Convergence

by Frank L. Williams

  Perry and Jim nodded, and Joshua turned his attention to fishing. His mind wandered as he peered out across the lake. Was the relative peace and quiet of the past eight months now a thing of the past? Who was this Mordecai person? Was there really a mole in the camp and, if so, who was it? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before feeling a strong tug on his fishing pole from something beneath the waters. He reeled in a foot-long catfish, then re-baited his hook and returned it to the water. The men reeled in a nice haul of trout, bass and catfish before the sun finally peeked over the mountaintops to the east.

  ***

  9:00 a.m. – Texas State Capitol, Austin, TX

  Melanie Blanchard had grown up in a decidedly middle-class family in Chalmette, located in the St. Bernard Parish in southeastern Louisiana near New Orleans. Her father was a truck driver, and her mother was a server at a local Cajun restaurant. During high school she was a shy, awkward student who never fit in with the “in” crowd. Melanie started working with her mother at the restaurant on her sixteenth birthday, initially as a dishwasher and later as a waitress. A year later the owner began allowing her to help with the business aspects of running the restaurant, and she developed an interest in accounting. Upon graduating from high school as class valedictorian, she earned a full academic scholarship to the University of Texas, where she had planned to pursue a degree in accounting.

  Within three weeks of her arrival on the University of Texas campus in Austin, Melanie had pledged Alpha Delta Pi sorority. Her parents had not been pleased with her decision to join what they viewed as a “morally corrupt social club,” but begrudgingly allowed her to remain as a member.

  Much to her surprise, Melanie’s ADPi pledge sisters had elected her as their pledge class president. She tried to decline the nomination, but no one else was interested. She had always preferred to remain out of the public eye, and this kind of “out-front” position was out of her comfort zone. During her pledge period, she had gradually become more comfortable speaking in front of others.

  Upon her initiation, Melanie had been persuaded to join the ADPi Rush Committee, which was responsible for the sorority’s new member recruitment program. She served on the committee for two semesters before becoming its chairwoman, and was elected ADPi chapter president at the beginning of her junior year. While serving in each of these positions, she had become increasingly comfortable serving in visible, public roles. At the same time, her interest in accounting gradually waned, and she changed her major to political science.

  During the second semester of her junior year, Melanie ran a successful campaign for the student senate while simultaneously managing a sorority sister’s successful campaign for student body president. By the end of that campaign she had been hopelessly afflicted with the political bug, and she joined the College Republicans and began attending every political event she could. During her senior year she interned for several local campaigns.

  Upon graduation, she had landed a job as an entry-level grassroots worker on the gubernatorial campaign of Bennett Harper, a Congressman from the east Texas town of Tyler. Harper’s campaign was successful, and Melanie joined his staff as a starry-eyed 22-year-old when he was sworn in as governor of the Lone Star State. Six years later, Governor Harper had become the most vocal opponent of President Nelson Armando.

  Melanie looked up from her desk and watched through her office window as an armored personnel carrier emblazoned with the Texas National Guard logo rumbled to a stop outside the Texas State Capitol. She had long believed she was destined to be part of something historic, something world-changing, but never imagined it would come so quickly.

  My boss is basically the leader of the free world, she thought. If there is still a free world. It’s up to us to save it. He is the only one who can stop Armando from destroying what’s left of America.

  Melanie glanced at the clock as the armored personnel carrier pulled away from the curb, leaving a fresh set of Texas Army National Guard personnel behind to watch over those working in the Capitol. Attired in a red-and-black pantsuit that showed off her curves while maintaining professional decorum, she grabbed her padfolio and made her way down the hall toward the conference room.

  As Melanie rounded the corner she flipped her reddish-blonde hair, which was slightly longer than shoulder-length, and flashed a smile at the three twenty-something males who were standing near a water cooler. “Hi, guys. How are y’all today?”

  “Um, hey, Mel,” one of the young men stuttered. “We’re, um, good.”

