Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning

by Robert Johnson

  There was a muffled laughter in the room.

  “Some have slipped through our nets, however, the majority are accounted for and are being rounded up as we speak. The few loose cannons will be pursued to the fullest extent.” The Deputy took a deep breath. “We know what our allies are doing. We know what our enemies are doing. We also know what foreign terrorists and those in between are doing. In other words, gentlemen, the NSA knows everything about everything, and we’re damn good at our job.”

  He addressed the President directly. “Sir, I think it would be prudent to review my more sensitive information with you in private at your earliest convenience.”

  The committee members looked on, feeling left out of the loop. What in the hell did this head spy have to discuss confidentially with the commander-in-chief?

  The President nodded toward the NSA Deputy. “As soon as this meeting is adjourned.”

  Finally, the last man at the table was about to speak. As the lead scientific engineer of the government’s Weather Modification Program he knew everything concerning geo-engineering of the world’s climate.

  “The bitter cold encompassing most of the United States,” he began, “has perfectly enhanced the main mission we are involved in. Our manipulation of the weather locked in over the country through the modification of Cirrus clouds has given us full control over atmospheric pressure systems, the planet’s jet streams, and changes in the environmental climate.

  “Through exhaustive scientific research and extensive experimentation focusing on ionospheric, electromagnetic, and global electrostatic fields, we are capable through military endeavors of creating localized weather systems and worldwide climate alterations. For those of you who are unaware of how this occurs,” the scientist paused, assuming the other men had no concept of what he was talking about, “let me briefly explain.

  “Our HAARP project, or High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program, has allowed us to use radio frequency energy to create atmospheric heat directed toward targeted portions of the ionosphere. In turn, this affects the earth’s weather patterns, precipitation, and temperature. I’m certain you have seen the so called ‘chem-trails’ in the skies over every populated area of the globe. Those aerial sprayings of various chemical and biological agents work in conjunction with HAARP to modify the climate as we deem necessary.”

  There was a heavy silence in the room. Of course each committee member had seen the ‘trails’, commonly mistaken as commercial airline’s vapor contrails, delivered by high altitude military jets and stealth drones. But few of them knew exactly how the airborne mists interacted with HF waves to change the weather. Now they knew. Sort of.

  “We can, Mr. President,” the scientist said with pure confidence, “maintain the frigid air over the nation as long as you need to complete the mission. Alternately, if desired, deadly freeze, desert heat, heavy precipitation, or the lack of can be controlled. Also, high winds, tornadoes, hurricanes, even earthquakes can be established at the flip of a few levers. In conclusion, sir, our weather manipulation program is operating precisely as expected.”

  Everyone in the room sat quietly for a moment. The reports they had just heard were intense, to say the least. To some, they were almost

  unbelievable. Each one of the men felt privileged…no, honored, to be a part of the most rigorous world changing military coup in human history.

  The President stood up. He was damned pleased at the progress. “Thank you gentlemen for your fine work. I must be going now. Please keep me updated every two hours. Good night.”

  The meeting was over. But there was more work that had to be done. The Chinese Chairman and Russian President were standing by for the American President’s update of the critical event.

  Chapter 29

  The Humvee moved toward the string of headlights blocking the roadway. Sure enough, Raz and Cody could visually verify the cars in front of them were commandeered Border Patrol vehicles. They weren’t there to check passports, either.

  “Fuckin’ cockroaches,” Raz growled once again.

  “Think we should be ready,” Cody mentioned. He reached into the back seat and found two semi-automatic rifles which Raz had tossed in. “You know,” Cody eyeballed his friend, “just in case.”

  Raz grinned at the kid. He was all right as far as the old guy was concerned. “Good idea. Keep ya pistol handy too.”

  “You think they’re trouble?” Cody asked, referring to the dozen or so armed cockroaches waiting for them.

  “Ya can bet on it, sonny.”

  “So what should we do?” Cody asked nervously.

  “I kinda like ya idea. Go in as friendlies, then blast our way through,” Raz laughed. “Just let me do the talkin’. Don’t say nothin’.”

