Benjamin turned to Barefoot as they approached the dumpster. “Nothing but homeless guys here. Keep your head down and we’ll be out in a moment.”
“Are you sure this is the best route?” Barefoot asked.
“It’s kosher,” Benjamin said.
Without warning, the two men standing beside the dumpster spun, weapons drawn, and fired. The man who had been lying beside the dumpster was on his feet in an instant, pistol raised, and fired. All three guns featured suppression devices. Benjamin grabbed Barefoot from behind and slammed his head into the dumpster twice. It had all happened before Kane could react. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but these guys were good.
Two black Suburbans screeched around the corner and sped down the alley, skidding to a stop just feet away. Kane flinched as Benjamin pulled out a six-inch knife.
“Relax,” Benjamin said as he cut Kane’s bindings, then Caroline’s. Benjamin turned and embraced one of the men, kissing him on both cheeks. “Shalom, brother.” He gestured for Kane and Caroline to follow him as he walked toward the lead Suburban. “We need to move. Now.”
“Why should we trust you?” Kane rubbed his wrists.
Benjamin handed Kane the Springfield 1911 that had been confiscated by the agents. “Why would I give this back to you if I wasn’t on your side?”
“That’s a good start,” Kane said. “But I still don’t trust you.”
“Right now, I’m the only hope you’ve got.” He gestured toward the Suburban. “Get in.”
Kane made eye contact with Caroline, who opened the right rear door and got into the Suburban. She gestured for him to follow. Kane smirked as he followed her lead. Either she doesn’t care anymore or she’s turning into one brave woman.
“Back there, you said your loyalty was to your employer,” Kane said as Benjamin put the Suburban in gear. “Doesn’t that mean your loyalty is with the administration?”
“After what happened back there, there is no administration,” Benjamin said as the vehicle began moving forward. “Besides, let’s just say that was a second job.” He lifted up a handheld radio. “Excuse me.” He pushed the button. “Split up. Three diversions, one package.”
Kane spotted two more black Suburbans as they exited the alley onto a road that ran behind the building. The four vehicles turned onto Southern Boulevard, then Oceana Boulevard, then split up and headed off in four different directions. Kane spotted a familiar Ford Explorer turning onto I-264 ahead of them. Major Chinn, he thought. He probably thinks we’re dead. Which we may very well be soon.
After a few minutes, the Suburban turned down a dark gravel road. Kane squeezed the grip on the Springfield 1911 as they made the short, bumpy trip down the road, eventually arriving at a secluded boat landing where another Suburban awaited them. Two men stood beside a sleek, jet-black Fountain speedboat.
Benjamin gestured for Kane and Caroline to follow him to the boat. “This is our ride out of here.”
“Where are we going?” Kane asked.
“Camp Lejeune.”
CHAPTER 15
Thursday, November 8, 2018 – 7:01 a.m. – Fontana Dam
Joshua scanned the bank of video displays in the control room at the base of Fontana Dam, where the east-facing cameras revealed the sun beginning to rise over the lake. Thomas Page and Jim Davidson joined him in the control room, and Jack McGee was positioned atop the dam with several of Ray Sawyer’s men. Ray also had men positioned near the base of the dam on both sides of the river, as well as along all possible land routes to the dam. At least ten small boats were visible on the lake. Each boat had three occupants, all of whom looked like they were fishing. Ray had done his part in terms of turning out people to help defend against the expected AIS attack, and Jack had given them a crash course on how to use the weapons provided by Mordecai.
Joshua’s hand-held radio crackled to life. Joshua, Jack here.
“Go ahead.”
AIS Convoy headed our way. Coming from the west on 28.
“Is everyone in place?”
In position and ready to rumble.
“Good work. Keep me posted.”
Roger that.
Joshua made sure a round was chambered in his Beretta 9mm, double-checked to ensure the magazine was fully loaded, and secured two fully-loaded backup magazines on his belt. He slung an MP5 over his shoulder.
Thomas, who was reclining in a chair on the right side of the room, twisted his toothpick between his teeth. “Man, do you think we’ll really need those?”
