He continued the tour past the kitchen.
“Here we have the sleepin’ quarters. Comfortable ‘nough for a long stay.” Four double bunk beds lined the sides of the main aisle. Two on either wall. The beds were made up with starched, folded-over sheets and army blankets square cornered like those in a military boot camp barracks. Old habits never die. Raz opened small doors and cubby holes above and beneath the bunks to reveal extra storage spaces filled with food supplies similar to those in his trailer. A taller closet, barely a foot wide contained more rifles and side arms.
“Raz,” Cody said, astonished at what he was seeing. “This is absolutely amazing. You have everything you need here. But why?”
“Why what?” the old man growled. It was apparent the young man didn’t have any concept as to what could possibly happen. What was happening. “Survival, boy. There needs ta be some of us left ta fight, ta get back what’s ours. ‘Nough people survive the takeover, maybe we can beat ‘em back.” Fire raged in his eyes and spittle dripped from his beard.
Cody noticed a small framed picture on the interior wall. It was a faded family photo with Raz, his wife Mildred, their son Jason as a young boy, and an old black dog. Raz was wearing an Army Special Forces uniform with a chest full of medals. Things can change so quickly, he thought.
Raz turned toward the end of the tubular structure and pointed behind a plastic curtain. “There’s the john. Small and self-contained,
but good ‘nough to take care of business. Got it leechin’ out ta an underground field. The bunker is ten feet underground, made of reinforced steel, encased in cinder blocks and concrete with rebar. It can hold eight people for six months, a bit longer if need be.”
“This is unbelievable,” Nick remarked. “Must have cost a fortune.”
“Yup,” Raz began. “Took a chunk of my savin’s, mostly from when we sold the place in town. But I figure it’s worth it. Beats the alternative.”
“And nobody knows about this place?” Cody asked.
“Not a livin’ soul,” Raz said. “Ya the first ones seen it finished.”
“Wow.”
They exited the bunker, shutting off the lights, and climbed out back through the shed floor. Raz made certain all locks were secured and the false wooden wall reset. With his boots he scraped dirt and straw back over the drop down door.
Raz looked at the gray sky. “One last thing and then we’ll be goin’.” He took the maps he had thrown in the truck and spread them out on the hood. It was getting darker so he grabbed a flashlight. “This is where we are,” he pointed to a spot on the atlas near the border. The boys looked on. “This is where ‘em buses are goin’. I guarantee it.” He drew a line on the map with his finger up to Interstate 10, west toward Tucson, then south again to some barren location in the middle of the desert. “Ya can see there’s nothin’ on the map.”
“How can you be certain that’s it?” Nick asked, stepping back from the man.
Raz shot him a glance. “ ‘Cause I been there before. I know what it’s used for.”
“What?”
“It’s a secret detention center hid off the grid. A few buildings, lots of fences. Not much else. Kinda sets back in the mountain out of sight in a dip between two ridges. Can only see it from the air. Been there once for work. Somebody, I don’t know if it was the CIA or DHS, or even the NSA, had twenty three prisoners hold up there. Corraled ‘em
from three different airports on the east coast lookin’ suspicious and carryin’ plastic explosives. I was flown in by chopper ta ah…question the men. They was all Muslim, Jihad terrorists from various Middle Eastern countries, we was told. Not too friendly ta the United States, don’t ya know. So me and my team did what we do, interrogated the group ‘til we got what we wanted.” Raz grumbled. “Took some time, but they talked.”
A slight grin formed on his hairy face. “In the end they always talked.”
He shifted his body. “Well, I was sent back home after we finished. No questions asked. That’s how we worked. That was the only time I been there, but I seen ‘nough ta know what was goin’ on. All I know is ya don’t have prison buildin’s in the middle of a god-forsaken desert capable of holdin’ lots of people just ta question a handful of suspected terrorists.”
“When was that, Raz?” Cody asked.
“Five years ago. Seems longer, though. When I came back home I went ta work the next day and quit on the spot. It was all over for me. Found out I was part of the system I thought I was fightin’. Couldn’t do it no more. That’s when we sold the house in town and I got this place.”
A slight smile escaped his lips. “It was fun at first. Me and the wife livin’ off the land, enjoyin’ our time together, walkin’ through the woods, a big burden off our shoulders. Blackie my dog was still with us. Life was real good. Then,” he stopped and nodded toward Cody, “ya know what happened next with Mildred. After that it just made sense ta stay here and live the best I could.”
Cody knew what Raz meant about his wife. Mildred was best friends with Robin’s mom. They saw each other everyday, not living too far from one another. They were inseparable. Cody and Robin would frequently spend time with Raz and Mildred. But when Mildred passed, they gradually went their own ways as the Gordon’s kids were getting older and Robin’s mom passed away.
