Jones and John were both befuddled and felt like they were eavesdropping on a conversation but came into it in the middle.
“So the terms we discussed over the phone will be it, correct?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
John’s instinct as an attorney kicked in. “Hold on, um, Gordon, can we speak for a minute?”
“Why?”
“This, what is this? What are you agreeing to?” John asked, motioning with his hands.
“My head is just in the clouds. John, Corporal Jones, this is Jacques Marceau, the prime minister of Western Canada.”
“Gordon, we need to talk right now,” John said, an urgent tone in his voice.
Jacques looked at John and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all. The thing is my men here weren’t aware of the deal I struck with you, but there’s no need to be concerned. They don’t have a say in how things are run,” Gordon reassured Jacques.
Gordon’s response didn’t reassure Jacques, who said, “I know these things can be difficult, and if you’re not ready to make a treaty, then we can discuss it later when there’s more consensus.”
“Not necessary, did you bring the agreement?” Gordon asked.
“Of course, like you requested,” Jacques said.
“Stop!” John snapped. “Gordon, you can’t sign anything unless I look at it. I’m a contract lawyer, for Christ’s sake, this is what I made millions doing.”
One of Jacques’s men removed a packet and handed it to Jacques, who in turn handed it to Gordon.
Seeing the desperate look in John’s eyes, Gordon relented and said, “I will need tonight to go over this. It looks thick, you know, the fine print.”
“Then we’ll finalize, say, tomorrow morning,” Jacques said.
“Tomorrow morning it is,” Gordon said as he reached across the table with his hand open.
Jacques took Gordon’s hand and shook it. “I look forward to our mutually beneficial relationship.”
“Me too. What’s the saying, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Gordon said.
“Correct,” Jacques said and stood.
“Jones, take them to the officers’ quarters and find them accommodations,” Gordon ordered.
Jones sneered but did as Gordon instructed.
As soon as the door closed, John snatched the packet and tore it open. “Good God, man, you don’t sign contracts much less fucking binding treaties unless a lawyer looks at them.”
“This is a good thing,” Gordon stressed.
John whipped through one page after another, quickly reading.
“This assures we’ll have an ally to the north and disrupts Conner.”
“Exactly how does this help us? I don’t understand,” John asked, his head still in the papers.
“Jacques and his people are not unlike us. They’ve carved out the western provinces of Canada and declared it independent from the eastern half. They’re not recognized by Ottawa nor the United States…”
Jones burst into the room unexpectedly. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I was just explaining to John.”
“Gordon, might I remind you Jacques is a renegade, a murderer; he’s best known for blowing up the legislature in Edmonton. I distinctly remember Charles talking about this guy and how he was the one obstacle to gaining the territory of southwestern British Columbia for Cascadia. If you sign this, you will, pardon the pun, blow up all the work that Charles and the others have accomplished in Olympia. They have been working hard and are close to getting the legitimate Canadian government to the table.”
“The Canadian government, or what’s left of it, has no power and can’t do anything about Jacques or promise us we’ll get that territory in BC,” Gordon said, defending his actions.
“You don’t know that, but regardless, you need to follow protocol.”
John kept his head down and kept reading, ignoring Jones’s emotional outburst.
“By striking this deal, we give up a small chunk of Cascadia, but in return we get a strong ally,” Gordon fired back.
“Who’s to say Jacques won’t turn his ambitions south?” Jones asked.
“I don’t know that, but I think he’s only concerned with maintaining the traditional boundaries. If he has other designs, we’ll deal with him then. This secures an alliance with the strongest player north of us.”
“How do you know he won’t make a deal with Conner?” Jones asked.
“He won’t and Conner would never entertain it; he needs to stay true to the leaders in Ottawa. According to Jacques, the Canadian government in Ottawa was in talks with Conner to assist militarily against him after the United States had stabilized everything.”
Jones plopped into his chair and grunted. “Gordon, Gordon, Gordon,” he lamented.
“It will be fine,” Gordon said, his tone more subdued. “Jones, you know and I know that there was never going to be a deal with Ottawa—never—and Jacques was defiant in his standing that we had no legitimate claim on any part of Canada. And you know something, I agree with him. He is the biggest player up north; he has a small force and is willing to use it against us. The last thing we need is another front to fight and defend.”
“Let me go through this with a fine-tooth comb tonight,” John said, holding up the small stack of papers and all but ignoring the debate between Jones and Gordon.
“Sure,” Gordon replied to John.
“Yesterday, now this, Charles is going to go ballistic,” Jones said.
“Let him, I’m doing what is best to win this war.”
“Did you ever bring this up to him? Did you ever discuss it?” Jones asked.
“Yes, but he shot it down right away. He has his heart set on getting those parts of BC. Going after that land complicates what we’re doing. It’s enough to make us independent from the United States, but trying to seize land from another country? Too much,” Gordon stressed.
Jones chuckled and said, “Gordon, I already knew you had big balls, but I seriously think you have the biggest balls of anyone I’ve ever met.”
