Liberty or Tyranny (15 page)

General Strovenov continued, “Mister President, it’s time the American people had an opportunity to elect a real Congress and a real president. It’s time America returns to the Constitution that so many American people have fought, killed, suffered, and died for.”

It took a full 30 seconds for Capinos to regain his composure, but once he did he sat down and read the petition, taking five minutes to do so. As he read, he grew more and more uncomfortable. His efforts to hide his rage and his fear failed.

General Strovenov said nothing and showed no sign of noticing it.

After taking note that the first names on the long list of signatures included everyone on the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Capinos looked up at Strovenov, keeping his composure. “I’ve always said that my service to the nation as president was temporary and that I would step down as soon as we got things back in order and the nation back on its feet. I have no objection to national elections. But you do understand that it’ll take at least six months perhaps a year before we could even think of doing that. The country is in just too bad a shape at the moment. How could we have a nationwide election when we do not even have the roads cleared and there is no nationwide communication? What kind of a campaign could the candidates run without newspapers, TV and radio reporters, hell, without TV, without radios, without power? It would look like something out of there early 1800s.”

Strovenov spoke in a subdued voice, “If our forefathers could make it work, I’m sure we can.”

“But you have to be reasonable. Certainly you and the others understand we can’t have elections right now. Everything’s too chaotic.”

The general’s face turned expressionless. “At the rate we’ve been going, things will still be chaotic 20 years from now. Mister President, the people need a democratically elected government, and they deserve one, and they deserve a government that puts life-and-death priorities first. We must provide them with protection, law and order. We must help them feed themselves. The lawlessness and the hunger must end ASAP. We could’ve accomplished this already. It’s a crime that we haven’t.”

Capinos jumped out of his chair. “There it is. So you blame me. I’ve worked day and night to better the people’s lives.” He adjusted the black-tie on his white shirt, which suddenly seemed too tight. “Taking everything into consideration, I believe I’ve done the people a great service and the country has made great strides since I took office.”

General Strovenov looked sick. “We could’ve done much better. We
should
have done much better. This isn’t about blaming you or anyone else; it’s about doing the right thing.”

Something flashed behind Capinos’ eyes. “You’re patronizing me, General.” He sat back in his chair, his mind racing. “I could be hard-assed about this, but I’m trying to be reasonable.” He rubbed his cleanly shaven chin. “I believe we can come to a gentleman’s agreement. One that you can take back to the other generals, consider it, and then give me an answer tomorrow. Normally I wouldn’t do this, but these are unusual times, and I fully admit that I was not elected by all of the people. There simply was no way for that to happen under the circumstances at the time. I don’t believe it can happen even now or a year from now. But I’ll agree to a special series of national elections for both my office and all of Congress, both houses, if you generals agree to serve under me and pledge your allegiance to my presidency until the elections take place.”

“Those elections need to be soon, Mister President,” Strovenov insisted.

Capinos gave him an unreadable expression. “We have to look into whether or not it’s even feasible. And, as I said before, I don’t think it is possible. Not today, not six months from now, perhaps not even a year from now.”

“We can make it work. The question is, do you want to make it work? After all, almost everything you’ve done since you took office was about consolidating power and concentrating it not only in Washington in general but in your office in particular. With all due respect, Mister President, I don’t believe you will give up on your dreams of a dictatorship so easily.” He leaned forward in his chair. “And let’s stop playing games here. You and I both know what you’ve been up to. The colonel down in Florida knows, every general who signed that petition knows. Killing those six local law enforcement volunteers will not keep it quiet. You can’t undo the damage. It’s time to call off your cloak and dagger show down there and leave those people alone.”

Capinos fumed. “Now you’re going too far. Haven’t I been reasonable with you? I’ve agreed to elections sometime in the future. I thought we were having a civilized conversation here and coming to a gentleman’s agreement. But now you seem to think you’re my boss. The coup hasn’t taken place yet, General. It hasn’t even started, and you’re acting as if the military has already won and is in control.” He shook his head. “You’re delusional. Don’t mistake my reasonableness as weakness.”

Losing patience, Strovenov raised his voice. “There has been no talk of a military coup, here or among officers. The petition is an attempt to, as you say, come to a gentleman’s agreement. Everyone who signed the petition, including me, believes in the Constitution and in civilian control of the military. We all know that military coups have a long history of making things worse, not better. America may have taken a great fall, but we’re still not a banana republic. No one who signed the petition is interested in any kind of military coup. We will, however, continue to insist that national elections take place as soon as possible and constitutional government is reinstated. We have all sworn an oath to support and defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic, and we intend to fulfill that oath.” He glared at Capinos. “And we will not tolerate any more human rights violations.”

