Convergence

by Frank L. Williams

  Drew’s stomach twisted as he rounded the curve and came face-to-face with a Federal Protective Service roadblock. Two white Suburbans blocked the road, and two male agents stood in the road brandishing what appeared to be military-grade weapons. A tall blonde female with an angry scowl on her face stood near one of the vehicles, along with a man of average build who stood just under six feet tall and was attired in black. The man had black hair intermingled with streaks of grey.

  The man raised his hand and stepped forward. Drew briefly contemplated trying to flee, but the idea was dashed when his rear-view mirror revealed another white Suburban behind him.

  ***

  1437 – Camp Lejeune

  General Cloos stepped out of his green Humvee. The field in front of him was abuzz with Marines practicing hand-to-hand combat techniques. Behind them, another row of men and women were sharpening their aim on a firing range. As Cloos surveyed the hotbed of activity a sharp sound pierced the air before being consumed by a loud, concussive boom off to the left.

  Four Marines in Cloos’ line of sight ducked and ceased their maneuvers as they felt the concussion from the blast. The general clenched his teeth. Pansies, he thought as he redirected his course and marched toward them.

  “Marines!” he bellowed. The men were again visibly startled. “Why did you flinch?”

  None of the men spoke. Cloos’ stomach churned with frustration. “If you cannot maintain your composure during a simple training exercise, how in the hell will you function in a real combat situation?”

  The tall, brown-haired man closest to Cloos stammered, then responded. “We.. I apologize, General Cloos. It won’t happen again.”

  Cloos stepped toward the man and put his hand on his shoulder. “I hope not, Corporal. Learn from this, and use it to strengthen your fire team.”

  “Yes, sir!” the corporal saluted him.

  Cloos felt his satellite phone vibrate as he returned the salute. He answered with his usual gruff greeting. “Cloos.”

  General Cloos, this is Lieutenant Medlin, the female voice on the other end of the connection said. A General Mason Palmer has requested a video conference with you. According to him, he is reaching out to you at the request of President Armando.

  “Lovely. Met him but don’t know him well. What do we know about him?”

  I knew you’d ask, sir. I’ve prepared a dossier and just sent it to your tablet.

  “Good work, Lieutenant.”

  Cloos ended the call, spat on the ground, did an about face and returned to his Humvee. He opened his encrypted tablet and spent several minutes studying the dossier. Palmer’s résumé was impressive: three-star general; graduated with honors from West Point in 1980; fluent in Russian, Arabic and Chinese; earned a Bronze Star in Operation Desert Storm; graduated from the U.S. Army War College; a laundry list of deployments around the globe; served as Chairman of the Joint Special Operations Command before being relocated to Joint Base Langley-Eustis in Newport News after AIS’ nuclear attacks against the United States. Attended high school in Richmond. Raised in an orphanage.

  Cloos cocked an eyebrow as he activated his satphone. “Lieutenant Medlin, excellent work compiling this dossier in such a short time. I noticed that General Palmer was in an orphanage as a child. See if you can find additional details on his childhood, specifically what happened to his parents.”

  Yes, sir, came the response.

  “Tell General Palmer I’ll take his call now. Put it through to my tablet.”

  Cloos disconnected the call and opened the videoconference app on his tablet. General Palmer appeared on the screen moments later. Palmer spoke in a polite, formal tone. General Cloos, thank you for honoring my request to have this conversation.

  “Any time, General,” Cloos said. “How can we help the Army? Do our men need to rescue some of your boys?”

  Very funny, General, Palmer calmly responded. This is a serious matter. President Armando and his team are quite concerned about your continued refusal to adhere to the administration’s strategy regarding AIS.

  “This administration has a strategy for dealing with AIS?” Cloos sneered. “Do tell!”

  Sarcasm will get you nowhere. Palmer leaned toward the camera.

  “Hold that thought.” Cloos held his hand up as a high-pitched sound pierced the air. The mortar impacted its target a quarter-mile from his position. He looked away from the screen as the concussion rumbled across the training field, observing that the corporal and his men did not appear fazed by the most recent blast. Good job, son, he thought. Cloos returned his gaze to the tablet. “You were saying?”