After that, Raz would drop by Cody’s house maybe twice a year to say hello. He was aging badly and mostly kept himself busy working on his ‘research’. The last time Cody had actually seen Raz was about a year ago. Cody liked the guy, even admired him, despite his quirks and crazy theories and bothersome emails. Maybe Raz wasn’t all that wrong after all, Cody thought.
Raz returned to his plan to rescue Cody’s and Nick’s families. “We can’t drive on the highways. There could be road blocks or checkpoints. Be easy ta catch a lone pickup out in the open. Have ta
take the back routes. Be a lot longer, but our chances of gettin’ there are better.”
On the map he traced a back way from town through the desert to the detention camp. “Still have ta run on some smaller highways, but this is the best route.”
He folded the maps up and went to lock the front trailer door. Everyone got in the truck. It was pitch dark by now and the cold seemed to worsen. “Ready ta kick some ass?” Raz asked.
“Let’s do this,” Cody said. Nick agreed.
Raz slowly weaved his truck through the black woods. “There’s one more thing I want ya ta know. Both of ya.”
The boys looked at him, just a silhouette in the pickup.
“If anythin’ happens ta me, move ya families here. They’ll be safe. It’s yours. Ya understand?”
They both nodded.
“Ya understand me?” he said again more forcefully.
“Yeah.”
They knew exactly what Raz meant.
Chapter 22
The residents of Sierra Vista, Fort Huachuca, and the surrounding areas weren’t the only ones dealing with the extreme weather, the devastating blackout, or the forced evacuations. Neither were the problems only restricted to Cochise County in the southeastern corner of Arizona. The massive power outage had affected all of Arizona, all of the Southwest. In fact, the event, just one day old, had affected every point in the entire continental United States.
Thousands of Operation Rescues were in place running similar scenarios throughout the nation. Thousands of Operation Clean Sweeps were simultaneously in action in every village, town, city, suburb, and large metropolitan district. Virtually no place in America was spared the sudden and unexpected aggressive measures.
Hundreds of thousands of citizens had already died from exposure, freezing to death from the vicious cold front while attempting to reach their homes or waiting for civil assistance. Millions more would meet the same fate as the bitter air flow blanketed the nation and the electromagnetic pulse destroyed the country. The people controlling the event actually projected these substantial body counts. They rationalized that the more deaths
caused by the effects of the storm
alone, the better. It meant fewer resources were necessary for the ongoing local operations.
‘Rescuing’ and ‘sweeping’ the smaller, less populated districts were reasonably easy when compared to the mammoth undertakings in the densely inhabited metro areas. Large cities like Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, and Boston were strategic nightmares. The smaller cities of San Francisco, San Diego, Dallas-Fort Worth, Philadelphia, Atlanta, and Washington, D.C. were no easy task, however. Tens of millions of people still had to be dealt with in one way or another. Large military facilities with their ‘patriotic following’ were of special concern and designated top priority targets because of their ‘high stakes resistance rating.’
The Fort Huachuca area clearly fell into that category.
The general consensus by those in control was that the cold weather, combined with the lack of home heat and essential supplies, would eliminate ten to fifteen percent of the cities’ populations within three or four days. Most people, especially in urban settings, were completely unprepared for such unexpected circumstances. These were encouraging numbers to the event coordinators, but more needed to be done. Much more. After a full week, the numbers should geometrically increase to upwards of thirty percent, a more optimistic figure, leaving the actual number of active survivors more manageable for the operation commanders.
The people running the show, however, did not have to brave the weather or chaos above ground. They were safe in their luxurious bunkers well protected below the earth’s surface. Two of these protected zones were largely undisclosed to the general public, kept secret from the American populace under the guise of national security. Sheltered in their twenty billion tax dollar subterranean hideaways, their families and close friends and essential business associates and allied political proponents remained secure and comfortable in their assigned quarters. Between the two zones, the privileged inhabitants numbered less than three thousand, plus servants. A minuscule fraction of the entire population.
In the western portion of the country the chosen ones were transported to an underground safe zone forty-eight hours before the event began. Forewarnings were covert, transportation secretive. Deception was the key to ensured security. The bunker, identified as Station Two, was much like a self-contained city some two hundred feet beneath a well known mountain in the Denver, Colorado area. It
had been built decades earlier to protect essential personnel involved with critical national defense operations against any potential nuclear blast. That was during the Cold War period between America and Russia. Over the past several years Station Two had been extended and renovated to accommodate the influx of prospective new residents and updated with modern technological equipment.
The second, and even more secured bunker, was located in Washington, D.C., which should be of no surprise. Identified as Station One, it was located not far from the Capitol Building, several hundred feet beneath the surface of land owned by a private, unidentified corporation. It was only accessible through a concealed tunnel under the capitol, and controlled by the strictest of safekeeping.
Station One was reserved for the more important commanders and leaders of the operation. These people were considered to be experts in their fields and supporters of the new policies being implemented now and after America, or what was left of her, rose from her death bed in a new and stronger form, more condensed and centrally controlled. The expansive network of command centers, work stations, conference rooms, living quarters, and storage sections, far surpassed the smaller one in Colorado.
