by Dirk Patton
“Two minutes,” the driver called, glancing in the mirror.
A couple of the men met his eyes and smiled, then there was the immediate sound of every weapon they carried being prepared for use. The former operators couldn’t help but exchange a glance of disdain. The idiots in back were copying what they’d seen in movies. It’s time for action, so let’s make a production out of cycling our weapon’s actions. After all, the sound is cool. Never mind that they’d made sure each man had done exactly that before they climbed into the van. All they needed to do was step out and start pulling triggers.
“I’m pulling past so you can get a look, just like we discussed,” the driver called. “Then I’ll turn into the alley and you jump out. Move fast. Remember, you’re not there to take hostages. You’re firing as you come through the door.”
“Know what the fuck we doing!” the leader of the small group growled. “Ain’t gotta keep tellin’ us.”
“When everyone’s down, come out the back door,” the driver said, ignoring the man’s complaint. “We’ll be waiting and get you out of the city before the cops can lock it down. Got it?”
“Christ!” the man said. “You think I’m a nigger or somethin’? Ain’t got enough sense to unnerstand what you sayin’?”
“Coming up on the right,” the passenger said.
The leader gave the driver a glare before turning to look through the tinted side window as the van slowly passed the bar. The front was several large windows that gave a clear view inside. It was packed with people, drinking and laughing.
“That there’s a fuckin’ target rich en-viro-ment, boys!” the leader said, excitement clear in his voice.
The driver slowed more and made a gentle turn into a dark alley at the midpoint of the block. He came to a stop and the man seated next to the door yanked it open. They all hopped out, weapons coming up as they moved. The driver and passenger watched in the van’s mirrors as the men walked quickly to the sidewalk and turned toward the bar.
“If he survives this, that fucker’s mine,” the driver said, letting off the brake and idling forward to turn into the cramped lot behind the bar.
“Because he said ‘nigger’?” the passenger asked, reaching out and tapping the driver’s black skinned arm.
“No. ‘Cause he’s an asshole!”
“Makes sense,” the passenger said as the van came to a stop.
They stepped out as a volley of shots suddenly rang out in the night. As the firefight inside the bar increased in intensity, they calmly walked to the back of the van and retrieved a pair of shotguns from beneath a hidden panel.
“I think you should kill him because he called you a nigger, not ‘cause he’s an asshole,” the passenger said, clicking off the safety and taking up position to aim at the bar’s rear door.
“He didn’t call me a nigger, he just said the word,” the driver replied, also moving into a ready position. “Besides, what’s it matter why I kill him?”
“Whatta you mean? Say spic or call me a spic, I’m gonna gut you like a fish, either way. If you’re just an asshole, I might be okay with only givin’ a beatdown.”
The volume of firing inside the bar ratcheted up some more and the screams of terrified people could be heard.
“But you are a spic,” the driver said.
“Not my point.”
“Then what the hell is your point?”
The passenger was quiet in thought for a moment.
“Different degrees of reasons to kill someone is all,” he said. “But the fucker shouldn’t have called you a nigger.”
“True,” the driver said. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“So, you go ahead and kill him if he comes out.”
“Thought we already established that,” the driver said as the shooting suddenly stopped.
The passenger grunted, then both men focused on the door. A dim light was mounted above it for the kitchen staff that had to carry trash out to a large dumpster sitting to the side. They waited patiently. A few seconds later, it slammed open and the militia leader stumbled out into the lot.
Blood soaked his shirt and one leg of his pants. An arm was thrown over the shoulders of one of his men, his rifle hanging from the other as blood ran down and dripped off the muzzle onto the asphalt.
“Well, would you have believed that two of ‘em would still be standin’,” the passenger said, then pulled the trigger.
The shotgun roared in the night, spitting out a tightly packed mass of buckshot that struck the man supporting the leader in the chest. He was knocked backward as his heart and lungs were shredded. The other man, no longer supported, dropped to a knee and stared in shock at his dead friend before turning to face the van.
“What the fuck you doin?” he shouted as the driver walked forward with his shotgun tight against his shoulder.
“Anyone ever tell you the devil’s a gay nigger with an eighteen inch dick?”
He paused for his words to sink in, then pulled the trigger. The leader’s face dissolved from the force of the blast and his body pitched to the side, a chunk of skull spinning away across the pavement.
“That’s a good one!” the passenger said, chuckling as he raised his cellphone.
“Like that?” the driver asked with a grin, walking over to stand by his friend.
“Fucking inspired!” the passenger said, punching in 9-1-1 and pressing the send button.
The driver took his shotgun and walked over to a waiting SUV, putting both weapons inside. While the passenger identified himself to the emergency operator as a federal officer, he removed the microwave emitter from the van. Walking to the edge of the lot, he tossed it into a neighboring restaurant’s grease trap after disabling the device with an internal self-destruct mechanism.