  Melanie beamed as she passed, noticing that the three young men were completely silent. Speechless. She had no doubt that they were watching her all the way down the hall. Like putty in my hands. She chuckled under her breath as she entered the conference room and took her seat beside Brandon Slater, a special assistant to Governor Harper. Brandon had wavy blonde hair, dreamy blue eyes and was just under six feet tall with an athletic build. Melanie would never admit it, but sitting beside him was one of her favorite perks of this job.

  “Were you harassing the interns again?” Brandon asked.

  “Whatever. I can’t help it if they know a good thing when they see it.”

  “They’re just dumb kids,” Brandon fired back. “Obviously with poor judgment.”

  “Better than yours.” Melanie back-handed him on the arm. “Jerk.”

  Governor Harper entered the room. At 6’2” with a sturdy build, he was an imposing figure. His charcoal grey suit, white shirt and red tie were neatly pressed, and his black shoes were impeccably polished. His light brown hair was accented by grey streaks and parted neatly on the side.

  Harper was followed by Chief of Staff Heather Tate and two Texas Rangers. A striking, tall brunette who always carried herself elegantly, Heather was one of Melanie’s heroes. She had managed Harper’s first campaign for governor, and had taken Melanie under her wing and mentored her from day one. She was good at her job and professional in every way.

  After an opening prayer, Governor Harper began the meeting. “Thank you all for being here. As you know, our summit with the other governors is just over a week away. Today, I want to outline why we are putting this event together. In short, this is our first step in restoring America to its roots. The other governors and I will announce plans to begin reconstituting Congress, with or without Armando’s cooperation. We will announce plans to hold a presidential election in 2020, again, with or without Armando’s cooperation. That gives us just over two years to put the infrastructure in place to hold a fair, open election.”

  Melanie felt goosebumps form on her neck. Bubbling with excitement, she grabbed Brandon’s knee.

  “Does anyone have questions?” Governor Harper asked.

  Brandon quickly removed Melanie’s hand from his knee and then raised his hand. “This sounds like a huge undertaking, and I’m on board and ready to help. You mentioned a presidential election. Will you be a candidate?”

  Governor Harper smiled. “I was wondering who would be the first to ask that question. That is a possibility. It will be a governor, and we will be working together to ensure that we field one, and only one, strong candidate. This is too important for us to be divided. This is the doorway to America’s future, and we have to check our egos and personal ambitions at that door.”

  Melanie grabbed Brandon’s hand. She felt a spark as he squeezed her hand for a moment before letting go. Maybe he’s finally realizing that the best thing that could happen to him is sitting right beside him, she thought.

  Governor Harper rose from his seat. “I cannot begin to tell you how important this is. This is the most important thing we have ever done. It is up to us to restore our great nation. This may be our last chance. I am honored to have all of you on our team.”

  ***

  1000 Hours – Camp Lejeune, N.C.

  U.S. Marine Corps Major General Samuel Cloos leaned forward and rested his elbows on the expansive cherry desk in his office. The desktop was clear apart from a bank
ers’ lamp, lined yellow notepad and dark green coffee mug. Cloos was attired in his usual green and khaki service uniform, and what remained of his short, brown hair was neatly combed. His desk was flanked by an American flag, a U.S. Marine Corps flag and a USMC Major General flag, which was red with two horizontally centered stars stacked on top of each other. Colonel Kenneth Brookhart and Major Michael Chinn were seated in two chairs facing the desk.

  “You said we have a situation, Colonel?” Cloos took a sip of the still-steaming coffee.

  “Yes, sir,” Brookhart responded. “AIS has seized several key infrastructure sites, and we are receiving reports of them scoping out others.”

  “What have they captured so far?”

  “Smith Mountain Dam in Virginia, Carters Dam in Georgia, the Port of Charleston in South Carolina and the Bayway Refinery in New Jersey,” Brookhart answered.