Both Stations were completely equipped with functioning electrical generators capable of running indefinitely, telecommunications which could connect all essential forces, and satellite links feeding information to the command posts. Everything necessary for the efficient operation of this immense attack on the country had been set in place nearly twenty years previously as the plan was being developed. All essential electrical and computerized equipment, both above and below ground, had been properly protected from any nuclear or EMP event. The private satellites orbiting the earth had remained in perfect working condition and were critical for all domestic and international communications.
Communications was the vital key in this mission, as it is in all tactical maneuvers. Being the central headquarters of the nationwide exercise, all information on every aspect of the mission was funneled into Station One. Station Two was linked directly to One. All other outlying regions’ communication systems were patched into Station One via satellite through a tiered system similar to that of a military chain of command.
The country had been mapped into ten regions, starting from the eastern seaboard. The regions were then divided into a different number of sectors, depending on the population count. Those sectors were lastly split into districts, which were typically identified as secluded cities—much like the Sierra Vista-Fort Huachuca grid—large suburbs, or geographically restricted portions of large metropolitan areas.
During the entire event all districts would report a glut of information and data regarding their progress in the field. Such data would include: number of detainees ‘rescued,’ number of inhabitants eliminated in direct confrontation, number of missing and presumed dead, and any unresolved ‘situations’ occurring in their particular sectors. All sectors, then would report the same to their regions. Every region would finally report their accumulated information and numbers directly to Central Command at Station One.
On the American east coast it had been exactly one day since the blackout and destructive event was initiated. Operations Rescue and Clean Sweep would not be finalized until the next few days, but reports were coming into Station One as scheduled from all ten regions as the local operations continued their tasks. The numbers looked very good.
The first analysis meeting of the general council deep beneath the Washington, D.C. cold was in progress. Eleven men were seated around a large conference table in the private Command Center. They were a mix of military commanders, political leaders, high ranking information specialists, and of course, the top man. All dedicated friends of the cause.
“Good evening gentlemen,” the executive said in a demanding voice from the head of the table. He looked confident in his expensive suit and power tie, but tired around his eyes and a bit apprehensive before hearing from his trusted associates. He forced a brief smiled and scanned a quick look at each person before him.
To his immediate left sat four-star General Joseph E. Wells, U.S. Army, Secretary of National Defense, and second in charge only to the lead man. Next, in clockwise direction, was Lt. General Howard P. Clayton, U.S. Marine Corps, Military Operations Commander. Then in succession, there sat the Deputy of Transportation, Deputy of Energy, Deputy of Communications, and Deputy of Foreign Affairs.
On the opposite side of the table sat the Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), the Undersecretary of the Federal Emergency Management Administration (FEMA), the Deputy
of the National Security Agency (NSA), and the lead scientist in charge of the top secret weather control program known as HAARP.
Detailed files with up to date reports were on the table in front of
each men.
“Let’s begin,” the executive said.
“Yes, Mr. President,” came the unanimous response.
Chapter 23
Raz worked his truck through the black forest and over the bumpy mountain terrain. He eventually turned off the Forest Service road and headed west. Instead of retracing the route taken to his house earlier he decided to take the longer, but less likely to be watched, road along the southern side of the mountains. It was a gravel road which ended on the far side of the army fort through Canelo and Elgin, small villages tucked in the western hills. From there he traveled through vineyard country surrounding Sonoita, a sleepy little ranching town. Then he continued west on State Route 83, a two-lane highway winding toward the border city of Nogales.
Cody sat quietly, thinking of his family. A lot had happened in one day. Today was Thanksgiving. It was supposed to be a relaxing, enjoyable time at home. By now he should be eating too much turkey with homemade stuffing and all the trimmings that go with the traditional dinner. He should be having a mug of hot chocolate and a big slice of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream with Robin and his children. He should be sitting by the fireplace, warm on a cold early winter night, watching The Wizard of Oz again with the people he most loved in this world.
Instead he was searching for them with no idea where they might be. Were they warm? Were they safe? Had they eaten? How were Jeffrey and Jennifer handling this traumatic experience? He knew his daughter would be scared. Even the darkness in her bedroom scared her enough that she needed a night light left on and her bedroom door cracked open a bit. Jeffrey, on the other hand, might consider their trip an adventure. It seemed nothing frightened the ‘Tada’ man.
How was Robin holding up? He wondered. She was a strong, sensible woman, and could care for herself. But with the kids she would be cautious. She must be wondering what happened to him, Cody thought. She must be wondering if he was coming for her. After briefly seeing each other through the slightly opened door in the high school gymnasium, Cody was certain that his wife knew he was in pursuit. She had to know that somehow he would come for them. And somehow he would.
Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning Page 15