Autumn (Four Seasons Book 1)

by Robert Sullivan

  “The Globalist National Convention,” the voice replied. “You’re going to abduct their Presidential candidate, Liam Hensen.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Field

  “It’s been twenty-four hours since Staten Island was turned into a war zone and authorities are still trying to piece together what happened as residents of the island try to put their lives back together. Schools across the borough have been shut down for the week as many parts of the island are still without power. The body count is so high that authorities are having trouble cleaning them up, despite the warm temperatures accelerating decomposition. Authorities are asking people not to approach the bodies, but instead notify them where the bodies are via phone or social media.”

  “Goddamn,” Liam said, staring at the TV screen in his campaign bus. He was on his way to an event in Michigan where he hoped to earn favor amongst the blue-collar workers. He had been distracted for the past day, however, by the battle that had rampaged over Staten Island, as had the rest of the nation. Far from the stunned sorrow that had permeated the nation in the attacks months prior, this was causing a feeling of confusion, as people did not seem to know what to make of it.

  Ryan was looking at the TV as well. “What do you think happened?” he asked.

  “Some kind of disagreement with this…Black Hand,” Liam said. “Is that what they are calling this gang?”

  “As far as I know, yes,” Ryan replied.

  Liam frowned. “That’s not the gang that the boss was talking about, was it?

  Ryan grimaced. “It might be,” he replied.

  Liam sighed heavily. “I’ll make mention of the security issue in this speech I’m about to make.”

  “Don’t focus too heavily on that though,” Ryan said. “These people want security as much as the next person, but they are also really hurting for jobs.”

  “Under my plan, everyone will be working though,” Liam said. “And we definitely need these blue-collar workers, because I want us making our own steel again.”

  “Donald Trump tried that more than twenty years ago,” Ryan said.

  “And it worked to an extent,” Liam countered. “He just didn’t have what was needed to fix the problem entirely.”

  “You know, you better not let the Progressives hear you even making that half-hearted approval of President Trump. They still think he is synonymous with Hitler,” Ryan said, snickering.

  “I don’t care about the Progressive vote,” Liam said sarcastically. “I don’t want people voting for me who are so insulated from reality they actually think that Trump was Hitler. Do you recall any genocides from that time?”

  “Well if you count the old Islamic State,” Ryan said, shrugging. “But that wasn’t him as much as it was half of the other countries in the world finally getting sick of the terrorist attacks.”

  “They shouldn’t have let it get as far as it did,” Liam said darkly.

  “I know what you mean,” Ryan said. “But anyway, that’s all decades ago now. Islamic extremism is the least of our concerns at present.”

  “What is our greatest concern?” Liam asked.

  “The poll numbers,” Ryan said simply. “Look, I know we want to avoid a runoff in the House, but if we can’t get these numbers up in the Northeast, then we aren’t going to get a majority.”

  “We have that contingency planned out,” Liam said.

  “I would prefer not to let it get that far,” Ryan said. “Especially if we only end up with a plurality in the House, which is more probable than a majority.”

  “Well, we have to wait to the conventions before we can really get going on the general election,” Liam reasoned. “Especially since we don’t know who the Center candidate is.”

  “Yeah, that’s turned into a giant clusterfuck,” Ryan said. “But the Conservative and Progressives aren’t fucking around.”

  “I’m not afraid of Sanchez or Hall. They’re platforms are too specific to be palatable to an entire electorate,” Liam said.

  “Yeah, but they could still get a plurality, especially Hall,” Ryan countered. “Well, as long as Roger Ward doesn’t take too much of the conservative vote in the South.”

  “Is that even likely?” Liam asked.

  “You know, it didn’t look like it a month ago, but he’s actually getting something of a following down there,” Ryan said, letting his surprise show. “It’s bizarre, I wouldn’t have thought Ward would have gotten any considerable following at all, but he’s trended upward from two or three percentage points to five or six. It’s not much, but in a five-way election, that could mean a lot.”

  “As long as he’s not taking anything from us, I don’t care,” Liam said.

  “He’s not. He’s taking disaffected Center voters, just not as many as we are,” Ryan said, pulling out his laptop. “When I checked this morning we were up to around 22% on RealClear.”

  “What is everyone else at?” Liam asked.

  “Well, Ward is at 6%, Sanchez is at 17%, Hall is at 26%, Green is down to 18%, and 11% are undecided or other,” Ryan said.

  Liam smirked. “The Center has to be really upset with Anderson and Thompson.”

  “Publicly, President Hoch expressed disappointment. Privately, he was furious,” Ryan said, smirking. “This will hurt the Center party down ballot, having a bad candidate in Green. He rubs people the wrong way.”

  “Which will turn people towards us, right?” Liam demanded.

  “It should. The convention will help though. It’ll show people how far we’ve come as a party,” Ryan said.

  “As long as everything goes to plan,” Liam added. “That is important.”

  “They will,” Ryan said, waving his hand. “We’ve got everything under control.”

  “Good,” Liam said, getting up. “Let’s go make this speech then.”