  “So, all along the east coast?” Cloos asked.

  “That’s all I’m aware of at this time, sir. But there does seem to be a pattern in that they are making moves on major pieces of infrastructure.”

  “You mentioned reports of AIS scoping out other sites. Where?”

  “So far those are unconfirmed rumors. We are working to acquire more specific intelligence.”

  “Good work, Colonel,” Cloos said. “Your priority from this point is to identify AIS’ likely targets within the radius in which teams from Lejeune could feasibly operate, gather intelligence as to which of those targets they may be planning to attack, and develop plans to stop them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cloos spat loudly into the trash can beside his desk, then took another swig of coffee. “Men, we are in uncharted territory. It is highly likely that nothing we do from this point forward will be sanctioned by the American government, or what’s left of it. This puts us on a treacherous path.”

  “Sir, you’ve reminded us on more than one occasion that we took an oath to uphold the Constitution, not show loyalty to any one man,” Major Chinn interjected.

  “I’m fully aware of that, son. But you need to realize that Armando and his goons will accuse us of insubordination and, very possibly, treason.”

  “I understand that, sir.”

  “Are you prepared to face the consequences, Major?”

  “Yes, sir,” Chinn responded without hesitation.

  “Treason is punishable by death under the law, but even if it wasn’t that wouldn’t stop Armando’s henchmen from killing you.”

  “I knew the risks when I took the oath,” Chinn said with a hint of anger in his voice.

  “Every man I’ve ever seen in uniform said they were ready,” Cloos said. “Some of them were. But not all. We’ll see. In any event, I don’t think we’re alone in this fight. We’ve got to start identifying allies and sorting out who is on our side and who we can trust.”

  “Any ideas?” Brookhart asked.

  “Of course I do, Colonel.” Cloos finished off his cup of coffee. “The Governor of Texas seems like a man after my own heart. We need to make contact with him.”

  “I’ll set it up,” Major Chinn said.

  ***

  6:45 p.m. – Fontana Dam

  Joshua smelled the welcome aroma of grilling meat as he and Rebecca began the short walk up the path to the community center, which was actually a shelter next to Drew Thompson’s cabin. Tonight’s fare was grilled rabbit. The camp residents had realized that, for obvious reasons, rabbits were easier to mass-produce than cows. The biggest challenge was keeping their recently-established rabbit farm safe from predators.

  Perry and Caroline Edwards met them in the clearing. Caroline had finally overcome her aversion to eating meat, and had transformed from hard-core vegetarian to rabid carnivore.

  Drew Thompson approached the group as they entered the shelter. “Joshua, may I have a word with you?”

  Joshua let go of Rebecca’s hand and motioned for Drew to follow him. “Sure, what’s up?”

  Once they were out of earshot of the group Drew said, “I’m going to be heading out tomorrow and this time I’ll be gone for a few days. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. Where are you going?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Drew, we’ve covered this,” Joshua said, feeling his blood pressure rise. “We really need to know where you go when you take off like this. And I really wish you’d take one of our security guys with you.”

  “I understand your concerns, but I really can’t share any details,” Drew insisted. “You’re better off not knowing. I’ll be back in three or four days.”

  “Okay, but I hope you realize this is why so many people still don’t trust you.”

  “I do realize that, even after I saved your lives when the terrorists captured you this Spring.”

  Joshua felt his face flush red. He and the others did indeed owe Drew a debt of gratitude for enlisting his friends to rescue them from the hands of the AIS terrorists eight months earlier. “And you’re never going to let us forget it, are you?”

  “Good evening,” Drew said, then pivoted and walked away.

  Rebecca cocked an eyebrow as Joshua rejoined her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Joshua shook his head “Am I that obvious?”

  “You’d be a terrible poker player. So what is it?”

  “Drew. He said he’s leaving for a few days, but still won’t tell us where he’s going and won’t take anyone with him.”

  “Well, you can’t force him,” Rebecca said. “Although I do still think he’s a bit shady. I never understood why you wanted him around.”