  You can lose the sarcasm, General. This is not a joking matter.

  “I’m not joking,” Cloos said. I’ve seen no evidence of any strategy whatsoever from this administration.”

  General, you and I both know that it’s not our job to determine strategy, it’s our job to execute strategy. You have taken it upon yourself to send personnel to southeastern North Carolina, without any authorization to do so. You are way out of line.

  Cloos pursed his lips. How could a man with General Palmer’s pedigree and experience be so blind? “General, that’s a load of crap and you damn well know it. We’re generals. Of course we develop strategy. This administration is just hamstringing us. Beyond that, we can’t execute a strategy from the administration if there isn’t one.”

  That’s not for you to decide.

  Cloos leaned toward the camera. “This administration has sat on its hands for a year and a half and done nothing to combat these terrorists. Nothing. With all due respect, General, if you can’t see that, then maybe it’s time for you to step away.” He gestured toward the screen. “The time for fecklessness has passed. I will not sit idly by any longer.”

  Your position is unwise, General Palmer said. And there will be repercussions.

  “For you, if you get in my way.”

  ***

  Monday, October 29, 2018 – 7:46 a.m. – Fontana Dam

  The next morning, Joshua summoned Jack, Thomas, Perry and Jim to a secluded spot on the lakeside. Rebecca and Reagan joined them. Reagan stuck close to Joshua, obviously still spooked by him and Rebecca having been gone two nights prior.

  “Folks, we have three of our five council members here,” Joshua said. “This Mordecai character warned me several times that we have a mole in the camp, and it’s clear that he was right. The mole appears to be John Moore.”

  “John?” Jim asked. “What makes you think it’s him?”

  “Several things. The woman who was working with the Homeland Security agents referenced his last name, and Mordecai independently confirmed it. John was also present when we left the camp two days ago, and the Homeland Security thugs seemed to know we were coming. All of the evidence points to him.”

  “I agree,” Jack said.

  “Man, it’s hard to believe, but I think you’re right.” Thomas nodded.

  “Joshua, you may be right, but I’d be very careful about declaring his guilt without hearing his side of the story,” Jim cautioned. “I know you, and that would go against everything you stand for.”

  Joshua nodded and took a deep breath. Jim was right; this had to be done properly. “I agree. We should go tell him what we know and see what he has to say.”

  “When?” Rebecca asked.

  “There’s no time like the present.” Joshua gestured for the group to follow him up the trail. As soon as he took his first step Reagan shot out ahead of the group, his tail wagging vigorously. The canine guardian stayed ten feet ahead of the group as they hiked back to camp.

  Jim caught up with Joshua as they climbed the trail. He spoke barely louder than a whisper. “Joshua, I’m worried about something else. Drew never came back last night.”

  “Not good,” Joshua said. “We’ll discuss that after we confront John.” When it rains, it pours, he thought.

  When they reached the clearing, Joshua motioned for everyone to stop. “Give me two minutes.” He
walked into his cabin, with Reagan trailing close behind. Rebecca followed him in. As soon as they entered the cabin Joshua double-checked to ensure that a round was chambered in his Beretta 9mm, which had been concealed beneath his jacket. He retrieved an extra magazine from the shelf behind his chair.

  “Do you really think it’ll come to that?” Rebecca removed her tan baseball cap, scratched her shoulder-length brown hair and replaced the cap.

  “Better safe than sorry. I’m surprised you don’t have yours.”

  “Who says I don’t?” Rebecca smiled and stroked his cheek.

  They made their way back outside, with Reagan underfoot the whole time. Joshua heaved a deep sigh as they crossed the clearing and approached John and Ruth’s cabin. John was such a mild-mannered, unassuming man that Joshua had a hard time believing he could be their mole. Yet all of the evidence pointed to him. It’s always the quiet ones, he thought. His heart pounded as they knocked on the door. Ruth opened it. Joshua bit his lip. “Ruth, is John here?”

