by Akart, Bobby
Chapter Fifteen
Norfolk, Virginia
“Hey, Dad, can you talk?” His daughter’s voice was hushed and sounded hurried. Tommie Shelton, their youngest daughter, was a Naval Intelligence officer stationed aboard the USNS Invincible in the Persian Gulf. Her full-time job was to lead a team that tracked terrorist activity emerging from Iran and Yemen. He hadn’t heard from her since their conversation on New Year’s Eve prior to the attacks.
Tom stopped short of entering the truck and replied, “Um, sure. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m worried about you two, but this is my first opportunity to get an outside, secure line.”
“Honey, we’re fine. We’re in Norfolk, making our way to the safe place. You remember the Haven, right?”
“Good, Dad. I’m sorry, but I have to hurry. Is Mom within earshot of you?”
Tom noticed Donna was intently watching him. She motioned for him to get into the truck. He shook his head and raised his left hand with his index finger in the air, indicating she should wait just a moment. He quickly backed out of the truck and shut the door. As he spoke with Tommie, he wandered around the side of the truck, fully aware that Donna was following his every step.
“Not anymore,” he replied. “What’ve you got?”
“Dad, I can’t believe I’m about to say this. I mean…” Her voice trailed off, causing Tom to grow concerned.
“Spill it, Commander!” he ordered somewhat jokingly.
“Dad, this is being analyzed from a lot of different angles, do you understand?”
“Yes, but how do you see it?” he asked.
“It’s not just us. It’s several intelligence agencies.” She paused and then continued. “Dad, it’s not an external threat.”
“A cell? They’ve been embedded within our borders for—”
“No, Dad.” Tommie cut him off. “It’s not a cell either. Internal.”
Her words soaked into Tom.
Internal. Not from outside, but from within.
“Do you have any kind of confirmation of this?” he asked.
“It’s fluid, but the process of elimination is leading several agencies to this conclusion,” she replied. She paused again. “Dad, I can’t say any more, and we’re on strict time limits for our communiques. Tell Mom I love her. Bye.”
Just like that, his daughter, the terrorist catcher, abruptly hung up. Tom stared at the icons on his phone’s screen and then slowly shoved the device in his pocket. He thought back to the number of times he’d been called upon to perform some innocuous task on behalf of George Trowbridge. His mind wandered to the immense power that people like Trowbridge wielded, and then he considered the advanced weaponry available to Trowbridge’s minions—just as he once was.
Tom slowly entered the truck and started the engine. He plugged Richmond into the navigation system in the Yukon and started them on their journey to the Haven. Donna sat in silence, clearly aggravated that Tom had found it necessary to exclude her from his side of the conversation. After several minutes, he tried to explain.
“Dear, that was Tommie,” he began sheepishly. “She could only talk for a minute.”
“A minute that obviously required you to exclude me.”
Tom nervously gripped the steering wheel and chose his words carefully. “Tommie is very protective of you, and I have a tendency to overreact sometimes. We just didn’t want to worry you.”
Donna turned sideways in her seat and leaned against the passenger door. “Tom, no more secrets. You promised. I’ve barely gotten over your special relationship with that man Trowbridge, and now you find it necessary to talk to our daughter without me? I’m worried about her, too, you know. We could be at war and she’s sitting on a boat at the devil’s doorstep.”
Tom felt terrible. He had assured her there would be no more secrets. He considered assuaging her concerns by telling her that Tommie was not at the devil’s doorstep, as she put it. Most likely, the two of them were. Somehow, he wasn’t sure that would provide her a sense of relief.
“She’s fine and she wanted me to tell you that she loves you.” Tom reached over the console to take his wife’s hand in his. He felt bad and saw how hurt his wife was. He needed to stop coddling her, and now was as good a time as any. “Donna, you’re right. I’ve hidden too many things from you for too long. We have a new lease on life, and after what you’ve been through, I doubt anything I tell you could be worse.”
Donna bristled. “Exactly, Tom. Or is it Commander?”
Ouch.
Now he knew he had to come clean about everything, from the mysterious text message to Tommie’s revelation.
“Let me go back to New Year’s Eve first,” he began. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Donna, I love you, and I’m sorry.”
“I love you, too. You have to believe in me, Tom. Please.”
“Okay,” he said with a smile. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. With one eye on the road, he retrieved the deleted text message he’d received that night. He quickly logged into his iCloud account, found the deleted text message and restored it to his phone. As he went through the motions, he considered how the message had impacted him. It was signed in a way that reminded him of his past dealings with Trowbridge. “Here’s a text I received after we’d fought our way back to the Hyatt.”
Donna took the phone from Tom read the message.
The real danger on the ocean, as well as the land, is people.
Fare thee well and Godspeed, Patriot!
MM
“Who is MM?” asked Donna.
“Truthfully, I don’t know for certain,” he replied. “It could be the initials for one person, or it might have been sent by any of a number of people with access to my cell phone number.”
“But it was meant for you, right?”