“Be sure you describe us,” the driver whispered. “Don’t need deputy dawg showin’ up and drawin’ down on us.”
The passenger nodded and did exactly that. The driver leaned on the side of the SUV and lit two cigarettes, handing one of them to the passenger. Ending the call with emergency services, he took a deep drag of the smoke. Both of them looked around at the first sounds of sirens rapidly approaching.
“Inspired,” the passenger said, blowing smoke at the sky. “Devil’s a gay nigger with a big dick! Where you come up with this shit?”
Chapter 28
“My fellow Americans,” President Williams began, looking directly into the camera. “It is with deep sorrow that I come to you tonight with news of the loss of a great man. A great leader. Earlier this evening, while enjoying a drink with his staff at a bar in Washington, Speaker of the House James McDillon was murdered by an anti-government militia.”
She paused, her eyes never wavering. Taking a deep breath to seemingly steady her emotions, she continued.
“Along with the senseless tragedy of the death of the Speaker, we cannot lose sight of the forty-eight other people who died in the attack, nor the seventy-two who were gravely injured. If not for the heroic security detail from the Capitol Police who were assigned to protect the Speaker, the death toll would almost certainly have been much higher. Sadly, all the officers lost their lives to the heavily armed assailants.
“I must also praise the federal officers who were outside the establishment and engaged two of the militia members who were attempting to escape. If not for their bravery and superior training, there would be two crazed killers running loose in our nation’s capital at this very moment. Amidst the pain of our loss, these officers who risked their lives, have the thanks of a grateful nation.
“Tonight, I am here to speak to you about the current state of violence within our country. From Texas to Minnesota. Florida to California. All across the nation, certain citizens have taken up arms against the federal agents sent to secure firearms and ammunition from gun shops so that it does not fall into the hands of more of these violent hate groups. In some cases, these criminals have been assisted by local law enforcement.
“Guns a
re a scourge on our modern society. A culture that clings to firearms as its sense of identity, believing in a moral superiority that comes from the barrel of a gun, is un-American and we must work diligently to change it. We do not live in the wild west any longer. It is no longer necessary to hunt to feed your family. Modern police forces and our military protect us and ensure the freedoms we all enjoy.
“It is time to remove this blight on the greatest nation the world has ever known. It is time to stop standing idly by while the streets run red with the blood of our children… our law enforcement officers and now our political leadership. It is time to confront those who believe their right to own a gun is more important than your right to live in peace. To live without fear of being shot just for going to a movie, or a shopping mall or even to school. This has gone on for far too long!
“These are unprecedented times. The very heart and soul of our great nation is in peril. We must act to save America while there is still time. Knowing this in my heart, I called an emergency meeting two hours ago that was attended by the majority of my cabinet, the senior Congressional leadership of both parties and the full Supreme Court. The results of this meeting are several actions that we will begin implementing immediately to restore law and order and protect our citizens.
“New legislation will be introduced tomorrow morning that institutes a one year moratorium on the second amendment. The Constitutionality of such legislation was discussed with the honorable justices of the Supreme Court and their unanimous opinion is that such action is warranted due to the unprecedented threat we are currently facing from guns in our society. During the moratorium, my administration shall work with Governors and state legislatures to call a Constitutional Convention for the purpose of repealing the second amendment.
“This stop-gap legislation is vital for the safety and security of the country, giving us time to work through the process of amending the Constitution. I urge all members of Congress to pass this bill as quickly as possible so we may begin the monumental process of restoring order to our cities and towns.
“Secondly, immediately before coming out to speak with you, I signed an order that federalizes the National Guard in all fifty states. Quite frankly, our federal law enforcement officers are outmanned and outgunned by those who are resistant to a safe and free America. Beginning tomorrow morning, National Guard troops, under the direction of federal agents, shall begin enforcing my executive order and will remain federalized to support enforcement of the new legislation that I expect to be ready for my signature before the end of the week.
“Make no mistake, we are going to take our country back and restore so many of the freedoms that we have sacrificed on the altar of the gun. Resistance will be met with superior force. I regret the necessity for such an action, but the safety and security of the American people is my primary responsibility. America will be made safe again. May God bless you and may God bless these United States of America.”
William Carter pressed a button and froze the image as the president began to turn away from the camera. It was after midnight in New York and this was the third time he’d watched the entire recording.
“Magnificent speech!” he crowed to the room.
Three men were with him, each tired of watching the president but unwilling to complain.
“Mr. Dunfeld,” he said to the Secretary of Defense. “What are you hearing?”
The SecDef, an older man who had come from academia and had never served in the military, turned slightly to face Carter’s expansive smile.
“It’s still early, but the numbers are actually better than our estimates. On a national average, less than twenty percent of Guard members have responded to the call up. That is expected to change by morning, however an early lack of response is a good indication.”
