by Bobby Akart
Cort took the phone, which was the most recent iPhone device. It didn’t look any different from the one he used to carry every day.
“Other than its enhanced security, is there anything else special about it?” asked Cort.
Trowbridge motioned for him to return it to him. Even in his diminished capacity, he was able to navigate the settings app on the phone. He found security and pressed several keys on the pop-up keyboard display. Without warning, he lifted the phone toward Cort’s face and pressed a button.
“This can only be unlocked by you now,” he said as he handed the phone back. “The contacts list is written in code. You’ll find the key to the symbols and numbers in the notes, which are locked and require a passcode.”
“What is it?”
“Eighteen thirty-two, Taft, three-two-two,” he replied before explaining, “Eighteen thirty-two was the year of our founding. Alphonso Taft was one of the original founders of the Skull and Bones. Three-two-two represents the room number at the lodge, the holy place that you will soon enter when the time comes.”
“This is how I contact the Minutemen?” asked Cort.
“All of them, son. The Minutemen, military personnel, foreign diplomats. If need be, the President of the United States.”
“He knows about all of this?” asked Cort, waving the phone around as he spoke.
Trowbridge chuckled. “No, of course not. Plausible deniability.”
“Those are my words,” said Cort with a smile.
“Yes, but you’re not the first to use them. Cort, there is much to be learned, and circumstances have cut your education short. I want you to know that Harris can be trusted. I suspect part of your reasoning in acting outside the confines of my network is his possible involvement.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Son, if his goal was to assassinate you, then the chopper carrying my family would’ve never landed on the back lawn. You will lean heavily upon him at first. At some point, you will choose your own consigliere, your counselor. One who will continue what I began many years ago.”
Trowbridge began to cough, and he frantically rubbed his throat as if he was choking. He motioned toward the stainless-steel medical table by his bed.
Cort hustled to the table and offered both water and ice chips. Trowbridge gulped water and then began to cough as if he was drowning. He winced in pain as the fit subsided.
“Are you okay? Do I need to get the nurse?”
Trowbridge slowly waved his hand in front of his chest and shook his head. “This happens more frequently. Son, I’m dying. I will hold on as long as I can. For the benefit of Meredith and my granddaughter, but also for you. You are my son. I’ve known it since my daughter proudly introduced you to this family. I have planned my life, and my death, around you.”
“George, that’s very nice of you—” started Cort before Trowbridge continued.
“You are more than the protector of my family. I’m looking to you to safeguard my legacy, which is to preserve this nation. I’ve started us down an uncertain path, but I wholly believe it is the only course of action to protect the nation. I can only be judged by God, and I suspect my day to account for my deeds will be coming soon.”
Cort took Trowbridge’s hands again. “You have the best care available and two strong women by your side now. I’ll be back when the job is done, and now you can rest assured I will handle matters the best way I can.”
Trowbridge squeezed Cort’s hands and smiled. “I love you, son.” Then his eyes closed, and his feeble hands let go.
Chapter 31
The Haven
The final leg of the ride from Connecticut to the Haven aboard the Bell helicopter was blessed with clear skies and a lack of turbulence. Cort attributed the smooth ride, which lacked the sudden sideways movements and occasional abrupt changes in altitude typical of flying in a helicopter, to the size of the Relentless 525 model. He’d flown in shuttle flights aboard choppers many times between DC and surrounding cities to follow Senator McNeill to meetings or speaking engagements. The senator seemed to enjoy the swooping motions common to helicopter flight; Cort did not. After his fateful ride on Delta 322, he liked flying even less.
He was grateful that he was scheduled to arrive back at the Haven before dark. Once, during a nighttime landing, he had trouble with his vision. His eyes had difficulty focusing on a point on the ground, and the spatial disorientation caused him to be consumed by motion sickness. Today, with so much at stake, he didn’t need the added stress.
The normally deafening thumping sounds of the rotors weren’t heard in the Bell. The noise-reduction measures built into the Bell’s cabin, coupled with redesigned engines, served to reduce any intrusion into his thoughts.
He’d be asking a lot of the Smarts and the people he’d call upon to hunt down Schwartz and Briscoe. He had to convince them that the dangerous undertaking was about more than revenge.
Revenge was like a storm. It was easy to lose your way in a storm even though you weren’t far from your destination.
After the attack and subsequent rescue of Hannah, he’d now be calling upon some of them to risk their lives. However, this time, it was for more than the Cortland family. It was for the sake of God and country.
As the pilot swooped across the Outer Banks along the Atlantic Ocean, Cort caught a glimpse of several fishing boats bringing in their catch. The abundance of fish off the North Carolina coast was a necessity as the food supply chains in America came to a screeching halt.
Corporate farming operations, which made up most of the grain production in America, had stopped due to excessive costs and fuel shortages. Fruits and vegetables, the majority of which were produced in California, never made their way to the eastern half of the U.S. In Mexico, Central, and South America, countries that ordinarily picked up production of fruits and vegetables when California’s growing season ended, imports to the U.S. stopped in order to focus on feeding their own.