“I think so, and that’s based upon the reference to the ocean and my career in the Navy. However, it’s the sign-off that caught my attention.”
“You mean Godspeed, Patriot?”
“Yes. When I was still commander at JB Charleston, after my agreement with Trowbridge, I’d receive instructions via text message. They weren’t as cryptic as this, but they were signed with Godspeed, Patriot.”
Donna read the message again and then gingerly returned the phone to Tom as if the device were some type of material evidence in a conspiracy. “What does it mean?”
“It was an expression of good wishes, or safe journey. The word patriot was always included because the people I worked for considered themselves patriots and defenders of more than the Constitution. They thought of themselves along the lines of caretakers of the American way of life.”
“Do you mean like throwbacks to Revolutionary times?”
“Yes, I suppose. Back then, loyalists were those who opposed independence and wished to remain under British rule. Patriots were the continentals, the rebels, the revolutionaries who sought to break away. Over time, defenders of the Constitution, or, in many cases, the so-called American way of life, considered themselves to be patriots.”
Donna thought for a moment. “I guess I’m a patriot, but then I’m old-fashioned. This is a topic we can debate for hours. Why did they send you this message?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t require me to do anything, so I didn’t think it was important enough to trouble you with.”
Donna pointed to the phone that sat in the cupholder of the console. “Is this why you chose to take the bus to New Haven?”
“That was coincidental,” he quickly replied. “I considered it to be the least likely destination for people fleeing the city. It was while you were sleeping that my mind raced, considering the possible connection between Trowbridge and the text. Frankly, I thought the man owed me an audience considering the years of service I’d given him.”
Donna relaxed and rubbed her husband’s shoulder. Tom rolled his head on his neck again, welcoming his wife’s touch.
“Well, I’m glad it wor
ked out because he got us farther along than we could’ve done on our own. From what I saw on the news this morning while you were out, the highways from New York to Philadelphia to Washington are filled with violence and mayhem. Each day gets worse.”
Tom slowed the truck as he approached Richmond. I-295 southbound was closed, and they were being routed north on the freeway.
“Now what?” said Tom out of frustration as he followed the string of cars onto the interstate that looped around Richmond. “At this rate, we’ll be back in New York before we know it.”
Donna used her iPhone to pull up the Apple app store. She searched for Richmond traffic and found the WTVR News 6 traffic app.
“Okay, this is not fire related. All it says on here is disturbance, whatever that means. Anyway, the good news is that you run directly into I-95, which takes us through the city.”
Tom shook his head and moved along with the flow of the traffic. The Dismal Swamp fire had sent them sixty or seventy miles out of their way. It wasn’t the time they’d lost that concerned him. It was the wasted gasoline. They couldn’t make it all the way to the Haven, so a stop was necessary anyway.
“Well, imagine that,” said Tom as they pulled onto I-95 southbound. A traffic jam.”
Donna continued to study her phone. “There’s nothing about it on the traffic app. I’m thinking this is just a temporary slowdown caused by refugees out of the northeast like us.”
Tom stretched his arm to reach into the backseat of the rental to find his Navy cap. He’d worn the dark navy cap for years after he’d retired. He joked that it kept his head on straight.
They crept along the highway, making slow progress, when Donna interrupted the silence and pointed to their right. “Look at that, Tom.”
Tom leaned forward in his seat to look past his wife at a spray-painting under the overpass. It was a black rose held high by a fist.
“I’ve seen that before somewhere. Um, maybe in Europe during the unrest.”
“You mean in Paris?” asked Donna.
“Well, it started there before spreading to Belgium and the Netherlands. It was the beginning of that uprising a few years back.”
They were both staring at the black rose, and Donna had raised her phone to take a picture when Tom suddenly slammed on the brakes, throwing her forward in her seat.
“Watch out!” he shouted as he quickly confirmed that the doors to the truck were locked.
Chapter Sixteen
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
“Harris,” Trowbridge began as he was handed reports on financial market trading to open the day, “bankers and executives in the high-tech industries have been preparing for the inevitable decline of the U.S. dollar for decades. From dinner parties in Silicon Valley to cocktail soirees on the Upper East Side, the rich not only expect the collapse of our currency, but they plan to profit from it. We are no different.”
Harris handed his boss a Microsoft tablet. The screen was filled with a chart showing the U.S. Dollar Index. The index measured the value of the dollar relative to select international currencies including the euro, the Japanese yen, the pound sterling, the Canadian dollar, the Swiss franc and the Swedish krona.
The index was established in 1973 soon after the Bretton Woods agreement and the abandonment of the gold standard. The dollar has traded as high as 164.72 during the middle of the Reagan administration to a low in the early days of the real estate market collapse of 2008 at 70.70.
“Sixty-eight and falling,” muttered Trowbridge as he handed the tablet back to his aide.
“Sir, is it time to step in?” asked Harris.
“No, let’s give the feds time to raise the alarm, get their warrants from our judges, and move in.”
“That could take days,” added Harris, a former attorney.
“Ordinarily, but not today. The calls have already been placed.”