  ***

  Wednesday, October 10, 2018 – 9:20 a.m. – Fontana Dam

  Joshua got a late start the next morning, and the sun was already well into its ascent when he ventured onto the porch with his coffee and Bible. The cool October wind rustled through the treetops, which were arrayed in a colorful patchwork of yellow, bright orange and red, and some of the leaves were beginning to fall. Two squirrels chased each other through the underbrush.

  As he took a sip of the still-steaming coffee, Joshua noticed that Old Glory had not been raised on the metal pole that Bob Kendall and Kane Martin had erected in front of his cabin. Third day in a row, he thought. That never would’ve happened if Bob were still here. Kane had proven loyal and dependable when under Bob’s tutelage, but had been increasingly erratic and distant since Bob’s death at the hands of AIS terrorists eight months earlier.

  Joshua put the thought aside and opened his Bible to 1 Timothy 3 and read through verse thirteen:

  It is a trustworthy statement: if any man aspires to the office of overseer, it is a fine work he desires to do. An overseer, then, must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, temperate, prudent, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not addicted to wine or pugnacious, but gentle, peaceable, free from the love of money. He must be one who manages his own household well, keeping his children under control with all dignity (but if a man does not know how to manage his own household, how will he take care of the church of God?), and not a new convert, so that he will not become conceited and fall into the condemnation incurred by the devil. And he must have a good reputation with those outside the church, so that he will not fall into reproach and the snare of the devil. Deacons likewise must be men of dignity, not double-tongued, or addicted to much wine or fond of sordid gain, but holding to the mystery of the faith with a clear conscience. These men must also first be tested; then let them serve as deacons if they are beyond reproach. Women must likewise be dignified, not malicious gossips, but temperate, faithful in all things. Deacons must be husbands of only one wife, and good managers of their children and their own households. For those who have served well as deacons obtain for themselves a high standing and great confidence in the faith that is in Christ Jesus.

  Joshua reflected on the words he had just read. This was one of his favorite chapters because it explored the biblical qualifications and stand
ards required of people who aspired to leadership roles. These were the same standards to which Joshua struggled to adhere in his daily life as the camp’s leader. Every day, he prayed that he would be able to uphold them.

  Half an hour later Joshua closed his Bible, polished off the coffee and headed down the side trail where Jack McGee and his family were living in a camper trailer. A retired U.S. Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant who had served in Operation Desert Storm, Jack had been elected to the camp council following Bob’s death and now functioned as head of security.

  Joshua smelled the familiar aroma of gun oil before he reached the trailer. Jack was in the process of reassembling his AR-15 on a small table under the awning. He wore wrinkled khaki cargo pants and a dark green pullover shirt, and his thinning, dirty blonde hair was disheveled. “Hey buddy,” Jack said. “What’s going on?”

  Joshua sat down on a bench Jack had constructed using pieces of an oak tree he had cut down the prior winter. “I think we’ve got a problem, and I need your help with it.”

  “What kind of problem?” Jack leaned his freshly reassembled AR-15 against his trailer and began disassembling a 50-caliber sniper rifle.

  “Yesterday when I was coming back down the trail I ran across this strange old man. Called himself Mordecai Stone. He seemed to know about the camp, implied that things weren’t going as well here as we think they are, and said ‘we can’t hide down there forever.’”

  “Is that it?”

  “No.” Joshua clasped both hands in front of his chin. “I would’ve chalked that up to him being just some weird local, but he knew about Bob’s death, called him by name and knew his rank. And then he just disappeared.”

  “Just disappeared?”

  “He was behind me when he said Bob’s name. He was literally gone before I could turn around. That fast.”

  “Hmmm.” Jack inserted the brush into the 50-caliber barrel. “Vanished into thin air.”

  “Yes,” Joshua said. “It was strange. And unsettling. We need to find out who this guy is and what he knows.”