Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises

by Cliff Roberts

  With the threat level increased, the public is led to believe that there is an increase in security all over the nation. The broadcast networks are quick to send reporters out to the local airport, to stand by the check-in line and extol the virtues of the increased security, but that is where it usually stops. The networks don’t bother checking the other locations where security is supposed be increased. They know it’s all an unfunded mandate by the federal government, meant to convince the public that they are actually doing something to protect them. If the public realized just how little was actually being done, they just might riot in the streets.

  Another misconception about our borders is that the border we share with Mexico is the only problem spot when you’re speaking about the border. But in reality, it is all of our borders and border crossings including train and ferry crossings, even the marinas, municipal and private, all along the four coasts. It’s Alaska, Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands and even American Samoa that need to be secured. It’s train stations and bus stations, including the freight terminals, as well as sandy beaches, private and municipal airstrips, cruise ship lines and even mountain passes in the Rockies—most of which are completely ignored.

  Security is also supposed to be increased at the commercial ports by increasing the number of containers that are inspected. With millions of containers entering our ports annually, even the Department of Homeland Security admits that Customs is doing all they can just to inspect the minuscule number of containers that are actually checked. Customs efforts are based on the available manpower and budgetary constraints. Threat levels are all public relations. Even if the money were suddenly available, it would take months to hire and train inspectors for the ports alone, which eliminates any possibility of overnight changes in true security levels.

  The Coast Guard and the Border Patrol are supposed to double their efforts as well, with the increase in threat levels. They are publicly and legislatively charged with intercepting anyone who illegally enters our country; that would be drug smugglers, human traffickers, illegal immigrants and terrorists. But with less than ten thousand men and women serving in the Border Patrol and customs, they are barely able to cover some parts of the Texas, Arizona, New Mexico and California borders, after covering the border crossings, airports and the seaports. The other points of entry that need protection are the wilderness roads, train and ferry crossings, plus the open beaches, private marinas on the ocean and the Great Lakes, and the hundreds of wilderness hiking trails that are never patrolled or watched. The task is physically and realistically impossible.

  America is a big country with lots of entry points from the Canadian border in the north, to the Gulf of Mexico in the south, to the East and West coasts. Without serious policy changes and real funding, the borders are unsecurable. Currently, the Border Patrol is expected to patrol everything, without overtime, and even if they are shot at first, without shooting back. Additionally, a Federal Judge in Texas recently ruled they can’t even frisk drug traffickers without being prosecuted. What a crock!

  Our borders are as porous as they were in the 1700s. In many places, you can walk across and never, ever, see another human being, let alone a Customs Agent or the Border Patrol. Hell, Chip himself had personally sailed a cabin cruiser from the Bahamas to West Palm last summer and forgot to check in with the Harbormaster or Customs. So far, no one had even called him or stopped by to issue him a ticket for this failure. Either they hadn’t picked up on it, or they just didn’t care enough to follow up on it. America is no safer today then we were on September 10, 2001.

  The general couldn’t help believing that if we would change our immigration and visitation policies—starting by ignoring the politically correct crap and doing what was right by America—we could make serious inroads into solving the problem. When it comes to student visas like those used by the 9/11 terrorists, we only need to apply some common sense as we do with our own children. We simply need to require those with visas to get passing grades, have no skipped classes and remain in school the whole time that they are in our country. Otherwise, they are deported without recourse. After all, they are here on a temporary visa. They are not citizens. Of course, this would require having someone to monitor them, providing badly needed new jobs, so that shouldn’t be a problem, at least in theory. He was sure the ACLU would have something to say about the idea of monitoring visitors to our country. But that is what they are, guests in our country, and they are not entitled to the same rights as citizens, despite what the politically correct crowd would have you believe. Being an American citizen is a privilege, not a right. Every one of the 9/11 terrorists entered our country using student visas. All of the visas, at the time of the attacks, had expired months or years before. Of the suspected terrorists that have been caught since 9/11, most have been here on student visas and all of them were expired.

  Chip willed himself to stop thinking about the sad shape the country had fallen into. He wanted to be in a good mood when he arrived for the evening with Steven and his family. It would be nice to see them, since it had been a few weeks since they had last gotten together.

  The last time had been James’s seventh birthday party. The Howard estate was filled with senators, members of Congress, judges, lawyers, lobbyists and industrial bigwigs. They had come complete with their wives or significant others, and with their children in tow. After all, it was supposed to be a child’s birthday party, and for the most part that’s what it was.