  “There was a time when American steel production was the envy of the world. The factories in this part of the country used to produce a quarter of the world’s steel. Now, we produce a mere fraction of that. My program will get the factories roaring again and you will be able to support your families on just one steel job alone,” Liam was saying to a sizable crowd. They were listening intently, as their livelihoods depended on it.

  “It’s been decades since anyone in Washington has cared about you. My party are going to change that. We are going to go into the Beltway and change it from an out of touch bureaucracy and turn it into a city that works for America. By doing so, we will secure the streets, we will reopen the factories, we will get the farms growing again, and America will be unmatched the world over!”

  The crowd cheered. It had been a long time since anyone had come specifically to them promising the restoration of their lifestyle. They were blue-collar workers through and through. Even after the decline of the steel industry initiated nearly a century before, the people of the Great Lakes region had not adapted to the service industry and preferred to stay in manufacturing.

  “The wealth generated by the reopening of the factories will spread throughout the region. With it, you will be able to rebuild schools, hospitals, infrastructure. There won’t be any more outdated technology from the last century by the time you have rebuilt our lives and cities. You will be a gleaming beacon for the country and the world!”

  The crowd cheered even louder. “Hensen! Hensen! Hensen!” They began to chant.

  Liam smiled, letting them indulge themselves for a moment before raising his hand so he could continue speaking. “I don’t want to ask you for money. I know that your resources are very limited. All I am asking you for is your support and your vote. Together we can rebuild your lives and this country!”

  The crowd roared. However implausible it may have been, no one had come to them in a long time promising to help their plight. They were willing to throw their lot in with the only person that cared.

  Liam waved to the crowd. He let that dream float to the front of his mind again. Every day, it seemed more probab
le that it would come true.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Help from Above

  In the latter days of April, several storm systems permeated the Eastern United States. These systems would produce some scattered severe weather in the Plains states and widespread showers and thunderstorms from there to the Atlantic. One such system was on its way out into the Atlantic Ocean, but not before peppering the Northeast with rain.

  Greg was walking through another rain shower, his head bowed down except for the occasional glance skyward to grimace at the water that was falling from the sky. There had been more than enough rain in the past few weeks and he was getting tired of it. He would not have bothered to go out if there was not important Conspiracy business to attend to.

  There had not been any sign of hostility from the Black Hand in the weeks following their civil war. Even the low level of background violence that had carried on during the curfew had ceased. Greg suspected they were trying to rebuild from the top down, but he had not been able to confirm this. Eric, who had survived the battle on Staten Island, had lost half of his Black Hand leaders and was now standing idle, waiting for the chain of command to be rebuilt.

  This business he had did not have to do with the Black Hand. He had a meeting with the federal agents who had launched the investigation of the Task Force months before. The Fed had proven itself to be quite cordial with the Conspiracy over the past few weeks, which made Greg feel more than a little uncomfortable. He had not wanted to get entangled with the Fed, but help was help. The federal investigators were here to present their findings to Greg personally as their investigation involved him personally.

  Greg glanced up again, this time noting how close One World Trade Center had come. The FBI office he was having the meeting with was only a couple of blocks from the tallest building in the city and Greg was planning on paying respects at Ground Zero after the meeting. He had been very young when the September 11 attacks occurred, but even nearly thirty years later, the pain could still be felt. It may have been dulled over the years and especially in the wake of the Black Hand attacks in January, but the scars ran deep decades later.

  Greg reached the FBI office and walked in. He was surprised by the number of armed guards in the building, including what he suspected to be Secret Service agents. He was wondering why they would be here when he was approached by Agent Thomas, who reached out to shake his hand.

  “Greg, how have you been?” he asked.

  “Busy,” Greg replied, shaking his hand.

  “So we’ve heard. Listen, there’s been a change of plans. I’m going to explain once we get closer to the meeting room,” Agent Thomas explained.

  Greg was perplexed, but he allowed it as they walked further into the building. After a minute of silence, Agent Thomas said, “Did you notice the Secret Service?”

  “Yeah, why the hell would they be here?” Greg asked.

  “The President is here,” Agent Thomas said simply.

  Greg stopped in his tracks. “I’m sorry, I thought I misheard you there, did you say the President?”

  “Yes, I did,” Agent Thomas said, stopping as well. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Not for ideological reasons,” Greg replied shortly. “It’s just, what does he have to do with the investigation?”

  “He didn’t have anything to do with it,” Agent Thomas replied. “He kind of just invited himself.”

  “Why?” Greg asked.

  “He wouldn’t say,” Agent Thomas replied, starting to walk again. “But he knows that you’ve been fighting the Black Hand in the city and probably wants to talk to you about that.”

  Greg did not reply, but did start following Agent Thomas down the hall again. They reached a door that was flanked by two Secret Service agents. Agent Thomas flashed his badge and said, “This is the man the President came up to see.”

  One of the men nodded and opened the door for them. Agent Thomas led, followed reluctantly into the room and found that President Alfred Hoch was indeed in the room. The first Center party candidate to become President had been in his mid-50s when he became President in 2037, but three years later, he seemed to have aged fifteen years. He had decided not to run for reelection in light of the stress the job had caused him, not to mention the fact he had been wildly ineffective at the job.