  Cody looked at him, trying to figure out if the crazy old man was serious. He couldn’t tell. He slid the rifles between his seat and door frame to keep them hidden from any nosy cockroach sticking his head into the vehicle, if any of them got that close. “Okay.”

  Raz rolled the Humvee to within a car length of the lit-up sedans crowded with gun-totin’ thugs. Cody lowered himself in his seat, remembering the side panels of the vehicle were bulletproof, but the windows were not. He watched Raz come to a stop.

  Two young men stepped out of their ‘government’ car, one carrying a shotgun, the other a pistol. The one with the handgun motioned for Raz to open his window. Raz had one of those deja vous moments, but this time he planned on remaining in the vehicle.

  “Que paso?” the man yelled through the closed window.

  Yup. Just as Raz figured. Mexican cockroaches. The criminal type who come out at night when nobody’s looking.

  Raz lowered his window. It was still too damn cold outside. “Que paso back ta ya,” he said in his worst Spanglish. “Como estas?”

  Cody rolled his window down too, following Raz’s lead. He was ready.

  “Where you go?” the man switched to broken English after seeing the hairy, white gringo in the driver’s seat.

  In his usual manner, Raz played along. “Goin’ that a ways,” he explained while pointing straight through the windshield beyond the roadblock.

  The man didn’t understand a word Raz said. Must have been Raz’s relaxed form of speech. He asked again. “No comprende gringo. Where you go?”

  “Just told ya, ya dumb son-of-a-bitch. Down ta Old Mexico ta get me some tequila and one of them hot senoritas. Been a rough night.”

  A few of the other bandits shouted something in Spanish to the man grilling Raz. He waved them off. He could handle a crazy old drunken fool. “Nice car, mister. I like you car,” he said.

  “Yup, it’s a beaut. Great for desert travel or for runnin’ road blocks,” Raz grunted, attempting to rattle the trouble maker. If the bastard could understand him.

  The man looked inside the vehicle and motioned toward Cody. “Who you?”

  Cody waved at him, determined to stay silent.

  Raz answered before Cody could say anything. “He’s my boy. Gonna git him drunk and laid in Nogales. It’s his birthday.”

  “No, no,” the man shook his hand. “Nogales not open. Not open. You go back. Now.”

  “What in the hell ya mean Nogales ain’t open? How in the hell is a city closed?” Raz kept pushing.

  “Not open. You go back. You walk back,” the man said. “I keep you car.”

  Raz gave the man his go-to-hell stare. “Listen amigo, I need a drink real bad and my boy needs ta pop a cherry. So that’s where we’re goin’. Besides, it’s too damn cold and no way in hell are we leavin’ the car and walkin’ back home. Comprende?”

  The gunman caught enough of what Raz was saying and couldn’t believe the whiskered gringo. He shoved his pistol into the cab of the vehicle and connected with Raz’s neck. He looked frightened, but this punk was fool enough to pull the trigger.

  “Don’t cotton much ta guns bein’ pressed against my body,” Raz remarked. “Last person ta do that didn’t git too far.�
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  “Who the fuck you?” the cockroach asked in a think accent, his gun hand shaking.

  “Me?”

  “Si, you.”

  “Well,” Raz began, shifting a glancing signal to Cody. “I’m generally nobody special. Just an old man goin’ ‘bout his way, lookin’ for no trouble and not wantin’ ta cause no trouble. Just tryin’ ta git a drink in this god awful weather. But ya know what always seems ta happen? Every time I’m just tryin’ ta go ‘bout my own business someone with a gun and a big mouth tries ta ruin my day. And wouldn’t ya know it, on occasion I happen ta run inta some assholes who wanta stop me from gittin’ ta where I’m goin’. I really don’t like that.” His eyes squinted at the lights in front and the men beside his door. Another few seconds is all he needed.

  “You one loco hombre,” the man said and laughed as the other members of his cockroach gang laughed too.

