Gabriel's Stand

by Jay B. Gaskill

  A moment later, the party noises were abruptly muffled as Longworthy closed the door to a large, well-appointed study. “Thank you,” Rex said. “I thought you would prefer to hear this directly from me and as soon as possible.”

  “Hear what?”

  “Your satellite news and programming feeds are using technologies that will soon be in violation of a Technology Retirement Order.”

  “WHAT?”

  “I knew you would want to know. The violations are in the ground-to-sat and sat-to-ground transmission process itself. I’m afraid there is no viable work-around. I saw the proposed order, myself.”

  “This is outrageous. This would be a catastrophe.”

  “Which is why I thought you would want to know as soon as possible.”

  “We’ll sue.”

  “No doubt, but I may have another option for you.”

  “And just what is that, Rex?” Bates’ tone was overtly hostile.

  “The Commission needs friends like you in the media.”

  “You already have plenty of friends.”

  “And we need you on board, Ed.” Again, stony silence. “I have authority to delay such an order indefinitely, for good cause.”

  “I see. And what is the price of this good cause?”

  “I just love the business mind. Not much of a price, really. We just want to be more in the loop.”

  “In the loop?”

  “Yes. Program content. News content. That sort of thing. No one need know.”

  “Swell.”

  “Here is a list,” Rex said, handing Bates a printed sheet. “These are people who should join your management team.”

  Bates scowled as he scanned the names and titles. “I’m supposed to fire my division heads and their key staff to keep you people happy?” Bates was flushed, his words clipped.

  “No, no, no. Nothing like that, Ed. These are additional people. They are there, at our expense, mind you, to help your managers.”

  “Like political officers?”

  Rex merely smiled.

  “I don’t suppose you got the reference.”

  “I did,” Rex said. “Maybe you could think of them as advisors.”

  “Like hell.”

  “The order will be promulgated the first of the month.”

  “That’s in less than two weeks!”

  “Only if you don’t cooperate…”

  Bates, turned away, pacing. “I don’t like it.”

  “It’s for the best. No one need know.”

  “I have to talk to legal.”

  “Don’t take too long.”

  Bates glared back as Longworthy left the room.

  “Shall I leave the door open?” Rex asked.

  Bates shrugged. Commissioner Rex Longworthy walked away, leaving the door to the study ajar. After, five minutes, the patrician face of Knight Fowler looked in on Bates, who was in a phone conversation.

  “Hi, Ed. Don’t mean to interrupt. Did you two have a good visit? I find Commissioner Longworthy to be such a nice guy, don’t you?”

  Ed Bates ended his call, brushed by his host, and left the gathering without speaking to anyone.

  Chapter 40

  In New Jersey, the very next week, the Commission paid a visit to the offices of Channel 100, a Bates’ Communications Affiliate. The headquarters occupied an office building in Newark, not far from the airport. At 1:00 P.M., Commission agents appeared in three vans, freshly adorned with the Gaia Logo. Four agents remained outside on the sidewalk, a caricature of high government authority, complete with dark glasses on an overcast day, black suits, and self-important faces, while the remaining four strode into the lobby. Flashing the Commission ID at the receptionist, the lead agent produced a single sheet of paper. “This is a Retirement Order,” he said. “We will be conducting an inventory for the next two hours. No one may enter or leave the building.”

  White with shock, the receptionist, a girl of twenty-one, pressed the intercom. “Walt, there are several Commission agents here with an order. Call Mr. Bates.” She looked up. “Someone will be here in a moment.”

  “What’s in the office there?” The agent pointed to a door on the right of reception.

  “You can’t just…”

  The senior agent motioned and two agents strode to the door and threw it open. “Bring the cart,” he said, speaking into a lapel mike.

  “Please step outside,” an agent said to the startled occupant of the office. The man meekly complied while the second agent strode inside and peered over the desk. “Leave that old monitor for now,” the chief agent ordered. “Pull the CPU.”