“I hope Ray’s men will ensure that we don’t,” Joshua said.
Joshua sat down in one of the chairs, leaned back and closed his eyes. His mind wandered to another mission taking place further east. His best friend, Perry, and his wife, Caroline, had accompanied Major Michael Chinn to Virginia Beach on what was by all accounts a very dangerous mission. While he was comforted by the fact that Kane Martin had gone with the group, Joshua nonetheless harbored a grave premonition that something had gone very wrong in Virginia Beach.
***
0709 – Military Ocean Terminal, Sunny Point (MOTSU)
General Cloos felt the warmth of the steam against his face as he sipped the hot black coffee. The sun was beginning to peak over the tree line. His men were in position to defend four key pieces of southeastern North Carolina infrastructure against potential attacks by terrorists from the group that called itself American Islamic State.
Cloos was positioned outside the gate of the Military Ocean Terminal, Sunny Point, and had men stationed around the terminal’s perimeter. Colonel Brookhart and his men were in place at the Southport nuclear plant. Lt. Kenneth Morley and a team were stationed at the Port of Wilmington, and several other units had assumed defensive positions around the port. Lt. Carmichael and his unit were standing guard at the gasoline terminals on the Wilmington side of the Cape Fear, and Captain Foster was patrolling the river with deputies from the Brunswick County Sheriff’s Office. Cloos took another sip of coffee. Everything was in place.
Two hours earlier, spotters had alerted Cloos to an armada of northbound boats transporting AIS terrorists up the intracoastal waterway toward Southport. He had previously obtained intelligence pointing to the existence of an AIS cell in the Myrtle Beach area, and these boats were likely affiliated with that cell. Cloos thought they were stupid to make so little effort to conceal their movements.
Another spotter had subsequently alerted him to a convoy of twenty AIS vehicles traveling east on Highway 74/76. Spotters along the route reported that ten of the vehicles had turned south on 140 toward Town Creek ten minutes earlier, and the remainder had turned south onto Highway 133. Given their routes, Cloos’ intuition told him they would either attack the Southport nuclear plant or the Military Ocean Terminal at Sunny Point. If his men had anything to do with it, they would be in for a rude awakening. Cloos downed his coffee and rose from the log on which he was seated. The terrorists were on their way.
***
7:13 a.m. – Fontana Village
Ray Sawyer sat atop his green Yamaha TT-R230 dirt bike at the entrance to Fontana Village, a resort destination which had been popular among those visiting the Fontana Dam area prior to the terrorist attacks. Ray and his men had killed dozens of AIS terrorists over the past year, and they would happily eliminate a few more today. He had men in position along all possible routes to Fontana Dam, and his spotters had just alerted him to an AIS convoy headed toward the dam from the west on route 28.
He perked up when a loud “quaaaaaaaaaaack” echoed through the treetops. Ray smirked; using a duck call as a signal had been a good idea, and he wished he’d thought of it himself. A second “quaaaaaaaaaaack” rang out, followed by five quick quacks. They’re almost here, he thought. Five vehicles.
Ray started the motorcycle and raised the kickstand. He put the motorcycle in gear, maintaining his grip on the clutch with his left hand, and raised his .38 revolver with his right and pointed it north across his body. Thirty s
econds later a Jeep hauling four AIS terrorists barreled around the corner. Ray squeezed the trigger. The bullet penetrated the drivers’ side windshield. Ray quickly holstered the revolver as the Jeep veered wildly before careening off the road and rolling down the embankment. Got the bastard, he thought. One down, four to go.
A second terrorist-filled Jeep rolled around the curve as Ray released the clutch. The motorcycle kicked up several rocks in its wake as he shifted into second gear. He felt the air move as two bullets whizzed past his head, crashing into the rock embankment ahead. That was too close, he thought as he accelerated and whipped around a curve.
Ray gunned the motorcycle, gritting his teeth as the Yamaha hugged the winding road. He glanced at his mirror, which revealed a line of AIS vehicles in pursuit. Several more bullets whizzed past. The shots were too close for comfort, but Ray was more concerned about surviving these narrow, winding roads.