  “I might be a lot of things, amigo. Been called a lot worse in my day. But there’s one thing I ain’t. Damn sure I ain’t loco,” Raz answered. “Ya want ta know what I really am?”

  “Si, loco gringo. You tell me.”

  Raz formed a wide grin on his grizzled face and locked a death stare on the asshole. “I’m the monster in ya nightmare, the boogeyman under ya bed, the reaper at ya doorway.”

  The gun man looked surprised. He either didn’t understand the words or if he did, he couldn’t believe what the old man was saying.

  “Now Cody!” Raz yelled.

  Raz pulled his gun from the seat and shot the punk point blank, throwing him back into his partner. Instantly Raz aimed and shot the second man. In one smooth motion he flipped the toggle switch for the high powered roof lights and the barricade cars were bathed in searing light, momentarily blinding the rest of the cockroaches in their warm vehicles.

  Cody wasted no time.

  He emptied the pistol into the Border Patrol cars. Then he grabbed a rifle, stuck it out his window and blasted away with automatic fire. Bullets ripped through the cars, glass shattered under the torrent of lead, tires exploded, metal caved in pitted plugs from the onslaught. Cody’s aim had improved in the dark.

  The thugs weren’t ready for such an assault, their weapons useless against the lightning fast attack. Cody’s shots hit four cockroaches jumping from their stolen cars. Two had died on the spot, never having the chance to take aim. The other two fell to the ground and limped behind the metal blockade, waiting for their compadres to take out the damn gringos.

  Raz kept shooting out his window as he put the Humvee in low gear and rammed the cars blocking his way. The crunch of fenders and popping of windshields didn’t silence the screams and shrieks coming from the dying cockroaches. The three ton Humvee pushed through the parked cars like a bulldozer rolling over a pile of aluminum cans. Raz continued firing as the cars were shoved aside. The roof lights blinded the remaining cockroaches as Cody wildly swung his rifle, peppering the young crew, keeping them low or mortally wounding them.

  Incoming bullets hit the Humvee from several directions. Shots striking the front and sides of the armored troop carrier bounced off the reinforced panels and ricocheted into space. For Cody, the battering was terrifying. He had never been shot at before today. It had only been less than an hour since he actually shot a pistol at a living being for the first time in his life. A blended mix of fear and necessity forced Cody to keep shooting. There was no way he was going to be stopped after coming this far. He wasn’t a low-key college

  professor tonight. Instead, now he was a maniacal warrior fighting to stay alive and doing a damn good job at it.

  Raz shouted. “Ya okay, kid?”

  “Yes,” Cody answered. “You?”

  “Just dandy,” Raz added. “Keep shootin’ the assholes. We’ll git outa this.”

  “A turkey shoot, huh?”

  “Well, more turkeys than I expected.”

  “So I noticed,” Cody commented.

  “For a quiet Thanksgiving night, I mean.” Raz chuckled.

  Several bullets smashed through the windshield, showering bits of shattered glass into Cody’s face. “I’m shot! Raz, I’m shot!” Cody yelled above the steady gun fire echoing in the air and throughout the Humvee. Cody dropped his rifle out the window and it bounced to the ground. Raz kept ramming his way through the cars.

  Cody slapped a hand against his forehead, felt the hole. He pulled his hand away smeared with blood. More blood trickled into his left eye making it hard to see. He began to panic. “Raz!”

  Raz ceased shooting and looked at his friend. He grabbed Cody’s head and roughly squeezed his forehead where the blood was leaking.

  “Ouch! Hey! What the hell?” Cody screamed.

  “Ha!” Raz snorted. “Ya ain’t shot, boy.”

  “Then what’s this?” Cody said, holding up his blood drenched hand.

  “Ya got cut from the glass, that’s all.”

  Cody felt his forehead again. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. He wiped his eye and held his jacket sleeve up to the wound to help it stop bleeding.

  Raz remarked, “Ya’ll know when ya git shot, boy. It’s the worst pain ya can ever imagine. It don’t feel like no sliver of glass stuck in ya forehead. Believe me, ya don’t want ta git shot.”