“What about equity markets?” asked Harris.
“Under the circumstances, only the currency markets are impacted by Schwartz’s moves. With stock markets closed indefinitely, the central banks will act to shore up asset prices. The nation will just have to endure until we can set up Schwartz to take the fall.”
Harris nodded and stood quietly for a moment, and then he spoke his mind. “Sir, this is a re-creation of 1968, only the catalyst is more pronounced.”
In 1968, America was teetering on the brink of societal collapse. The Vietnam War had polarized the nation. Two prominent leaders, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Martin Luther King Jr., had been assassinated. Political rancor had elevated to a fever pitch as the presidential election approached. Social tensions had boiled in a similar manner to current conditions.
“Harris, when society comes apart at the seams, the elite, the ones capable of controlling the masses, don’t stand by to watch the carnage. They have contingency plans, just as we do. These circumstances are different.”
“How so, sir?” asked Harris. “I mean, the results are similar, just more pronounced.”
“Ah, there is a difference, as time will reveal. I like to call it managed mayhem. There will be a period where a purge occurs. My goal is to ensure that those who agree with my philosophies, and those of our Founders, prevail. Over the past two decades, the balance of power has tilted in favor of a European-socialist form of governance. I’m simply trying to tilt it back to its Constitution-based roots.”
“Isn’t this likely to be temporary?”
Trowbridge sighed. “Maybe, depending on how our nation’s leaders respond. First, the cleansing must take place. And then a leader will step forward to bring America back to her former greatness.”
Harris was about to speak when his cell phone rang. “My apologies, sir. I should take this.”
He listened intently to the other end of the line. He nodded several times, occasionally mumbling a response.
“Thank you. I will let him know.”
“What?” demanded Trowbridge.
“Two things, sir. First, your daughter and son-in-law have left their hotel and are en route to the Haven.”
“How trustworthy is our surveillance team?”
“The best, sir, at your request. They will shadow them the entire trip, only intervening in the event the family is in grave danger.”
“Good, I cannot risk pushing my daughter further away. If she senses I’m trying to meddle in their lives, even under these dire circumstances, I could lose her forever.”
Trowbridge showed a rare sign of emotion. He’d become estranged from his daughter when she’d learned that her father had established a blueprint for Cort’s life. Meredith was proud of Cort’s accomplishments, and she refused to allow her father to manipulate their lives like they were pawns in his political chess matches.
Little did she know that he was masterfully setting the course of their lives from afar, creating opportunities for Cort without his knowledge. It was a roadmap for his son-in-law’s life that had been set the day he married Trowbridge’s only daughter. They were pawns, for now. Soon, their level of importance would jump exponentially.
Chapter Seventeen
Pinecrest
East of Charlotte Airport
The Cortland family chattered away about the things they wanted to purchase at Walmart. Hannah focused on things to entertain themselves while at the Haven. Meredith reeled off a number of creature comforts and items that would make her job at the school easier. Cort focused on practical items such as food, first aid supplies, and ammunition for the guns he’d brought from home.
When he opted to take the back streets along Old Steele Creek Road toward Walmart rather than a more direct route to the Haven, he presumed any additional rioting or unrest would be absent until nighttime. He presumed incorrectly.
They had just approached the major intersection at Wilkinson Boulevard when a group of a dozen people stormed into a Church’s Chicken restaurant to their left. Cort was stunned to see the attackers w
ielding clubs and baseball bats, mercilessly beating the few patrons before running out the side entrances carrying purses and trays of food.
Cort tried to remain calm as he looked for a way to avoid the men running across the parking lot toward their truck. “Meredith, crawl in the backseat and get down. If you can, reach for my handgun case. It’s sitting underneath my duffle bag.”
Their vehicle was surrounded by cars and Cort had no good options. He started to put the truck in reverse when the men ran past them, ignoring all the parked cars. They had another target in mind.
To Cort’s right, a group of men came running out of the woods near the Walmart shopping center. They were screaming and hurling rocks at the attackers of the Church’s restaurant.
“Gun,” whispered Meredith as if she were trying to hide the weapon from the men battling one another in the middle of the intersection.
Cort reached back and took the case from her. He reached into his pocket to retrieve the key and unlocked the case. He pushed the magazine he’d loaded with bullets this morning into the bottom of the grip and readied the weapon.
The light changed to green, but none of the traffic moved. Cort had no intention of being stuck in the event the melee escalated to involve the motorists. He also gave up on the prospect of shopping at Walmart. His priorities changed to protecting his family and survival.
He put the truck in reverse and inched backward to create space between the Suburban and the pickup truck in front of him. He turned the wheel to the left and lurched into the other lane until he arrived in the restaurant’s parking lot. Squealing the tires, Cort sped backwards, completing his one-hundred-eighty-degree turn around, and raced away from the intersection.
After checking his mirrors and noticing that only one other SUV had made a similar maneuver, he exhaled. “It’s okay, honey. You can come back up here if you want.”
Meredith’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Um, no, thanks. I’m good. We’re good.”