  Ruth nodded, and John came to the door. Joshua motioned for him to join the group outside. “John, we have something we need to discuss with you.” Ruth watched and listened from the cabin door as her husband joined Joshua and the others.

  Joshua took a deep breath. “John, I don’t know any other way to say this than to just go ahead and lay it all on the table. We were recently warned that we have a mole in our camp. Over the past two days, two sources have independently indicated that you are the mole.” Joshua studied John’s facial expressions as he continued speaking. “Other evidence appears to corroborate their stories. Rather than assume you were guilty, we wanted to tell you what we’ve heard and give you a chance to tell your side of the story.”

  John’s jaw dropped, and his eyes were as big as hubcaps. He pushed his wire frame glasses against his face, and he went pale. “I… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Jack stepped forward. “Then why would two people, who don’t appear to know each other, both name you?”

  “Who?” John demanded. “Who named me?”

  Jack started to take another step toward John. Joshua waved him off. “First, a man named Mordecai, who approached me several times with warnings about a mole.”

  “I have no idea who that is.”

  “The second was a woman who--"

  Joshua jumped, startled by a loud shriek that pierced the air. Ruth bolted from the nearby cabin door and charged her husband. “John! How could you?”

  “Ruth, I--"

  “I trusted you!” Ruth unleashed a wild barrage of slaps, hits and kicks on her husband. John tried to shield himself with his forearms. His wire-frame glasses flew several feet across the clearing. Ruth’s loud sobs devolved into a haunting wail that echoed throughout the mountain forest.

  Rebecca and Jim grabbed Ruth’s arms and pulled her away from John. She buried her head on Rebecca’s shoulder, still sobbing. “I… I can’t believe it…” she moaned.

  Joshua stepped toward John. The man’s shoulders sagged, and his face bore several scratches and red blotches. Blood trickled down his right cheek. Suddenly Joshua’s peripheral vision picked up a quick spinning motion off to his right. He heard Rebecca scream, “Ruth, no!” Then three loud cracks pierced the mountain air. Reagan yelped loudly and disappeared behind Joshua’s cabin.

  Joshua froze. The entire world went into slow motion. John Moore gasped and clutched his abdominal area. Then he fell to his knees. And then collapsed onto the ground. Joshua felt his mouth go dry as he turned toward the source of the shots. Ruth was bawling as she gently dropped Rebecca’s still-smoking Beretta .380 onto the dirt and collapsed to the ground.

  Rebecca quickly reacquired her weapon and took two steps back, glaring at Ruth and holding her pistol at the ready. “Ruth, what have you done?”

  Joshua rushed to John, whose gasping and wheezing became more labored with each passing breath. John reached up and attempted to speak, but no words came. His eyes appeared rolled back as Keri Davidson and several others rushed to the scene. Keri, a nurse, placed her ear to John’s chest and then placed two fingers on his neck. Josh heard her exhale loudly. She looked up, her brows furrowed, and silently shook her head. He’s DEAD, Joshua thought. He looked at Ruth, who was still on the ground, sobbing violently.

  Joshua stood silently, processing it all. Keri rushed to Ruth, who slowly rose to her feet. Still sobbing, Ruth buried her head on Keri’s shoulder. Keri motioned for Rebecca to follow her as they went into Ruth’s cabin.

  Rebecca shook her head as she concealed her weapon. She made eye contact with Joshua, her eyebrows lowered, and marched toward their cabin rather than following Keri and Ruth. Growling, Reagan reappeared from behind the cabin and followed her inside. Jim, Thomas and Joshua stood silently while Jack dropped to one knee and examined the wounds that had claimed John’s life.

  ***

  Tuesday, October 30, 2018 – 9:29 a.m. – Virginia Beach

  The next morning, Benjamin rushed down the hall toward the Virginia Beach conference room where the Armando administration held its de facto cabinet meetings. This gathering had been called on short notice, and Benjamin wondered what necessitated yet another meeting. Abdar and Adilah were coming toward him from the opposite end of the hall. Abdar’s eyes were filled with venom, and Adilah was expressionless.