Capinos turned red again. “Damn you! You talk as if I’m some kind of a Hitler. This country is in much better condition than it would’ve been without me. I stepped up and I served. And this is the thanks I get for it.”

Strovenov said in a calm voice, “This isn’t about you. It’s about the American people. Your ego isn’t worth the lives of any more Americans. So please, let’s get back to the issue at hand.”

His jaw dropping, Capinos glared at him, incredulous that someone would say such a thing. After he simmered for 30 seconds, he spoke again. “I agree that we need to have nationwide elections as soon as possible. I thought I had already told you that. I’ll appoint a committee to look into it and have Congress start a committee for the same purpose. I suggest that you in the military do the same thing. Certainly, we’ll have to coordinate our efforts to make it happen.” He raised his open palms in the air. “But as I’ve already stated, I have my doubts we can get this done within six months. Be that as it may, you do your investigation into the viability of the whole thing, and I’ll have people look into it on the civilian side.” He sat back in his chair, looking exhausted. “For now, I think we have said all that can be said about it.” His jaw set as he looked across the desk at Strovenov. “Now get out of here and don’t bother me again until I call you.”

Strovenov didn’t move. “There is still the Florida situation. Are you going to call off that CIA team?”

Capinos ground his teeth and glared at the general. “I can’t make any promises on that. But I will tell them to stay out of your soldiers’ way down there.”

“It’s too late, you know,” Strovenov stated flatly. “Too many people know about the operation. I guess you would call it a PSYOP. Whatever the hell you want to call it, it’s bullshit. I suggest you call off your team now, and the whole thing will just die down naturally.”

“That operation is above your pay grade. I’ll look into the matter,” Capinos spat. “Now get out of my office.”

General Strovenov’s mind raced as he walked to the waiting armored-up Humvee. He turned and looked back at the White House.
The son of a bitch is buying time. In some ways that was too easy, despite all his pissing and moaning. No telling what he’ll do. The crazy bastard just might be planning a purge. Everyone who signed that petition may be dead in a few days. The best we can hope for is that he hasn’t made a decision yet, since he has at least six months before the elections and will probably stretch it out a year. There’s no telling how much damage he could do between now and then.
He felt sick.
One thing for sure, he’ll do everything he can to hold onto power, and that means he’ll never allow any elections.
He grasped the Humvee’s door handle, but not to open it – for support.

A soldier standing at attention next to him spoke. “Sir, I’ll open the door for you.”

Strovenov seemed to not hear. His eyes stared 1000 yards into oblivion. Suddenly he jerked his head and faced the soldier. Stepping out of the way, he said “Thank you.”

The soldier opened the door and stood at attention. “It weighs 600 pounds and can smash your fingers easily.”

Six hundred pounds?
Strovenov thought.
I wish the load on my shoulders was so light. Six hundred pounds of cold, lifeless steel that doesn’t feel pain or hunger or anguish over the loss of loved ones or terror over what tomorrow may bring would be as light as a feather on my shoulders.

~~~

Nate and the others traveled all day, heading deeper into the swamp. For all they knew, soldiers or CIA operatives could be in the area, so they had to be as quiet and careful as possible. Necessary precautions such as staying under the cover of trees in case aircraft or drones were searching for them also slowed them down. Still, they managed to travel almost 12 miles before it became too dark to go any farther. Their camp consisted of only unrolling their sleeping bags on the driest ground they could find and stretching a tarpaulin on a rope between two trees. One good thing about the cold was it meant no mosquitoes and they didn’t need to bother with netting. They ate their meals cold, not chancing a fire. Deni had a pack full of MREs, and everyone ate one for the energy and to fill their stomachs, if not for the taste.

While the others slept, Nate, Brian, and Deni sat on a log and spoke softly.

“I’m starting to wish the government had just stayed the hell out of this county,” Brian complained. “Here we are hiding in a damn swamp, and we don’t know what’s going on with our friends in town or the horse farm.”

Nate waited a few seconds before saying anything to give himself a chance to listen for any unnatural sounds in the woods that might warn him someone was approaching. “I guess we have to take the bad with the good. As I recall, the Army saved your life with modern medicine.”

“As I see it,” Deni said, “we have two immediate problems. One of them, Brian just mentioned. The other is that we can stay out here only so long before running out of supplies. Sooner or later we’re going to have to go to Mel’s bunker, or the horse farm, or back to town to get supplies.”

“We have caches of supplies buried near the farm. Remember?” Nate reminded Deni. “They are far enough back in the woods we could probably sneak in there and dig one of them up without getting caught, even if soldiers are watching the farm.” He cupped his left ear in an effort to listen for distant aircraft. “We’ll wait a few days before we try that, though. Hopefully things will be settled down a little by then.”

Brian asked, “You think we might be able to sneak into the bunker and use the radio? I mean if it doesn’t look too dangerous to try it.”

Nate seemed doubtful. “Uh. We’ll see. I might try it alone, providing we haven’t seen any sign of soldiers in the area over the next several days. First we’ll have to get more supplies.”

“Just don’t broadcast,” Deni warned. “The Army will damn sure be listening in. Worse, those spooks will be waiting for just such a mistake. If they don’t already know about the bunker, they will when they triangulate the source of your transmission and send an assault team to the area.”

Nate nodded in the dark. “Yep.”

“Radio’s the easiest way to learn something about what’s going on,” Brian noted. “After all that shooting we heard, I’m worried we may have lost more friends.”

“I know,” Deni said. “Me too.”