  There were the usual outdoor games, swimming, tennis, horseshoes, horseback riding, dirt bike riding, badminton and volleyball. Then, there was the inside fun: presents, video games, movies, a magician and even a clown. Both the magician and clown were played by secret service agents, but the kids never guessed and neither did most of the adults. All told, there were probably three hundred people there.

  Steven made a show of wearing an apron with barbeque sauce stains on it and the words “Kiss the Cook” as if he was doing the actual cooking. Everyone played along, even though they all knew that there was a whole staff of cooks and servers handling the mundane chores while Steven mingled with the power people. Funny, the general had spent most of the day with James, helping him learn how to throw a horseshoe. Now what did that say about him?

  He brushed aside those thoughts as he turned into the country lane that led to the gate of Steven’s large estate. The estate consisted of some fourteen hundred acres of wooded rolling hills, a creek that fed a small lake of just over a hundred acres, before babbling on until it joined the James River, somewhere near Richmond. There were motion sensors, infrared cameras, hidden guard posts and several large German Shepherds that patrolled the far corners of the estate, looking for unfriendly folk. He rolled to a stop at the guard house in front of a heavy steel automated gate that was built into a solid rock wall and rolled down his window.

  “How’s it going?” he asked the dark haired guard who was dressed in military khaki. To the unknowing, it would have appeared as if this was the only security for the estate. The only other noticeable signs of security were the dozens of signs that stated “Private Property, No Trespassing.” The general knew better, however, because he had designed the security. The Howard estate incorporated the newest in electronic security from the tire pop-up spikes embedded in the driveway several yards past the guard house, to the tank obstacles that lined the perimeter of the property. There were more than two dozen guards on duty at the estate at any one time, and there were dozens of infrared cameras and motion detectors, adding to the family’s protection. In addition to the guards at the front and rear gates, a dozen men roamed the grounds in full camouflage, ensuring that all but the most determined of intruders would ever get more than a few yards into the estate. If by chance an intruder got past the roving patrols and guard dogs, they were met with an array of automated weaponry that was controlled from a hidden bunker under the stables.

  Beyond that, the family had two last lines of defense. In bot
h of the estate’s main buildings there were panic rooms. The rooms were designed to withstand a blast from ten thousand pounds of plastic explosives. Each panic room was also equipped with an escape tunnel that led to the equipment maintenance shed a hundred yards from the house. From there, they could take one of three escape routes to exit the estate. Each escape route was equipped with fully automated nasty surprises for anyone trying to follow them without the proper radio tag.

  The estate’s power system was equally well protected with built in backup systems that kicked in the moment the power feed from the local utility was cut off. In short, the estate was better protected than the White House. To the casual observer and most trained ones, all of this security would go unnoticed until it was too late, and that was the way Steven liked it, especially after the close call in California several years ago.

  “I’m doing well, General, and yourself?” came the perfunctory reply from the guard, despite the fact that the general was dressed in civilian clothes. Most of the guards knew him fairly well, since he had handpicked them two years ago from the ranks of ex-MPs.

  As the guard whispered into a cufflink mic, the general asked, “Hey, who won the game today?”

  As casually as possible, the guard bent down to check inside the car, though he was trying to make it appear as though he was just leaning over to talk. “Could you believe that fourth quarter comeback?” he stated casually. “I was totally shocked that Pittsburgh could or would even try a play like that,” the guard shared.

  “Yeah, but what was the final score?” the general pressed.

  Nodding his head, acknowledging the voice in his ear and seemingly not hearing the question, the guard said, “You’re cleared, sir.” Then, he quickly stepped back into the guard house as the gate rolled to the side. The general shook his head slightly and drove on to the house.

  About a quarter mile in from the gate, the general slowed to crawl and waved at the two camouflaged Humvees parked just off the main drive to the house. They were manned by two men each, as an extra deterrent should someone make it past the main gate. Each Humvee was equipped with an automated 7.62 mm machine gun mounted on top the vehicle. It would make Swiss cheese of any uninvited vehicle that tried to race pass them.