As a result, communities and geographic regions stepped up their own food production. States that bordered the oceans began to rely heavily upon their fishermen. Governors allocated fuel reserves to the fishermen to the detriment of other industries. State and federal coastal patrols were established to protect the fishermen, both while on the open sea from pirates, who’d begun to attack the boats at the end of the day’s catch, and when they arrived in port, where crowd control was necessary to fight off hungry residents.
The seasoned pilot circled the Haven twice, banking at a sharp angle to view the area around Haven Barn, where Cort had instructed him to land. Cort saw members of the Haven security team scramble to get into position. He had worked with Alpha long enough to know that he wouldn’t order his people to fire upon the chopper despite its intrusion into the Haven. Dropping a helicopter into the middle of the Haven’s security would’ve been suicidal, and also, Alpha didn’t have itchy trigger fingers.
The pilot expertly set the Bell down as grass, small rocks, and dirt began to swirl in the air, driven by the downward thrust of the fifteen-million-dollar aircraft. Any members of the Haven who’d ventured out from behind their protective cover immediately scampered back behind a tree or rushed to cover their faces from being pelted.
Amidst the deluge, the pilot began to shut off the engines. As the powerful rotor blades slowed, the residents of the Haven began to show themselves. Cort, as the only recognizable passenger, departed first. He told the security team to hold back until he’d taken a moment to explain.
With the assistance of the pilot, Cort emerged from the chopper and immediately waved at Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, who’d taken up positions on the edge of the forest about twenty yards apart from each other.
“It’s all good!” shouted Cort, waving his arms toward Alpha. “These guys are here to help.”
Alpha emerged from the woods first, and then Ryan appeared unexpectedly from Cort’s left. Several other members of the security team emerged from the barn to his right. By the
time they entered the clearing, the rotors had stopped and Cort didn’t have to shout.
“Ryan, Alpha, everybody,” he began, “I’ve got lots to talk with you about. First, let me tell you that Meredith and Hannah have remained at her family’s home in Connecticut.” He turned to the chopper and waved at the operatives, who kept their weapons ready but stayed within the interior compartment. One by one they emerged, wearing khaki pants, long-sleeved black shirts, sunglasses, and dark caps—the uniform of the private contractor.
Alpha stepped toward them and sized up their appearance. He provided them an imperceptible nod, a tribute, as recognition swept over both groups. They might not have known each other personally, but they certainly knew who the other was, in their souls.
Alpha turned to Cort. “You brought the cavalry.”
“Sort of,” said Cort. “These guys will be at your disposal. If you’d like them to stay out of your way, they’ll patrol your outside perimeter. If you want to use them on the inside, you can. Either way, they’re staying to fulfill a role in support of the Haven.”
“Why?” asked Ryan, who walked up to Alpha’s side to study the newcomers.
“I’ll explain,” replied Cort. “But before we get into details, I want you to see some of the presents I brought from my father-in-law.”
Cort approached Trowbridge’s operatives and gave them instructions to unload the crates of weapons and military-grade gear designed to both enhance the security capabilities at the Haven and to be used in any mission that might materialize in support of Cort’s targets.
Simultaneously, Alpha waved Bravo and Charlie forward as the ex-military personnel got acquainted with Trowbridge’s people. There were laughs and high fives exchanged as the military hardware was unloaded.
Ryan joined Cort’s side, who said, “I come bearing gifts.” It was a reference to the Three Wise Men bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh to Jesus upon his birth.
Ryan chuckled and watched intently as the group unpacked the crates and passed the weapons around. “Yeah, there’s another old saying that goes something like beware of Greeks bringing joyous bounty and endowments.”
Cort let out a hearty laugh, his first in a long time. “Does that chopper look like a Trojan Horse to you? If it was, the target, me, would’ve been dropped somewhere over the Atlantic and they would’ve gone back to George’s place.”
Alpha had wandered back to Cort and Ryan. “Very nice, Cort. Your people are on the ball.”
“They’re our people now,” said Cort before adding, “to an extent.”
Ryan continued to be skeptical. “I feel a but or some other some-somethin’ comin’.”
Cort looked both men in the eyes and patted them on the shoulders. “Fellas, we have another operation to undertake. As Jefferson said, the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It’s time to water the tree of liberty.”
Chapter 32
Haven House
The Haven
While Bravo and Charlie worked with Trowbridge’s security personnel to get unloaded, the rest of the group made their way to Haven House to listen to Cort’s proposal. Tom and Donna Shelton were already there with Blair. Delta was called up from the front gate, and Hayden, who had taken a team outside the Haven to go hunting, was recalled to join them.
It was dark when Hayden arrived, and the rest of the group had made small talk over dinner while they waited. A roaring fire warmed the living room, and rather than sit formally around the dining table, Cort suggested everyone get comfortable while he took a seat on the massive stone hearth.
“I feel like daddy is about to tell us a story,” said Hayden with a mouthful of venison stew. This drew a laugh from the crowd, and some playful teasing was thrown in Cort’s direction. The group had always been close, but the attack and Hannah’s rescue had brought them together as a family.