~~~

Caroline clasped her hand over Samantha’s mouth to prevent her from screaming and turned her face away so she couldn’t see. They hid in the brush and watched a CIA operative kick Ramiro in the stomach as he lay on the ground. His hands were bound behind his back with zip ties.

Bo Lyndson, an ex-FBI HRT (hostage rescue team) member and CIA operative the last four years, appeared to be boiling over with rage. When he was about to be fired from the FBI for beating a nineteen-year-old boy until he revealed where his father was hiding out after killing a Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agent, Lyndson jumped at a job offer with the CIA. He was promised there would be no such constitutional restraints to deal with at his new job. The lean, six-foot-tall man of around thirty-five years of age grabbed Ramiro by his thick black hair and pulled his head back. “Where are the others?”

Ramiro spit blood. “I told you. I do not know. Causing me pain will not change that. I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

Lyndson pulled his fighting knife and held the point less than a quarter of an inch from Ramiro’s left eye. “Do you think you’re some kind of a badass? Believe me, you’re not.”

“It is not courage that stops me from speaking.” Ramiro swallowed. His chest heaved. “I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

“Damn you!” Mrs. MacKay screamed. “None of us know where they are. We separated into small groups and fled into the woods. Leave him alone. He has done nothing, committed no crime.” Tied to a tree, she pulled at her bindings. “Is this how you serve the American people?”

For a moment, rage overtook Caroline’s thoughts. If she had not had Samantha to worry about, she would have started shooting at that moment. Instead, she carefully retreated back into the woods taking Samantha away from danger. She couldn’t save the others, but she might be able to save one little girl.

A shot rang out. Caroline froze for a second, tears running down her face. She looked down at Samantha and saw that she was crying too. “Come on, little friend. We must be very quiet.”

Ramiro looked up from the ground, his eyes wide with fear. Lying on his back, all he could hear was a ringing in his head. His ears useless. The CIA operative had fired his pistol only inches from his left ear, but had not aimed to kill.

Several parents tried to calm their screaming children, who had just witnessed the beating and the faux execution.

One man on the CIA team mopped sweat from his forehead with his jacket sleeve and nervously looked over at the screaming children. “This is bullshit.”

The man who had just shot glanced over at him and glared. “What?”

Ken Rittleman, a former Green Beret sergeant, answered, “I said this is bullshit. Are you really willing to do this in front of children?”

MacKay saw more than ten adults and children she had grown to think of as family struggling at their bindings, terror on their faces. Her anger rising, she yelled at the two operatives standing before her. “You already have innocent blood on your hands. Exactly what crimes have we committed to deserve this?”

Lyndson rushed up to her, his knife in his hand. “I want to know where the other insurgents are.”

MacKay held her chin up and glared at him. “Insurgents? From where I’m standing you’re the insurgents. As I told you, when we left the farm we broke up into small groups and separated before fleeing into the woods. I have no idea where the others are. I do know they have committed no crimes and are not insurgents.”

“Damn you, you old hag,” Lyndson hissed. “I’m talking about those pretend Sheriff’s deputies from Glenwood. Nate Williams, Brian Williams, Deni Heath, ex-Army Sergeant and supposedly now married to Nate Williams. And last but not least, Tyrone Hayes and an old man by the name of Atticus.”

She shook her head in dismay. “Why, I know even less of their whereabouts than I do the people who were with me on my farm. The last I heard, they were still in Glenwood. We haven’t heard from them in weeks.”