  Anthony Russo emerged from a smaller room on the right. “’Morning, Liebowitz!” He flashed a grin, then spun and walked quickly into the conference room. He’s unusually upbeat, Benjamin thought. Abdar and Adilah stopped and waited for Russo to pass out of sight before resuming walking. Benjamin chuckled under his breath. They don’t want to be within fifty feet of each other.

  Benjamin nodded at Abdar and Adilah as he made his way into the conference room and took his seat. They followed him inside and claimed two seats near the head of the table. Two minutes later General Mason Palmer entered the room. He was attired in a neatly pressed blue U.S. Army service uniform and held a service cap at his side. Palmer was slender, nearly six feet tall and had short, brown hair with streaks of grey. He looked like a career Army man who understood both combat and the political game. This was not a man to be taken lightly. Benjamin made a mental note to find out more about him.

  President Armando entered the room less than a minute after General Palmer. All attendees stood as Armando entered, then reclaimed their seats when he motioned for them to do so. “Let’s get started. Russo, you said you had something to share?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Anthony rose from his seat, grinning ear-to-ear. “I am pleased to report that Austin Phillips has Drew Thompson in custody.”

  Armando reclined in his chair. “Good work, Russo. When was he captured?”

  “Yesterday, sir. Our people are moving him to a secure location to find out what he knows.”

  “Keep us posted. Anything else?”

  “No sir.” Russo reclaimed his seat.

  Abdar raised his hand.

  “Go ahead, Abdar.”

  “Mr. President, I am saddened to inform you that Mr. Phillips also had Joshua Winston and several of his associates in custody, but somehow allowed them to escape.”

  “I am aware of that,” Armando said.

  Abdar’s eyes narrowed. “Sadly, six Federal Protective Service agents were killed during the escape. The Homeland Security agents were lucky to capture Mr. Thompson, but that doesn’t make up for their chronic ineptitude.”

  Russo launched up out of his seat and pointed at Abdar. “You’re just envious that my people caught him, not yours!”

  Armando raised his hand and the room went silent. Russo reclaimed his seat, a smirk on his face. Abdar’s laser-like glare focused on Russo until Adilah put her hand on his arm and whispered in his ear. Anthony had intentionally taken jabs at Abdar on more than one occasion, and Abdar had returned the favor today. Benjamin had initially chalked their mutual dislike up to a simple power struggle, but was beginning to wonder if something deeper was
driving their political tug-of-war.

  “Gentlemen, that’s enough,” Armando said. “While it’s unfortunate that we lost six agents, we need to focus on what we can learn from Thompson. We’ll have another chance to capture Winston.” The President gestured toward Palmer. “General, do you have any updates?”

  Palmer rose from his seat. “Yes, Mr. President. I have spoken with General Cloos, and thus far he is unyielding. He seems bound and determined to act out on his own.”

  Armando leaned forward, rested his elbows on the conference table and clasped his hands in front of him. “General, that is worrisome. What’s our plan?”

  “I intend to have another conversation with him,” Palmer calmly stated. “Hopefully he will reconsider turning the men and women under his command into traitors.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Armando asked.

  Palmer’s eyes narrowed. “Then we will meet him with force. This kind of insubordination from one of our top military leaders cannot be allowed to stand.”

  ***

  Wednesday, October 31, 2018 – 6:14 p.m. – Fontana Dam

  Joshua and Rebecca silently walked up the path from their cabin as the sun began setting over the tree line the next evening. Reagan led the way, trotting about twenty feet ahead of them. His tail wagged vigorously as he sniffed nearly everything along the path, marking his territory at least ten times as they traversed the short distance to the community shelter.

  Joshua squeezed Rebecca’s hand and heaved a deep sigh. Ten camp residents had left just after sunrise, traveling in groups of two in what had been a futile search for Drew. No one Joshua encountered seemed to have any information whatsoever about his whereabouts.

  Flames were glowing in the stone fire pit when they arrived at the shelter, and the eight other camp members who had formed search groups were huddled close to the warmth of the fire.