  At that moment, an agent rolled a large metal cart into the lobby, while the second agent emerged from the office carrying a computer, the severed wires dangling. Station manager Walt arrived on the scene just as the first computer thunked into the bottom of the cart.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

  “Who are you?” the chief agent asked.

  “I’m the station manager.”

  “Then we’ll be taking your laptop,” the agent said. “Do you also have a SmartPage?”

  ——

  At 11:00 A.M. in Wyoming on the same day, two vans containing Commission agents parked next to the Laramie Police Department. Six minutes later, the Dean of the University of Wyoming received a phone call.

  “I couldn’t hold them,” the Chief said. “Looks like your tip was right on the money.”

  “Thank you for the heads-up,” the Dean said. “I take it you are understaffed today.”

  “Sadly,” the police chief said. “Couldn’t spare anyone to help these people. Not a one.”

  At 11:42, the same two Commission vans arrived at the campus entrance to find it blocked by four pickup trucks with empty gun racks clearly visible through their back windows. Joe Zimmer, the University President was standing with a group of men and women near the gate, conspicuous in his white shirt and tie.

  The lead Commission agent and five others swaggered toward the entrance, looking out of place in their black suits. “Who’s in charge here?” one agent asked in a loud voice, flashing his ID.

  “I am Joseph Zimmer,” the man in the white shirt and tie said, smiling. “How can we help you?”

  “I have a Retirement Order from the Technology Licensing Commission,” the agent said producing a paper. “Just what is your authority here?”

  “I head the University’s administration.” Dr. Zimmer took the Order and slipped it into his pocket without reading it. “I’ll show this to our counsel. Anything else?”

  “We are coming in.”

  At those words, there was the unmistakable sound of rounds being chambered in ten separate weapons, three high powered carbines, one shotgun, and six semiautomatic handguns. In seconds, the agents were facing six off-duty police, men and women, and four angry ranchers. This citizen’s phalanx stood in a grim tableau. The agent in charge reflexively reached for his service pistol; then came to his senses and raised his gun hand, showing his palm. Then an additional two dozen grim faced members of the community, equally well-armed, appeared and took their places alongside the defenders; it was a scene right out of some old western movie.

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question,” President Zimmer said. “We take our privacy seriously here in Wyoming.”

  ——

  By 1:51 at the Channel 100 office in Newark, the first cart was completely full of laptops, SmartPages, CPU’s, cellphones, and personal entertainment units, and a second cart had been wheeled into place. The station manager, Walt, was still sitting on the carpet in the lobby, his back against the wall, while miles away, Ed Bates was trying without success to get through to Commissioner Longworthy.

  One agent remained in the lobby area to supervise, while the others were working down from the top floor. “Looks like it might rain,” he said conversationally.

  The station manager looked up, seething with contempt and fear; then he looked away and resumed star
ing at the floor.

  The elevator door opened, and two agents emerged, carrying armloads of laptops. “We need more carts,” one said. “Don’t you people have carts we could use?”

  Walt stared grimly at the floor while more electronics clattered into the second cart. The switchboard phones rang unanswered. A crowd of onlookers formed outside, kept at bay by the agents posted near the vans.

  ——

  It was high noon in Laramie and the Commission vans were retreating into the distance. “Thank you for the backup,” President Zimmer said. He shook the hand of everyone who had stayed to show support. An hour later, Wyoming State Patrol officers issued tickets to each Commission driver for violating the speed limit.

  ——

  That evening Rex Longworthy received the report in his residential office in Darien, Connecticut.

  “Now Bates wants to deal,” his assistant said.

  “Of course he does.” Longworthy leaned back in his chair, arms behind his back. “Tell him he knows what the arrangement is.” He smiled triumphantly.

  “It didn’t go well in Wyoming.”

  “Why? Was Smith Senior there?”

  “The former Senator, now Professor? No. He made bail and no one has seen him.”

  “What happened?”

  “No support from the local law enforcement.”