“Well, in a way, what I’m about to propose sounds like it comes straight out of a political suspense novel,” began Cort. “Let me lay it out for you and confirm some of the things we already suspected.”
“You mean as it relates to the New Year’s attacks,” interjected Donna.
“And afterwards,” added Cort. “My father-in-law, using his right-hand man, Hanson Briscoe, was responsible for the attacks that occurred New Year’s Eve. There are lots of reasons for his ill-conceived plan, but the bottom line is it set off a course of events that has escalated since.”
“He tried to have you killed?” asked Hayden, who was still eating.
“No, that was Briscoe. You see, George is dying. In fact, his health has rapidly deteriorated since the first of the year. Even before that, however, Briscoe wanted to be the heir to the political machine that George had built. When it became obvious that George intended to turn over his power base to me, Briscoe had to take me out.”
“Whoa!” exclaimed Hayden, who abruptly stopped chewing and swallowed her last bite. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to King Cort, the second most powerful man in Washington behind my number one client.”
“King Cort?” Blair asked with a chuckle. “Are you kidding?”
“No, Blair, not at all,” replied Hayden. “George Trowbridge has his finger in every pie, thumb on every politician, and has the ability to direct virtually every decision that has a geopolitical impact on our nation. Cort is the new George Trowbridge.”
“Not until he passes,” interrupted Cort. “I want to downplay the magnitude of what Hayden has described. I want you guys to know that I never sought this job, nor am I fully prepared to take it. I assumed Briscoe or another one of the Bonesmen would be anointed the head of the Trowbridge political kingdom.”
“These guys are Skull and Bones?” asked Tom.
“Yessir,” replied Cort. “Another long story but suffice it to say that a feud that began thirty-five years ago has resulted in America being on the brink of a second civil war, and my father-in-law fired the first shot.”
Alpha chimed in. “They were cannon blasts. But somebody decided to fight back.”
“Yes. György Schwartz and his son, Jonathan,” said Cort. “They control the myriad of so-called grassroots protest movements around the country. They fund these groups and therefore can dictate where they wreak havoc.”
“How does this explain the involvement of Chepe in the attack upon the Haven?” asked Ryan.
Cort furrowed his brow, as he still was not one hundred percent sure of the answer. “Jonathan Schwartz, who took control of the anarchists because his father has been arrested, decided to sic the dogs on me as payback for George orchestrating his father’s arrest. Or Briscoe and Schwartz are working together.”
“They hate one another,” said Hayden.
“Adversity makes strange bedfellows, counselor,” joked Tom. “The question is what would prompt Briscoe to take the extraordinary step of drawing the Haven and Cort’s family into his personal quest for power?”
“It’s a vendetta,” replied Cort. “George tried to assassinate Briscoe several days ago and failed. The man has fallen off the radar, and it’s possible he has teamed up with Schwartz.”
“That would be an odd coupling,” said Hayden with a chuckle. “Cort, you obviously have something in mind. Am I correct?”
Cort nodded and stood in front of the group. “While I agree with my father-in-law with respect for the need to jolt our country back onto the right path, I wholly disagree with his methods. Too many innocent lives were lost. I believe there could have been a better way.”
“Such as?” asked Ryan.
“Targeted assassinations of those responsible for sowing the seeds of discontent,” he quickly replied as if he’d been thinking of the subject matter for some time. “Without creating martyrs, the most prominent voices of the opposition could’ve been silenced using several methods. But what’s done is done. Now we have to stop the bloodshed and give the president the opportunity to bring the nation back together.”
“I think he is, but he has to do it in such a way that spans the political abyss. He has to look less divisive and more like a reconcilliator.”
“Reconcilliator,” Blair began to ask. “Is that even a word?”
“It sounds like a George W. Bush word,” replied Ryan with a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Cort, who enjoyed the ribbing. “You guys know what I mean and that’s what matters. My point is this. If we want to put an end to this and make the president look good in the process, we need to mete out justice to the two people who are the heads of their respective snakes.”
“Briscoe and Schwartz,” said Ryan.
“Right,” replied Cort. “If we can take them out before inauguration day, Wednesday the twentieth, which is fast approaching—”
“It is?” asked Donna. “I’ve lost all sense of time.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Blair. Then she directed her question to Hayden. “Okay, let me ask the president’s attorney something. Hayden, you and Cort are inside-the-beltway types who understand Washington’s way of thinking. Would the president be better off if these two were eliminated?”
Hayden thought for a moment and responded, “He’d be better off if he took advantage of a decline in hostilities rather than having to deploy the U.S. military on American soil in violation of posse comitatus. He’d be setting a dangerous precedent to do that.”
“I agree,” said Cort. “By removing Briscoe and Schwartz from the equation, the titular heads of the two warring sides of the aisle will no longer be able to direct their ground troops, so to speak. The Schwartz funds to the anarchist groups will be cut off. Briscoe’s power over military and law enforcement resources will be taken away.”
“Makes sense,” said Ryan.
“Okay, where are they?” asked Alpha.
Cort grimaced. “Um, I have no idea. I need to use X-Ray to find them.”