As he rounded the next turn he made eye contact with a man perched high atop a rock beside the road. The man nodded, and Ray hit the gas. He glanced in the mirror just in time to see an object fall from the man’s perch, landing in the Jeep. The vehicle burst into flames and spun around. The second vehicle, a pickup, clipped the Jeep, and the two vehicles careened off the cliff into the valley below. Molotov Cocktail two, AIS zero, he thought as he gunned the motorcycle. Two left.
Ray slowed as he reached the intersection and turned right to stay on Route 28, making sure the lead terrorist vehicle saw him before he again gunned it. Both vehicles made the turn, taking the bait and following him away from the dam. He navigated the twists and turns of Route 28, and the terrorist-filled Jeep and pickup maintained their pursuit. As he wound around a curve, the pickup took a left turn onto a small dirt path that led up the mountain. Where the hell is he going? Ray wondered.
He gunned the motorcycle, feeling two more rounds zoom past. The Yamaha hugged two more tight curves before Ray turned right onto a dirt road, slowing just enough to make sure the terrorists saw him. They again took the bait.
Ray hit the gas, kicking up dirt in his wake. He rocketed past an abandoned mobile home on the left, then an old barn. As he passed the barn two tractors came into view, both facing away from the dirt road. Attached to one was a disk that had obviously been modified, and the other carried what looked like a rudimentary spray tank. One of Ray’s men sat atop each of the tractors, one stood behind the spray tank, and five others raised their shotguns after Ray passed. He skidded to a stop, turned the motorcycle off, dismounted and raised his revolver. The men atop the tractors revved the engines.
Fifteen seconds later the Jeep came skidding around the corner. As it did, Ray heard the “whoosh” of hydraulic pressure being released. Four circular blades launched out of the modified disk. One impacted the Jeep’s front grill, sending water and other liquids spraying. A second disk shattered the front windshield and obliterated the driver’s chest plate. A third severed the leg of the terrorist in the passenger seat, and the fourth lodged in a tree behind the Jeep.
The man behind the sprayer raised a nozzle and turned it toward the Jeep, launching a torrent of diesel fuel-powered flames onto the terrorists. Ray kept his weapon raised as screams echoed through the mountaintops. One of the terrorists stumbled out of the Jeep, his body ablaze. He swatted at the flames, then dropped and rolled, but the fire kept burning.
Ray stepped forward and raised his hand as one of his men pointed his shotgun at the burning terrorist. “Hold your fire.”
The man lowered his weapon and looked at Ray, his eyebrow cocked. “Was going to put him out of his misery.”
“They’ve earned their misery. Let the bastard burn.”
***
7:47 a.m. – Fontana Dam
Rebecca’s compact .380 Beretta rested in her lap, and Reagan sat beside her on the front porch of the cabin she and Joshua shared. Chuck Jones and Tommy Page stood guard on either side of the clearing.
Rebecca’s mind wandered to what might be happening at the dam. Joshua was in the control room, and she didn’t like not being with him. She had never been one to back down from a fight, and she wanted to be by his side in this one.
She felt the hair on her neck stand up as Reagan suddenly rose to all fours, his tail sticking straight up, and emitted a deep, guttural growl. “Chuck, Tommy, heads-up.” She holstered the pistol, picked up Joshua’s .22 rifle, jumped down the steps and ran to the right side of the cabin, with Reagan following close behind. She reached the safety of the woods and crouched behind a tree and watched as Tommy and Chuck concealed themselves in the woods.
Less than a minute later a brown Ford pickup that appeared to be at least 25 years old edged its way into the clearing. Rebecca counted two AIS terrorists in the vehicle, both of whom were wearing black balaclavas. She raised the .22, zeroed in on the driver and fired. The pickup rolled to a stop as the round pierced the terrorist’s brain. She heard a loud shotgun blast, followed by a pumping sound and another blast. The second jihadist fell out of the Jeep, his dying body riddled with buckshot. Tommy Page stepped into the clearing and pumped another shell into the chamber of his still-smoking 12 gauge.
Chuck stepped out from behind a tree on the side closest to Rebecca. “Good shooting. Both of you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tommy lowered the gun.