Warren Air Force Base, Wyoming, United States
It didn’t matter how many times Conner snuck away from his security detail, every time made him feel like a mischievous teenager sneaking away from his house while his parents were home.
As he approached Schmidt’s quarters, he could hear him coughing loudly. He stopped in front of his door and paused before knocking. In many ways he felt sorry for the one man who was willing to do whatever was necessary for his country. If there was anyone he could trust, it was Schmidt. Yes, he had made some mistakes, but his unshakable duty to country made his errors forgivable.
Conner’s doctor had called after visiting Schmidt and the report wasn’t entirely surprising. Yes, Schmidt was sick and it appeared to be something serious, but further tests would have to be done, but those would have to wait because Conner had what might be Schmidt’s final mission.
Waiting until his last bout of coughing ended, Conner knocked.
“Who the hell is it?” Schmidt hollered from behind the door.
“It’s your boss,” Conner barked halfheartedly, sounding like he was angry.
Sounds of fumbling could be heard followed by more coughing. “One second, sir.”
The door flew open and there stood Schmidt looking worse than he had the day before. He hadn’t shaved and his eyes looked sunken in. Only wearing a robe, he quickly apologized for his attire, “Sorry, sir, had I known you’d stop by, I would have cleaned up and been in uniform.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Conner replied, standing there waiting to be invited in.
“Is everything okay?” Schmidt asked.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes, sir, sorry, yes, please come in, sir,” Schmidt said, stepping out of the way to allow Conner in. He jogged around his quarters, gathering loose items that were out of place. “Had I known, sir, I would have made my space less messy.�
�
Conner shut the door and said, “Major, I don’t care.” He walked over to a bar stool in the kitchen and took a seat. Schmidt’s quarters were better described as a one-bedroom condo. It had a small kitchen with bar, living room, powder bathroom and one bedroom with a full bathroom. A stale smell was the first thing that hit Conner as he stepped across the threshold. It reminded him of the smell he’d encountered when he visited his great-grandfather years ago at his house just before he died.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Schmidt asked then coughed.
“Major, just sit down, rest.”
“I have some good bottled water,” Schmidt said, shuffling over to the refrigerator.
“Major, sit down. That’s an order,” Conner scolded.
Schmidt stopped what he was doing and took a seat next to Conner.
Conner looked around and said, “These officer’s quarters are quite nice. We’ve done a lot since we got here. The power is back up; things are working again. You have power, a refrigerator that works.”
“No TV yet,” Schmidt joked.
“We’re working on that, but who really needs the brain rot anyway?” Conner quipped.
Schmidt chuckled but kept his head down. An intense feeling of vertigo came over him, so he closed his eyes and breathed slowly.
Conner saw this and commented, “I spoke to the doctor.”
“Sir, I’m fine to do whatever it is you need me to do. Please don’t relieve me of duty. This is all I have, if you take this away from me, I, um, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Schmidt pleaded, believing Conner was there to take away his responsibilities.
“Major, calm down. I’m not here to relieve you; I’m here to give you another secret mission,” Conner said, reaching out and touching Schmidt on the shoulder.
“Sure, whatever I can do, I’ll do,” Schmidt said, sitting up erect in an attempt to look healthy, but it was no use; the unidentified sickness was too far along to be masked.
“I’m giving my speech tomorrow afternoon, and I’m expecting a large crowd. Now I know you’re going to provide the best security a president can ask for, but…”
Schmidt’s eyes widened and he asked, “Where’s your team, sir?”
“You just noticed?”
“Sir, you can’t do that, it’s too dangerous. There are many people who would see you dead.”
“I’m fine. Let me get back to what I need you for.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“I need you to plant a good number of agitators, some people that will cause mayhem and trouble. Hell, even plant a bomb. I want things to go very badly tomorrow.” Conner could see the excitement build in Schmidt as he talked.
“Great idea, sir, this will give us the pretext to hammer those traitors. We can lay the blame right at the feet of Pat and his group,” Schmidt said, glowing.
“I feel terrible having to do it, but it has to happen. If America is to survive, we need to remove those people, and showing that they’re no better than any terrorist we’ve encountered will give us exactly what we need. I need it to be very bad, do you understand?”
“That means a high body count. Yes, sir, I understand.”
“And, Major, no one can know except those men you pick. It is imperative that you don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course, sir, I don’t trust General Baxter or Secretary Wilbur anyway,” Schmidt confided.
Conner raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I just don’t trust them, especially Wilbur.”
“Don’t trust her because she’s a bit more liberal in her views?”
“No, sir, I don’t think her loyalties are completely there. I’ve had some of my men tail her—”
“You’ve been watching her? This must be serious for you to do that,” Conner asked, concerned.
“They’ve seen her coming from Pat’s Coffee Shop a couple times.”
Conner shrugged and said, “That could be anything. I know Pat is against my policies, but I don’t see why someone shouldn’t be able to get a coffee or drink somewhere.”
“More than that, sir, and it was only after I started to get truly suspicious that I started to piece things together, but when I sent my men to go arrest Van Zandt at the hospital, we found them fleeing like they had been tipped off.”
