by Dirk Patton
Sam nodded as the driver kept working his way back toward the Interstate, following the same route they’d used earlier. A specialized microwave emitter on the roof of the van interfered with the electronics in every camera they passed. There was no recording of their approach and departure. The cameras inside the FBI office had intentionally been allowed to record what had occurred.
Removing his ear muffs and balaclava, Sam tapped a quick text into his phone before sitting back and taking a deep breath to help his body work through the effects of battle induced adrenaline.
Over two thousand miles away, in a secure sub-basement room in the NSA, his text message popped onto a screen. The man who’d been waiting for it had already penetrated the surveillance system at the FBI building. Had watched what had happened in real time, tagging sections of video he could use.
Now, he immediately set to work, cutting and inserting. Adding and creating. Morphing. Creating a new visual record of what happened. Nine other specialists seated around the room were also hard at work, changing the video of attacks that had been carried out by other teams across the country.
When the man was satisfied with his work, he wiped the relevant footage from the system’s server and uploaded his version. The version that would become the official story. The version that no person or computer could tell wasn’t genuine. The version that showed Bob charging down the hall, alone, and opening fire on the FBI agents before he was killed by Supervisory Agent Jay Abbot, a fallen hero.
Chapter 18
“I’m Robert Tam and this is a CNC breaking news report! We are getting word of multiple attacks on FBI offices from across the country carried out by unidentified gunmen. This is a breaking story and we now go to David Ennis who is reporting live from in front of FBI headquarters in Washington. David?”
The image on millions of TV screens across the world shifted to a tall, distinguished looking man holding a microphone and standing in front of the J Edgar Hoover building in D.C. He nodded and stared into the camera for effect before speaking in a deep, solemn tone.
“Robert, I have just received confirmation of a ninth attack that has left FBI agents dead. Here’s what we know so far. Beginning shortly before eleven thirty this morning, Eastern time, what appears to be coordinated attacks on the country’s premier law enforcement agency began.
“What I’m learning is that, again, there are nine reports of a coordinated attack against these smaller FBI offices. So far, the FBI has not released any information about the status of the agents who are involved, but I have received word from official sources who wished to remain anonymous that over fifty agents have lost their lives in these brutal attacks.
“As you can imagine, the FBI is on high alert and as of a few minutes ago, all FBI facilities have been locked down. No one other than official personnel are being allowed in or out. And, as you can see behind me, agents armed with automatic weapons are guarding the exterior of the FBI headquarters.”
He paused and looked over his shoulder as the camera briefly shifted to half a dozen intense men wearing FBI windbreakers with M4 rifles slung across their bodies.
“It is worth noting that the targets of the attacks are not FBI field offices with large numbers of agents, but what are called Resident Agencies. What this means is they are located in cities across the US that are too small to warrant a full-fledged field office and are typically staffed with a supervisory agent and anywhere from three to eight field agents. A Resident Agency is actually part of a larger field office, the supervisory agent reporting to a special agent in charge who works in a larger, regional city.
“I have an unconfirmed list of the locations attacked,” he began, raising a paper and reading from it. “Gadsden, Alabama. Gallup, New Mexico. Pine Bluff, Arkansas. Victorville, California. Casper, Wyoming. Panama City, Florida. Rome, Georgia. Elko, Nevada and Bozeman, Montana. Again, these are all Resident Agencies that were attacked.”
“David,” the anchor broke in, “do we have any information on the gunmen who perpetrated this?”
“Nothing official, Robert. Unofficially, I have heard this characterized as an anti-government militia, or even possibly multiple militias who have joined forces. Considering that the carnage extends from Florida to California, it would seem logical this was carried out by multiple groups acting in concert.
“Noteworthy is another incident that occurred last night. You’ll recall the shootout between the BLM and the Meadows’ Militia last week. The Double M ranch in Idaho, the scene of the bloody battle, is still a federal crime scene and locked down. The two FBI agents assigned to maintain security at the ranch were gunned down sometime overnight.
“I have no official confirmation on this, but it appears the murder of the two FBI agents may have been in retaliation. I have confirmed that there is currently a manhunt underway for two family members of militia members who were killed by federal agents last week.”
“Finally, Robert, the Department of Homeland Security has just raised the terror threat level to imminent, which means there is a credible, specific, and impending terrorist threat against the United States.”
William Carter leaned back in his chair and muted the TV in his office as the view switched back to the anchor who began repeating what the field reporter had just said. He looked around the room at the handful of men and one woman who had breathlessly watched the news alert with him.
Each of them was worth many billions of dollars, but none were a household name. In fact, none would be recognized if they ever decided to walk down the street without their large contingents of personal security. Representing a diverse sampling of the world’s nations, they had flown into New York to join Carter in witnessing the opening volley of their plan and ensure their money was being well spent.