Lyndson raised the knife. His eyes turned to slits and he spit his words through his teeth. “I’ve seen how you live around here. I don’t want any part of it. And the thing is you have it easy compared to the major cities where it looks like a medieval world, with everyone walking around looking like skeletons, starving, dying a little every day.” He ran the blade down her left arm to her elbow, cutting one quarter of an inch deep. Blood ran down her arm and dripped from her fingertips, splashing on a bed of pine needles at her feet.

MacKay tried to jerk her arm away, but the ropes had her bound to the tree so tight she could barely move. She clenched her jaw, not making a sound. “Young man, you don’t live as long as I have without becoming intimately familiar with pain. Have you been kicked by a horse? I won’t ask if you’ve given birth.”

He leaned over, bringing his mouth closer to her ear. “My wife is dead, but I have a son and a daughter. The thing is, they are fed three squares a day and so am I. So that my children can eat, I will do what I am told.” He cut her left arm again, deeper this time. “My orders are to hunt down, capture, or kill the people I just named. If I don’t accomplish my mission, my children may not eat tomorrow. They may not ever eat again. That’s what motivates me. It’s what I think of whenever I have an unpleasant task.” He slashed her face from her ear to the corner of her mouth. The others had not been able to see him cut her left arm, because he was blocking their view. But they all saw him cut her face. The children screamed and cried, and the adults screamed obscenities at Lyndson. He either paid them no attention or did not hear. “I’m willing to do whatever I must to please Washington so my children will continue to eat. You need to tell me what you know before I stop playing around.”

MacKay moaned slightly and caught her breath. “It’ll do you no good. I have already told you the truth.”

Ramiro struggled to his knees, rage on his face. As he tried to stand, Lyndson turned and knocked him down by striking the side of his head with the butt of his knife. “I’ve wasted enough time here. Where are they? If I have to ask again, someone’s going to die.”

Stunned, Ramiro lay there on the forest floor blinking. After catching his breath, he said, “If I knew, I would’ve told you already.”

“Damn it, you know where they are.” In a fit of rage, Lyndson kicked Ramiro again. He glared down at him in frustration, pulling his pistol and firing a round into his chest. Ramiro’s eyes grew wide, as he coughed and gasped. Lyndson watched him struggle to catch his breath while he drowned in his own blood. Ramiro’s gasps grew faster and shallower. Finally, his eyes rolled back and life ebbed away.

Shock-induced silence ended when pandemonium erupted among the captives.

Rittleman turned as white as a sheet and threw his hands over his head, letting his M4 hang from its combat sling across his chest. He appeared to be sick.

Another operative, who had been standing watch on the eastern side of the perimeter, came running, ready for trouble. When he saw Ramiro dead and MacKay, blood dripping from her, he surmised the situation instantly. First Sergeant Henry Kramer, the CIA operative who had been captured by Nate and the others, yelled, “Are you insane? If word gets out about this, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

Lyndson yelled at the screaming captives. “Shut up!” His eyes swept them, looking like tandem guns on a turret, dangerous, full of hate. “Shut the hell up!” He turned to Kramer. “Word isn’t going to get out.”

Kramer looked at him, his mouth slightly open and his head tilted. “You can get that shit of your head right now. No one else is going to die. These aren’t the people we’re after. I know what they look like, and they’re not here. I wasn’t able to stop the killing of that other group, but that’s not happening here.”

“But they know where they are.” Lyndson jabbed an accusing finger at MacKay. “She knows. She’s their leader.”

Kramer swept his left arm over the group of terrified captives. “I’m standing between you and them. Your call. Take it or leave it. You want them; you come through me.”

Lyndson glared at Kramer. “We’ll see about that.” He took his pack off and produced a satellite telephone from it. After making contact with someone, he spoke into the receiver, “We have indigenous personnel who refuse to cooperate and tell us where the insurgents are. Do we have authority to go as far as necessary to make them talk?” He listened for a few seconds. The scowl on his face softened somewhat. “I need you to repeat that to my number two man.” He motioned for Kramer to come and take the phone from him.

Kramer held it to his ear. “What are my orders?” He listened for several seconds, his face turning whiter as he held the phone to his ear. “Yes sir. No sir, I have no questions.” He handed the phone back to Lyndson.

“Now you have it,” Lyndson said. “Straight from the president himself.”

Kramer clicked the safety off on his M4. “It doesn’t matter. It’s still an illegal order.”

Lyndson laughed. “Why didn’t you tell him that?”