scattered around the basement filled with home-canned goods. Where was this Burt Logan guy?
Stephan smiled. “From the expression on your face, I can almost tell what you’re thinking.” He stepped to the end of one set of shelves and reached behind the rows of blackberry filled jars. The entire set of shelves, which had a solid wood back, swung away from him to reveal a small, well-lit room.
Parker looked at Stephan and asked, “What’s this?” He stared at the steel door on the other side of the room. Other than the door, it was just an empty room of solid rock.
The door had a large combination dial on one side, with a small wheel next to it. It resembled what one would find in a small country bank that hadn’t caught up to modern security. Stephan answered, “You’ll see quite soon, Colonel.” He twisted the wheel a couple of times and pulled the door open.
Parker squinted his eyes, his mind in deep thought, and slowly shook his head but said nothing. The open door revealed a long tunnel some ten feet wide and eight feet tall, with a smooth concrete floor. It slanted downward at about a ten-degree slope. He followed Stephan down the incline to another door similar to the first, some hundred yards along the tunnel. Then to a third door another fifty to sixty yards.
This door opened into a huge room, some ten feet tall and maybe forty by forty feet. Unlike the tunnel, this room was brightly lit, with the walls, floor, and ceiling finished like the inside of a home. A large dining table sat in the middle of the room, with perhaps twelve chairs ringing it. Small sofas and chairs were placed around the walls, and two big-screen television sets were mounted on the walls. Four doors, besides the door through which they entered, led to somewhere. Two doors, each on two walls.
“What’s all this, Stephan?”
“Uncle Russell, come on over and sit down. Let me tell you the whole story, then I want you to meet . . . uh, here he is now.”
One of the steel doors had swung open, and a man of perhaps forty-five strode toward them. He wasn’t what one would call an exceptional looking person. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, he could have been the guy pumping gas at the local service station. But something about him led one to believe he was highly intelligent. “Colonel Parker, good to meet you, Sir. Burt Logan.” He reached to shake Parker’s hand as he spoke. “Has Stephan told you about our little hideaway here?”
“I was just about to give him the full history of this place and what we’re doing with it.”
“Go ahead and fill him in, then I’ll tell him what I can about why we’re here. Colonel Parker, would you like coffee or anything?”
He smiled and told him, “As my secretive nephew will tell you, I never turn down a good cup of coffee. I don’t suppose you have a bathroom?”
“Go through that door, and it’s the second door on the left.”
“Okay, while you’re getting the coffee, I’ll see if it’s as luxurious as your living room.”
He returned and sat down a few minutes later, more curious than ever. The bathroom was something a wealthy person would be proud of. As Logan walked toward them with a pot in one hand and three cups in the other, Parker told Stephan, “Okay, fill me in on all this.”
“Sir, what you’ve seen here is a small part of this complex. Believe me, it is so elaborate it would make the folks at Cheyenne drool. About four years ago, when I first began hearing rumors about strange things happening in the Rangers, such as our placing those devices all over the place, it confused the hell out of me. Then Mark Charles, a friend of mine, was shot in a training accident. When I asked a couple of his team members what happened, they said it did indeed seem to be an accident, but they also told me where they had been just before it happened.”
Logan interrupted them, “Uh . . . excuse me Colonel, I didn’t think to ask. You use anything in your coffee?”
“Just coffee. Thank you.” He picked the hot cup up and took a sip as Stephan continued.
“Anyway, this team had been up in Northern Montana. They were assigned to get rid of some squatters on rangeland up there. Now, you would have to ask yourself, why would they have Army Rangers clearing squatters off a piece of harsh, nearly barren ground? Mark had asked the Lieutenant in charge of their team what it was all about. His answer was to forget it. Forget they were ever there. I don’t know how the Rangers found out, but after the squatters were loaded on a couple of trucks, they were shot and buried. He told me himself in the one phone conversation we had after he got back to Bragg. Mark sounded scared as hell about something. The next day, he was sent out on a training mission with some new troops from another unit and was shot in the head.”
Stephan shook his head and seemed to be lost in thought. “Here’s the really scary part, Colonel. There was a huge construction project going on at the site. Some kind of underground construction and a huge array of small antennae ringed the place. It makes no sense at all, but Mark said he was asked by one of the construction people why Pakistani’s were guarding the place. This construction worker understood a few of their
words because his grandfather was Pakistani. The worker eased close enough to overhear that the Pakistani troops were on a special assignment for the U.N. They wore camouflage uniforms - Mossy Oak - same as any civilian would purchase and carried shotguns. Mark asked the construction man to nose around. The man reported back that he’d found a well concealed bunker full of M4’s, foreign made heavy machine guns, and a bunch of foreign weapons he couldn’t identify. Now, what would the government be building underground all the way up in Northern Montana, and why, if they needed security, wouldn’t they use U.S. troops?”
“You tell me.” Stephan had his interest up. He knew Stephan was a completely level headed, intelligent man. If all this info worried, or even scared him, it had to be something worth checking into.
“Now let me tell you about this place, Uncle Russell. Then, Burt can give you a lot of information Washington Watchers has amassed. Because of everything that had happened, Mark being killed, the Pakistani troops up there, and I couldn’t quit thinking about the why of it. I know you are aware of the strategic planning maps that are pretty much top secret . . . the one that shows the most likely nuclear targets and the one with the least likely strike zones. That underground being built up there is in the safest area of the United States. Of course, most of the world knows about NORAD and Cheyenne Mountain, so it might be reasonable to construct a new facility for top government people somewhere else. But, why bring in the U.N. troops? Was there something going on up there that the populace had no inkling of? Were they hiding something from the country? Who was actually doing that project? Was it our people or foreigners?”
Stephan finished his coffee before continuing, “I looked real close at that least likely map. Right here was another area least likely to receive a close hit. Blake, Wes, and I had always been close friends. When I told them about all of it, we decided we should find a safe place for our families if it looked as though things were about to boil. Blake was the only one of us able to take leave at the time, so he came out here scouting around for a small farm to buy.”
Patriots Awakening Page 3