“How will the President react?” Mikhail Simonov asked, his voice thick and gravelly with a Russian accent.
“Exactly as I instructed her,” Carter said, smiling. “I wrote her speech myself and had one of my writers punch it up a bit.”
“You’re confident in your control over her?” Anika Patel, the lone woman, asked. She spoke with a perfect Oxford English accent.
“You have to understand something about President Williams,” Carter said, feeling the need to reassure the room. “She is a true believer. An ideologue. She is convinced the only way forward for America and the world is to unite under a common government. Of course, she could never say that publicly, at least not yet. Half the country would erupt. But our plans have been carefully calculated to reduce their ability to stop us.”
“I got two problems with that,” Jack Timmons said. He waited until all eyes were on him before continuing.
“First, I don’t trust true believers. They’re unpredictable when things don’t go their way. Second, there are a lot of states full of good ole boys who aren’t going to sit still when the government comes to take their guns.”
Carter sighed in frustration. This wasn’t the first time he’d wondered how Timmons had managed to amass a fortune. They’d covered this very topic on multiple occasions and the man simply didn’t pay attention.
“Jack, to your second point, we’ve discussed this. Repeatedly.”
“And you didn’t listen to me, goddamn it! People aren’t going to just roll over, and I’m telling you, there’s going be a lot in the military that’ll have a big problem with this, too.”
“They’ll follow orders,” Carter said dismissively. “They always do.”
Timmons shook his head but didn’t press the point. The rest of them could believe what they wanted, but he was glad he was hedging his bets. If things went bad, there wasn’t a person in the room that wouldn’t be hunted down. To the ends of the Earth. Except for him. He had managed to participate without leaving his fingerprints on the conspiracy.
“Now,” Carter continued, “to your concern about my control over President Williams. Even if her ideology begins to waver, I’ve got it covered. There is enough evidence
of her conspiring to commit voter fraud and laundering campaign funds to send her away for a long time. She may be an ideologue, but she’ll do whatever I tell her to keep those records from ever seeing the light of day. She’s ours.”
“What if they assassinate her?” Nigel Brand asked.
Carter turned to face the British entrepreneur.
“What are you asking, Nigel?”
“The vice president, old boy. What would happen if he were placed in charge?”
“That spineless twit?” Carter asked, shaking his head. “He’s even easier to control than the president and would sacrifice his own mother to avoid prosecution. If he were only more charismatic and didn’t look like the dummy from the Twilight Zone, he would have been a better choice for our support for the top of the ticket. But, say what you will about the president, she can sway the sheep. The damn woman has a way of talking.”
He looked around the room, ready to deal with any other concerns. Catching sight of the muted TV, he snatched up the remote and restored the sound.
“She’s on!” he said.
Everyone turned to watch as President Williams walked to the podium in the White House press briefing room. It was filled to overflowing with reporters. She placed a stack of papers down and looked around the room.
“I have a statement, then will take a few questions. Just before eleven thirty this morning, Eastern time, a series of horrific attacks on FBI offices around the country took place. At this time, we have confirmed that seventy-one agents heroically gave their lives in service to this great nation. And I am deeply saddened to report that there are no survivors.
“Early indications are the perpetrators are members of a variety of anti-government militia groups from around the country. In a coordinated effort, they went after the very same brave men and women who are tasked with monitoring their activities and intervening when appropriate. Several of them perished this morning as our valiant FBI agents fought back. Fought for the country they serve and for their very lives. But they were at a severe disadvantage. They were outgunned!”
President Williams paused and turned to the side. A uniformed police officer appeared, carrying a military issue rifle and a semi-automatic pistol. He walked to the podium, standing slightly behind the president. She took the pistol from his hand and held it up for the cameras.
“This is what our slain agents had to defend themselves. And this,” she put the pistol down with a loud thud that was clearly picked up by the microphone array before taking the rifle and holding it high over her head in one hand, “is what the militia was carrying! The same rifle our military uses. A rifle that has no business being in the hands of anyone other than the military or law enforcement!”
She stared across the heads of the assembled press, eyes boring directly into the cameras. The photo of the President of the United States holding a fully automatic weapon over her head as a tear slowly trickled down her face was destined to be the cover photo on every magazine around the world.
After a carefully planned amount of time had passed for the full impact of the imagery to register with viewers, she slowly handed the rifle and pistol back to the officer. He remained standing near her side, the weapons in full view of the cameras. President Williams, in a masterful display of emotion, paused to dry her eyes before taking a shuddering breath.
“These were carefully planned and orchestrated attacks, designed to weaken the resolve of both law enforcement and the American people. To intimidate us. To sway us from what we’ve known had to be done, but have never had the political will to achieve.