  “It still hurts like a bitch,” Cody admitted.

  Raz laughed. “Yeah, I know. Been there. Keep shootin’.”

  Cody went for the next rifle and aimlessly fired into the mangled cars and the highway outlaws. With only one good eye his shots went high, but they allowed Raz to plow through into the safety of darkness.

  “We did it,” Cody shouted. “You got us through.”

  “Stay down,” Raz suggested. “The rest of ‘em are still firin’.”

  Sure enough, a number of rounds pinged off the rear of the vehicle until it moved out of range.

  “Whew!” Raz exhaled. “Quite a rush.”

  “You can say that again,” Cody added, the adrenalin in his body still running strong.

  Raz looked ahead. “Two more minutes and we’ll be off this damn road.”

  “Drive faster,” Cody said. “Drive faster.”

  Chapter 30

  “How’s ya forehead?” Raz asked Cody.

  “Throbbing.”

  “Ya’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s ya count?” Raz asked.

  “Count?”

  “Ya body count?”

  “What?”

  “KIAs.”

  “What’s KIA?” Cody had to ask.

  “Killed in action.”

  “Oh. I don’t know.”

  “I figure it’s four, maybe five. Good shooting Cody. Blasted right through ‘em bastards.”

  “We almost got killed,” Cody yelled, as if it were Raz’s fault.

  “But we didn’t.”

  “That’s good.”

  Raz looked over at his young friend. He was proud of how Cody had handled himself. How he had stayed cool under fire. How he did what had to be done under difficult and deadly circumstances. He was a man who could get things done when everything around him seemed overpowering and hopeless. He was still inexperienced, but he had what it took. Raz felt like a father watching over his anxious son. A man helping his boy to learn, to grow strong, to be self-assured when life’s moments were overwhelming. This world would be a much better place if there were more men like Cody Gordon, he thought.

  “It was five for sure,” Raz ended, referring to Cody’s KIAs.

  Two kilometers farther Raz turned off I-19. “Check the map Cody,” he said.

  Cody turned the flashlight on the map and found the dirt road identified by dashes and spaces. It led westward into the desert along a mountain range. “Here it is, about a quarter mile up the frontage road.”

  Once Raz found the road he stopped the car. “Let’s take care of that nasty gash,” he said to Cody. From the first-aid kit in his bag Raz tended to the glass cut. He cleaned it, rubbed some ointment on it, and applied a l
arge bandage over the minor wound. Cody felt his forehead. It didn’t hurt as bad.

  “Ya look better with that,” Raz said. “Like a bad ass. A real soldier with a medal of bravery under fire.”

  “I don’t feel brave,” Cody remarked. “I feel scared.”

  “Sometimes it’s the same thing,” Raz said, off handedly. “Hand me one of ‘em waters, will ya. We still got a ways ta go.”

  They drove along the narrow, unused road. There were no directional signs, it was pitch black, and there were no points of reference to help them determine their direction. “Keep an eye on the map, Cody. I ain’t never been on this road and want ta make sure we’re goin’ right.”

  After ten minutes of traveling Cody spoke. “What do you think they’re going to do with the people on the buses? You’re certain the buses are headed to that camp, but, I mean, why would they move so many people so far away?” Just thinking about it and his captive family made him nervous. He looked at Raz waiting for an answer he could live with.

  Raz peered into the deep darkness beyond the range of his headlights. He knew what the desert camp and all the other detention centers in the country were set up for. He had been there and in many others during his interrogation sessions when he worked for what he believed was national security, the good of his nation, and his patriotic duty. But these FEMA camps had nothing to do with national security in the real sense. They weren’t established for the good of his nation, the America he truly loved. His American duty and the pride he held so dearly in serving his country had been twisted into something horribly gone wrong.

  The detention complexes were essential prisons to every unfortunate soul dumped into them. They were holding facilities for quick retention during the crucial first week of the population roundup. They were compounds filled with political undesirables, government subversives, domestic terrorists, liberty lovers, and sympathizers of grass roots anti-administration factions, and for anyone else vaguely connected.