“Outstanding!” Carter cried, in a buoyant mood as his plans continued to bear fruit. “And when not enough troops respond for the Guard to field an effective force, what will be the response of the active duty military?”
“That is more difficult to forecast,” Dunfeld said, shaking his head. “As it was explained to me, the Guard was always expected to be resistant to operating against civilians. Many of them consider themselves a civilian first, a soldier second, and as a result there is an inherent fear of finding themselves in a situation where they are asked to stand against a friend or neighbor.”
“What’s the best guess?” Jack Timmons asked. He’d stayed in New York in anticipation of this night.
“Active duty personnel do not think of themselves in the same manner. They are subject to military code and discipline on a daily basis. Many have spent time deployed to combat zones and understand the necessity of following orders. However, we must factor in the overwhelming demographic from which our military comes. Were they civilians, they would very likely be some of the people who are violently resisting the president’s executive order.”
“That’s not an answer,” Carter said, frowning for the first time in several hours.
“There’s not always an easy answer,” Dunfeld said.
“This isn’t a classroom at Harvard,” Timmons said, earning a nod from Carter. “You’re the goddamn Secretary of Defense and you don’t know what your own people will do when it’s time to shit or get off the pot?”
Dunfeld was unimpressed by the brash Californian or the volcanic New Yorker. He slowly looked back and forth between them, then reminded himself about the off-shore account they had set up for him, complete with a balance of fifty million dollars.
“Factoring in voting trends, regional influences based on where they grew up as well as a few other influencers, I believe that well over half of active duty personnel will refuse the president if she orders them to conduct operations within our borders, against American citizens.”
Carter leaned back with a small smile. This wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation, or even the third or fourth. But just because he’d gotten the answer he wanted in the past didn’t mean circumstances couldn’t have changed. He learned a long time ago in his business ventures to continually verify things were on track and there weren’t any looming surprises.
“Mr. Rosen?” he asked, turning to the Director of National Intelligence.
“Everything’s in place and the agents are already stirring the pot.”
For decades, there had been a group within the CIA with a very special skill set. Whenever American policy determined that a foreign leader needed to go, the men and women within this group would hit the ground in that country. Their job was fomenting unrest and dissent amongst the population, targeted against their own government. They were agitators and assassins. Professional disseminators of false information. Whatever was necessary to stir up the people, they would do. There was nothing in their playbook that was out of bounds.
Now, a carefully selected subgroup had been recruited, paid handsomely and turned loose on the American people. But not to influence support for the president’s actions. Their job was the opposite. To inflame specific segments of the population against her. To instill fear and mistrust in the government. To begin beating the drums of war, and not just any war.
Rosen leaned down and pulled a newspaper from his leather satchel. Standing, he unfolded it and placed it on Carter’s desk.
“The headline from the New York Tribune that will drop tomorrow morning.”
Across the top of the front page, immediately below the masthead, the words screamed a question in three-hundred-point font.
BYE-BYE 2ND – HELLO CIVIL WAR?
A breathless article followed that had been carefully crafted by a team of writers working in concert with a group of academics that included social scientists and psychologists. There were no disputable facts because there were no facts at all. It was propaganda at its finest.
Despite already knowing every word that was printed on the page, Carter took the time to re-read the article.
“Damn fine work, I must say,” he said
when he was finished. “This will terrify every liberal in the country and half the conservatives. The other half will be loading their guns before they finish reading.”
Chapter 29
It had gotten dark quickly and the only light in the small cabin came from the fire Tanya had built. It was crackling away in a fireplace that was really nothing more than a bunch of rocks stacked to create a firebox and chimney. Mud had been packed into the gaps so smoke didn’t leak into the room. If I’d really wanted, I could have pulled a couple of the round stones and the whole thing would most likely have come tumbling down. But it was functional.
We were sitting on the dirty floor, staring at the flames and enjoying the warmth. The temperature outside had dropped rapidly as the sun went down.
Strips of rabbit meat were draped across a couple of flat rocks I’d carried into the cabin. They were pushed close to the fire and dinner was just beginning to sizzle. The smell was wonderful and my stomach grumbled loudly in anticipation of a meal.
“So, do I get that kiss before or after we eat?”
I had finished cleaning the rabbit and preparing it for cooking before Tanya had gotten the fire going. In all fairness, I like rabbit, which means I hunt it. A lot. And while my mom had always been willing to cook it for me, she’d refused to clean it. So, I’d gotten quite adept at the process. From start to finish, including washing up and cleaning my dad’s knife in the stream, it had taken no more than five minutes. Tanya, limited to the age old process of rubbing two sticks together to generate heat and flames had been a couple of minutes slower.
“I never agreed to that bet!”
“You didn’t say no, either!”