  President Hoch stood up and shook Greg’s hand, who was still dumbfounded. “I see you did not expect me,” the President said in a hoarse voice.

  “No, I did not,” Greg replied.

  “It was a security risk. We couldn’t let word get out that we were in the city with the Black Hand still loose. I’ve faced more than one assassination attempt in this city and I would like to survive to the end of my term if I could,” the President said darkly.

  “If I may, Mr. President,” Greg started, “What are you doing here?”

  “I came here to meet you, Mr. Carlton,” President Hoch said. “I understand you’ve been fighting the Black Hand here in the city following the attacks in January?”

  “I figured I couldn’t rely on outside help to stop the Black Hand,” Greg explained. “My time in the Task Force made that very clear.”

  “The Task Force is…or was…a part of the bureaucracy,” President Hoch said. “There is very little oversight of this ‘fourth branch’ if you will. They’ve gotten too big and I tried to rein them in, but it didn’t work. It’s going to take a stronger personality than me to clean up that mess. And it’s certainly not going to be that asshat my party is trying to put forward,” the President added, glowering.

  “That’s fine and all, but what does that have to do with…” Greg started

  “Someone was telling the Task Force to stand down as the Black Hand grew in power,” the President said. “I don’t like that someone from outside the government is telling the government what to do. And I don’t like that the Task Force went along with it. It can’t be for a good reason.”

  Greg was suddenly reminded of the person who had threatened him when Emma Drexel had been killed. “I’ve spoken to someone like that,” he said.

  “Really?” the President asked. “What did they sound like?”

  “They used a computer to generate a voice to talk through,” Greg explained. “I didn’t hear their real voice.”

  “Damn it,” the President said. “Well, I think that finishing off the Black Hand might help reveal who is behind all of this.”

  “What does the Black Hand have to do with this person?” Greg asked.

  “There’s a reason this person was telling the Task Force to ignore the Black Hand. I think that bringing down the whole Black Hand will show the connection. Is there any way you can target the leadership of this gang?” the President asked.

  Greg paused. He was loathe to share the information that he had on the Black Hand with the President. He chose his words carefully, saying, “I know who the leader is and some of his support staff. I don’t know where they are at this time though.”

  “Well, I’m sure you are doing your best,” the President said. “I can’t get anything done because of all the damn red tape, so this is off the record. I’m going to provide you with the resources you need to finish off the Black Hand. I can’t share any information with you, but I can help you get it yourself. My people will give you surveillance tools and weapons. You’ll have to get the training yourself though.”

  Greg was dumbfounded for the second time in less than an hour. “I don’t know what to say,” Greg said.

  “Then don’t,” the President said. “I’ll check in periodically on this secure phone.”

  President Hoch handed Greg a phone. He got up to leave and said, “Agent Thomas, this meeting didn’t happen, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Agent Thomas said.

  The President nodded. “I’ll have what you need sent directly to your apartment,” he said. “You haven’t moved right?”

  “No I haven’t,” Greg said. “I’m still getting pension checks there a
fter all.”

  “Good man,” the President said, exiting the room.

  “Did you have anything you wanted to tell me?” Greg said, turning to Agent Thomas.

  Agent Thomas turned back to Greg and said, “He said most of what I was going to say. The Department of Justice made an agreement with the White House to look the other way while you engaged in vigilantism. In return, you would get around the red tape and take down the Black Hand.”

  Greg lowered his voice as he asked, “What about Veronica?”

  “There’s no sign of her,” Agent Thomas said, sighing. “We went back to the riot…started by the Black Hand as it turned out…and interviewed survivors who would have seen what happened to her. They all simply lost sight of her midway through the riot. We captured some injured Black Hand soldiers when we swept up Staten Island a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Did they know anything?” Greg asked eagerly.

  “Most of them didn’t,” Agent Thomas said. “One did though. He said they took her away from the city to be ransomed, but she didn’t know what happened after that.”

  “But there was never a ransom,” Greg protested.

  “There was, actually,” Agent Thomas said. “The Task Force was not able to meet it,”

  “Why?” Greg demanded.

  “It meant compromising highly classified data,” Agent Thomas replied. “Director Drexel refused to meet the demand. We found this out when we were going through her computer after her death.”

  “But if she didn’t meet the ransom…” Greg started.

  “In all likelihood, Veronica would have been killed,” Agent Thomas said. “I’m sorry, Greg.”

  Greg sighed heavily. He had long suspected that Veronica might be dead; but this seemed to be confirmation. “It’s been so long since I’ve had any real hope. I guess…I guess this is closure.”

  “Well, I’m glad for that then. Now, I’m sure that you have work that you need to do,” Agent Thomas finished.

  Later that evening, the rain had ceased and Greg was back in his apartment. He had called the leadership of the Conspiracy together for an emergency meeting because of what had transpired earlier today. He had needed time to think about what he was going to say; he knew for sure that Bob would not like what had happened.