The hair again stood up on Rebecca’s neck as Reagan turned, pointed up the mountain and growled, his tail sticking straight into the air.
Tommy stepped to Rebecca’s side, looking up the mountain. His countenance stiffened. “Mom!” He launched into a sprint up the path toward Thomas and Kim Page’s cabin.
***
0749 – Military Ocean Terminal, Sunny Point (MOTSU)
General Cloos did a double-take. “Did you say ‘Bass Boat Navy?’”
Yes sir, Colonel Brookhart replied over the videoconference app on the secure tablet. Take a look.
Cloos watched as the video panned to a view of the Cape Fear River in Southport. Dozens of small boats were positioned throughout the river. As Cloos studied the scene, he observed that each boat had exactly three occupants: two holding weapons and one steering the boat. Many of the boats were flying a yellow flag with a coiled rattlesnake, and a design resembling the American flag in the top left corner.
“Who are they, Colonel?”
Locals, sir. They’ve taken it among themselves to help us defend the nuclear plant.
“Who is their leader? Do they have any training?”
The leader is a guy named Darin Watson. Grew up in Boiling Spring Lakes. Navy Vet. His right-hand man is Jared Perkins. Grew up in Northwest, on the far northern end of the county. Coast Guard man.
“Are they ready for what’s headed their way?”
We’re getting ready to find out.
Cloos zoomed in on the flag flying on one of the boats. “One more thing, Colonel. Tell me about the flag they’re flying.”
They say it represents something called the Free America Movement.
“What the hell is that?”
To put it in layman’s terms, it’s a loosely organized grassroots movement of Americans who want their freedom back.
“Then they sound like my kind of people. Anything else, Colonel?”
Yes, sir. The yellow background and coiled snake are derived from the ‘don’t tread on me’ spirit embodied in the Gadsden flag. The modified American flag in the top left corner is intended to signify America’s greatness. The stars have been removed because no one knows what state boundaries look like now or how many stars will be needed when the dust settles.
“Where did this movement begin? Does it have a leader?”
They say it originated in the mountains. Bryson City area, believe it or not.
“Small world.”
Yes sir, Brookhart continued. It is loosely organized at this point. The locals say the people in the mountains are trying to persuade someone to step in as their leader, but wouldn’t say who.
Cloos spat on the groun
d. “After we wipe out these jihadis, I’d like to meet Watson and Perkins.”
Yes, sir. Brookhart was silent for a moment, looking off to the side before responding. Sir, the AIS boats are almost here.
“Kill them all and call me when you’re done.”
***
7:51 a.m. – Fontana Dam
Rebecca’s thighs burned as she sprinted up the path toward Thomas and Kim Page’s cabin. She had been neck-and-neck with Tommy Page when he started up the mountain. Now, he was at least thirty feet ahead of her. Darn teenagers, she thought as she continued up the mountain. Reagan was halfway between her and Tommy, and she could hear Chuck Jones a few steps behind.
She heard a blood-curdling scream as she approached the last curve before the Pages’ cabin. She pushed a little harder, her leg muscles cursing her every step of the way. As she rounded the corner she saw two AIS terrorists: one holding a knife to Kim Page’s neck as he pulled her out of the house, the other dragging 16-year-old Laura Page down the steps.
Rebecca’s heart stopped as Tommy skidded to a halt and raised the shotgun. “Tommy, no!” she screamed. She knew that he would kill both the terrorist and his mother if he pulled the trigger.
The terrorist pushed Kim Page to the ground, grabbed her hair and raised the knife, which looked to be about eight inches long. Tommy lowered the shotgun, then dropped it and charged. His shoulder impacted the terrorist’s mid-section just as he began lowering the knife. The blade slashed across Tommy’s back as he and the jihadist crashed to the ground, and the knife skidded several feet to their left.
Rebecca stopped on a dime, raised her .380 and zeroed in on the second terrorist’s head. She took a deep breath and fired. The militant’s brains exploded out of the back of his skull, and he fell to the ground, slowly releasing his grip on Laura’s neck.
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