  “Yahoos,” Longworthy muttered.

  “The University President refused to let the agents on campus.”

  “And we just took that?”

  “There were armed citizens. Well-armed citizens.”

  “Damn. I knew we should have gone after the firearms first,” Longworthy said. He sat forward in his chair, slamming his fist in the desk. “But there are other ways to solve this. How soon can we get a map of the location of their data transmission cables?”

  “I’ll get on that.”

  Rex beamed. “Don’t fret, my friend. A few nuts in some backwater part of the old wild-west can delay our progress, but they can’t stop us. We are the wave of the future. And soon we will have the media in our pocket.”

  ——

  Following the Treaty ratification and the shakeup in the Senate, all staff employees of the Smith Sub-Committee on Domestic Terrorism had been laid off and the Sub-Committee on Terrorism dissolved. But deep in the bowels of the federal intelligence apparatus, recordings of international calls were still made by an automated process, classified by a mindless algorithm, and neatly stored for a review that would never come, for the human masters were no longer home.

  The conversation was in German:

  “You’ve let the little Indian girl slip away, I hear.”

  “Snowfeather can’t hide forever. Why worry? She can’t do us any real harm now that we are in control.”

  “Control is such an elusive condition, Louise. And you are caught up in short-sighted perspective. I’m surprised at you. Her father can do us immense harm.”

  “I see. So we kill him, then.”

  “No. You’ve waited too long for that. Her father has notoriously opposed the treaty, and now in retirement, he is becoming a popular figure. Your people tend to be clumsy. I fear they would give the opposition the wrong kind of martyr.”

  “I’m sorry. So we need Gabriel’s daughter in our hands in order to control him?”

  “Exactly.”

  “We’ll catch her. I promise.”

  “Do it quietly then, and before she becomes too prominent.”

  “Understood.”

  Chapter 41

  “Guess who I heard from?” Alice was smiling. Gabriel hadn’t seen his wife genuinely happy for months.

  He stared at his her tiny image on his screen. Gabriel was in his trailer in Southern Idaho, and Alice was using a non-encrypted videophone borrowed by her friends at tribal headquarters. “I’m afraid to speculate,” he said, his heart hammering.

  “I talked to a person of interest. And I talked to an old friend. I can’t say more over this connection. So call me?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  A minute later Gabriel was using a key encrypted line routed through a bank in Salt Lake City. “Hi,” Alice said. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. Out with it woman.”

  “Fred Loud Owl and Snowfeather called from an encrypted phone—somehow, Loud Owl has access to this spy stuff. Fred wants to get Snowfeather to see you, Gabriel. I’m so jealous.”

  “Just me? You should be there. It has been so long. When?”

  “Actually we’ll all meet here at the Intertribal Center, if that can be arranged. Then she wants to get away with you and you slip out unseen. Remember, Gabriel, I’m working under an alias.”

  “We can sneak off to our old camping place.”

  “Now I really am jealous.”

  “How did they find you?” Gabriel asked.

  “Oh, you know Fred Loud Owl and his tribal connections.”

  Holding the encrypted sat-phone in hand, Gabriel pushed his chair away from the counter where the laptop was set up and reached for dog food in the drawer under the sink. “So how did Snowfeather find him?”

  “Good question. Turns out you did some business with a man named Roberto Kahn?”

  “Yes. He is a lawyer based in Arizona that I consulted with on parts of the Habitat project. Nice young man.”

  “Well he has also worked with Fred Loud Owl. And in one of those providential fate encounters, Kahn saw Snowfeather on a ferry in the San Juan Islands when she was on the run from Berker. He figured out who she was and gave her his business card. Eventually, she connected with him in Tucson and he called in Fred.”

  “Sounds like providence was at work,” Gabriel said.

  “I agree. Well anyway, Fred picked her up and used one of his Spirit Journey outings to give her some space to think. Fred always knows the perfect hideouts.”