“My promise to you is that we will not be intimidated. To the murderous criminals who are out there hiding like cowards, I say this. We shall not be swayed from our obligation to protect America. We shall hunt you down and you will be held accountable for your treasonous acts! My administration will not rest until you are either behind bars or dead!”
She paused to allow the import of her words to resonate in the room and across the world.
“Effective immediately, I am declaring a formal state of emergency. After consulting with leaders in Congress and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, I have signed an executive order suspending the second amendment to the Constitution of the Unites States. New legislation will be forthcoming shortly to supplement my actions and I will gladly sign it the moment it crosses my desk.
“Effective immediately, the sale of any firearm or ammunition within the United States, either by a licensed gun dealer or private party, is banned. Further, I have instructed the ATF to immediately begin the confiscation of all firearms and ammunition in the possession of gun dealers, gun manufacturers and ammunition manufacturers.
“Under federal authority, state issued permits for both the possession of a firearm or the carrying of a concealed weapon are hereby revoked. Violations of these orders will not be tolerated and offenders will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of federal law.
“Make no mistake. It is time to end the lawlessness that permeates our great nation. We are a modern society. The need for armed citizens is negated by the power of our law enforcement and military. America must move beyond the attitudes of past generations that have led directly to the deaths of seventy-one FBI agents earlier today. No longer shall we allow our children to be in peril every time they leave the house. No longer shall families be shattered by senseless gun violence.
She paused to look directly into the cameras.
“Lastly, I have a personal message for the militias and anyone who supports them. You are not patriotic Americans. Neither are you fighting for rights you imagine you need. You are murderous traitors and your actions go far beyond criminal. They are nothing less than treasonous! As such, where suspected members of a militia, or any other individual or group resisting the lawful authority of the federal government of the United States are involved, by the powers invested in me by the Constitution, I have ordered the immediate suspension of habeas corpus until further notice.”
The press remained silent when the president finished speaking. The reporters stared at the podium with expressions of shock for a beat, then the room erupted with shouted questions.
Chapter 19
Ashley gasped audibly when she heard the final words of the president’s speech. She was seated at a large table going through reams of documents that had been given to her by Mr. Blue. Evidence of corruption and conspiracies that went all the way to the oval office. BK, seemingly her assigned protector, had been lounging in a chair, watching TV with the sound off while she read. When she looked up and saw the breaking news, she’d asked him to turn it up.
“What’s that?” he asked when he heard her reaction.
“Habeas corpus?” she asked, surprised at his question.
He nodded.
“It means that the government can arrest you and hold you indefinitely without bringing charges or taking you to trial.”
BK thought about that for a minute.
“So, like Gitmo?”
“Kind of,” Ashley said, eyes glued to the screen as reporters began asking questions.
A lump of dread formed in her chest as she listened to the president’s answers. She had actually snorted in derision at some of the documents that Mr. Blue had provided for her to review, but with what she had witnessed unfold on TV, she looked down at them with a more believing eye.
The door suddenly burst open and Mr. Blue hurried into the room, his head turning toward the television screen.
“Good. You saw it,” he said.
“What the hell is going on?” Ashley asked.
“Exactly what I told you would happen. Exactly what those documents reveal about their plans.”
He leaned forward and tapped a short stack of papers.
“But these detail so much more,” Ashley said, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t watching her country being dismantled, one Constitutional right at a time.
“And those are things to come,” Blue said.
“About this? Nothing we can do. Not yet, at least. We’re organized and prepared, but the timing isn’t right.”
“How many are you?”
Blue shook his head.
“Look,” Ashley said, frustration clear in her voice. “You found me, not the other way around. You asked me to honestly document everything that happens so someday the truth will be told. I agreed and here I am. But I can’t do my job if you keep things from me.”
“I’m not keeping things from you, Ms. Dumont. I’m exercising what is known as operational security. You are asking for details that will eventually become abundantly clear, but which are not relevant to your work at this moment in time. When you need to know something, I’ll tell you.”
“That doesn’t work for me!” Ashley said, grimacing as she got to her feet so Blue wasn’t looking down at her. “I only agreed to do this because you promised me complete access and transparency. So far, I’ve received neither. I don’t know where we are, who you really are, how many of you there are or what you’re planning to do. All I know is what’s already playing in the news.”
Blue looked at her determined expression, finally sighing and taking a seat.
“Please sit, Ms. Dumont.”
He waited until she lowered herself back onto her chair.
“We are former military, as I have already explained. We have been concerned for years over the direction our country has been headed. It’s one thing if the people make a conscious decision to elect candidates who have ideas and beliefs contrary to our own. That’s the downside of living in a democracy, but every single one of us swore an oath and we’ll live with what the people decide.
“But when policy is set, laws are passed and Constitutional rights are suspended, based solely on a manufactured crisis dreamed up by powerful people intent on charting a new course for the country, that’s where we draw the line. That’s not democracy. That’s a shadow dictatorship.”