“Maybe they were just walking and saw guys with guns coming for them.”
“It was something that was glossed over, but in the report my men stated that the vehicle she got in was waiting for them.”
Conner hesitated from replying as he took in the conspiratorial information.
“I went and had the phone records pulled up, and their hospital had received calls from Wilbur’s office a couple times, and there was a call to their room from a phone in an empty office two floors below yours, sir. Unfortunately it happened before we installed any security systems that could record.”
Hearing this made Conner feel uncomfortable. It was one thing to know Wilbur disagreed with some of his policies, but utterly something else if she was actively working against him. This thought brought him back to Dylan. At the time he had wondered if he acted alone but never could get an answer from him, and before he could press him further, he was dead. “Major, what you’re telling me would mean that Secretary Wilbur is a traitor.”
Schmidt hesitated, and when he spoke, he stuttered. “I-I can’t say for sure. It’s more circumstantial than conclusive.”
“I can’t do anything without conclusive, but circumstantial is enough for me to be wary. While you’re at it, assign a two-man team to keep tabs on her.”
“Already doing that.”
“Keep close tabs on her tomorrow after everything happens.”
“Yes, sir.”
Conner stood and patted Schmidt on the shoulder again. “I knew I could count on you.”
“Yes, sir,” Schmidt replied, standing up quickly.
“I’ll show myself out,” Conner said. Walking to the door, he paused and turned back. “Major, I will need you to go see the doctor for further tests tomorrow at noon, though.”
“But, sir, I have to plan this operation,” Schmidt replied, a look of concern stretching across his face.
“You’ll have plenty of time. Work on it now, get on it, just make that appointment tomorrow. And please make sure your men don’t get caught, so think this through a bit.”
“Sir, can I please skip the appointment tomorrow?”
“Major, you’re my best and most trusted officer; I need you healthy, so go get those tests.”
Confused but loyal to a tee, Schmidt nodded and said, “I’ll be there, sir, and you can be assured the mission will go exactly as needed.”
Conner arrived back at his offices, and like before, his security detail hadn’t missed him nor noticed he had been gone. He found this both convenient and disturbing. Walking from the elevator to the large lobby just outside his office, he found Wilbur sitting.
“Madam Secretary, you’re a bit early,” he said.
“I was close by and thought I’d just wait here,” she said, standing up as he approached.
“Let’s go into my office and discuss what I called you about,” Conner said, walking past her and into his office. He beelined it for a shelving unit in the corner and poured himself a glass of scotch. “Can I offer you a glass too?”
Wilbur slipped in and sat down in the same chair she had sat in the day before. “No, I’m fine.”
“More for me, then,” he joked as he walked back to his large leather chair and fell into it. “Thanks for coming. I’m worried about Major Schmidt.”
“How so?”
“Major Schmidt is without a doubt sick, but I’m concerned about his mental state too. I believe he may crack down too hard on the protestors, which I’m sure will show up tomorrow in full force for my speech. I want you to field a detail of plainclothes security to keep tabs and help keep the peace if things do get a little crazy tomorrow.”
“You think he m
ay do something?” Wilbur asked, genuinely concerned.
“Not like start something, just that he may come down too hard on the protestors. I want to have a fresh start with the people of Cheyenne, and I can’t do that with my security forces cracking too many skulls, so to speak.”
“I’ll put together a detail. Should I be monitoring the major as well?” Wilbur asked.
“No, I don’t want him to get suspicious that we’re watching him too closely. He has a tendency to be a bit paranoid as it is,” Conner said, then chuckled. “I heard him saying something about my old friend Pat just before the meeting yesterday.”
“Like what?”
“That he had it coming, something along those lines.”
“What does that mean?” Wilbur asked, almost seeming concerned.
“Maybe he said something about paying him back, I really can’t remember, he was mumbling under his breath.”
“Hmm, interesting.”
“Speaking of Pat, I really miss the coffee and the friendship; I’m so saddened that we’ve had a falling out. Maybe he’ll appreciate my mea culpa tomorrow. Say, do you go there for coffee or drinks?”
“Um, no, not a big coffee drinker.”
“Not even for a drink, you know, the hard stuff,” Conner said, holding up his glass.
“Nope, that’s not me.”
Conner laughed and said, “Well, you should, he has some good booze there.”
“I try to stay away from troublemakers,” Wilbur said, her eyes losing contact with his.
The subtle shift in her gaze told him she was lying. Was Schmidt correct in his suspicions? “So that’s it, just keep an extra eye out for any dangers and make sure his people don’t go crazy if anything happens.”
“I think things will be just fine tomorrow. I believe the people of Cheyenne are reasonable and willing to listen. I think tomorrow will be a great day for the city and our country,” Wilbur said, smiling.
“Well, I’m glad you feel so confident.”
“If that’s it, I’m going to head back to my office and start putting together that detail,” she said, standing up and heading towards the door.
“Ah, one more thing, but keep this quiet, just between you and me.”
Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5) Page 6