  “That sounds just like Fred,” Gabriel said, laughing. As he poured dog food into a tray at his feet, Fat Fox crawled between his legs, tangling the laptop power cord. “When can we see her?” The black chow began attacking his dinner with noisy enthusiasm.

  “What’s that sound?”

  “Fat Fox is having dinner under my feet.”

  “Tickle him for me.”

  “I will. Hey. I have some news, myself,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me someone called you?”

  “Yes. People do call me here. Bill collectors, old constituents, Cousin Steve, your Uncle Max. All to complain. But this was different. Are you ready for my news?”

  “Ready.”

  “I have found John Owen.”

  “Thank God. He finally called? He’s okay? Out with it, Gabriel. Did John Owen call you or what?”

  “His assistant Ken Wang did. By the way, Ken is John’s new son-in-law.”

  “What? Isn’t that quick?”

  “Yes, but consider Elisabeth’s situation. Her baby was born after Josh died in that Vector plant fire, and John sent her into hiding. It seems that Ken Wang was assigned to protect her. Well she had the baby, time passed, and the little guy has already had his first birthday. John told me that Ken and Elisabeth got married in Montana and Ken has adopted the boy.”

  “Montana? That’s next door! Gabriel, it’s so hard to catch up. I wasn’t even sure John was alive. And Elisabeth… How is her little boy?”

  “Fine. More to the point—safe. They call him Little Josh, after his dad.”

  “Where is John?”

  “Okay… He’s in hiding at a secret location.”

  “Thank God. We heard that the blood and tissue the police found in that Seattle warehouse matched John’s DNA.”

  “I know, but that’s not the whole story,” Gabriel said. “John was tied up at the scene of his kidnapping. He cut his way loose and early bled out as a result; but his people got him away safely to Canada. As of now, he’s off the continent, and I don’t want to know where. I’m hoping the G-A-N freaks think he’s dead. It was a pretty hairy kidnap, Alice. It was a
ll about the Treaty vote. John escaped by cutting off his own right hand.”

  There was a long silence. “Oh. My. God. Is he okay?”

  “Yes. Minus his right hand.”

  “John is amazing. Give him a hug from me…if you ever reach him again.”

  “I hope I can. Ken Wang left me a couple of encrypted numbers and some passwords to use for emergencies. Oh, I almost forgot the other big story. John is restarting Edge Medical and Vector Pharmaceuticals…locations undisclosed, for obvious reasons.”

  “So John is now an illegal drug dealer?”

  “That’s about it. Aren’t you glad you married me?”

  “My mother warned me about dating you.”

  “So did mine,” Gabriel said, chuckling.

  “Yes, she did, too, come to think of it…”

  Chapter 42

  North of Salmon, Idaho, the following week…

  “God, I miss my pipe,” Gabriel said, as he stirred the last embers of their dinner fire. The evening sun shot through the lodge pole pines in broken shards, dappling the rocky ground. When Fred Loud Owl had reached Gabriel after Snowfeather’s Spirit Journey, Fred brought Snowfeather quietly and secretly to visit Alice and Gabriel in Sandpoint, Idaho, a place that the Commission agents, fully occupied with enforcing the new regulations in the urban centers, were leaving alone for the time being. It was during that secret reunion that a special father-daughter trip return to the Old Campground was planned. It was to be just Snowfeather and Gabriel—Alice having decided to stay behind to protect her cover identity. So father and daughter traveled by car from the Spokane, Washington airport to Salmon, Idaho, and trekked from there with pack horses to this favorite childhood spot.

  Gabriel looked over at the tent where Snowfeather was busy unpacking her clothing. Gabriel found himself studying the changes in his daughter’s appearance: still pretty, but with a new leanness in her face. He detected a certain brusqueness of movement, as one might expect from someone on the run. And there was an unmistakable, almost heartbreaking aura of sadness. Gabriel had been chewing on some very bad news—a call from a Seattle police contact that he received after he and Snowfeather left Sandpoint. He dreaded the moment when he must tell their daughter.