  The half mile drive from the main gate to the house was lined with a heavy row of hedges, backed by rows of hickory, walnut and thorn trees intermixed with briar bushes that ended about sixty yards from the house. No one would be jumping from a vehicle and moving to the flanks through those—not unless they liked pain and lots of it. They wouldn’t be driving through the brush either, as there were plenty of tire spikes and other little nasties waiting for the unwelcomed there.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The general pulled to a stop at the side of the house and stepped away from his car. Just as he turned the corner of the house, the front door opened and James came running out.

  “Papa Chip!” he yelled as he bounded down the steps, raced across the courtyard, and jumped into the general’s arms.

  “Hey there! How’s my best buddy doing today?” Chip asked, hugging him tightly before flipping him over playfully and setting him back on the ground.

  “I’m great!” the boy replied as he grabbed Chip’s hand, pulling him towards the door. “Did you see the game?” James asked.

  “I saw some of it. Who won?”

  “It was incredible!” The boy stopped and jumped away from Chip, then began running in place, bobbing and weaving from side to side. “You should have seen it! This guy from Pittsburgh ran, and then this guy from Washington caught him. The ball fell out and it bounced around forever and—” Suddenly the boy’s eyes darted across the yard.

  “Oh, no, Charlie got out. I’ve got to go catch him,” James blurted as he ran off towards the garages, chasing the family dog and calling its name.

  “Who won, James?” Chip called after him.

  “The…” the boy called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner of the house, his words dying in the wind.

  Just then Maria, the nanny, chief housekeeper, sometimes cook and top notch security operative, came to the door. “Look, if you’re going to keep leaving the door open, we’re going to have to start charging for these visits. Someone’s got to pay to heat this place,” she stated with a friendly smile on her face.

  Maria was another person that the general had personally recommended to Steven. She was a vibrant, dark haired, dark eyed Latina, who had served as Chip’s secretary for five years; and for five years before that, she had been one very tough Navy SEAL, who was still in battle-ready shape.

  Peg had just loved her. From the moment they met they got along like mother and daughter. It had seemed that the two of them were always ganging up on him, too. If it weren’t to keep him on his diet, it was to get him to stop smoking or swearing or something. Chip had to admit it seemed to have worked, except for the occasional pizza and the slipped swear word now and then.

  Grinning back, Chip said, “Hola, Maria, you behaving?

  “Not if I can help it!” she replied with a smile dancing across her face, her eyes twinkling.

  “I wish I had his energy,” Chip stated jealously as he stepped towards the door, referring to James.

  “If you’d follow the diet I gave you, you would,” stated Maria in mocking sternness, as she held the door open wider for Chip.

  “Then I could misbehave like you?” Chip asked teasingly, knowing what the comeback would be as he stepped inside.

  “No, you’re someone’s grandpapa, and you’re supposed to be dignified, like me,” Maria replied sternly.

  “So getting in trouble is dignified?” he teased her as they stood in the main entry hall.

  “Everything I do is dignified,” she stated flatly without a smile, but her eyes were filled with mischief as she turned to lead Chip to the family room where Steven was.

  “That’s not what Bill says,” Chip replied, referring to her husband.

  “He’d better watch his mouth if he knows what’s good for him,” she stated as she turned and faced Chip, while giving him a mock stern look.

  “I’ll tell him you said that,” Chip teased.

  “I can take him!” Maria stated with a huge smile on her face as she turned towards the hallway that led to the family room again.

  “I bet you can,” Chip smirked. “Say, who won the game?” he asked as he followed her down the hallway.

  “Could you believe the ending?” Maria said over her shoulder. “It was one for the record books. The score tied like that, about to go into overtime and then…it’s right up there with the emasculate reception…”

  “Maria!” A shrill cry echoed through the foyer. It was four-year-old Anne. “Maria!” the child screeched again.

  “Gotta go, duty calls,” Maria stated as she turned and raced towards the stairs. She quickly climbed them, taking three at a time.

  “Chip, how good to see you!” He quickly spun around to his left to find Mary, Steven’s wife, approaching from the formal dining room down a side hall.

  “Wow, that sweater looks great on you!” Chip smiled. It was a harmless flirt, but if he had been twenty years younger, hell, ten years younger, he’d have tried his best to steal her away from Steven. Mary was a former Miss Texas and a runner up to Miss Universe. She was a stunning beauty, even after two children—especially when she wasn’t trying to be, like now.

  “Now, don’t go acting like your all excited over little ol’ me. We both know that you’re here to see James, Anne and Steven in that order,” she said as she stepped up close, giving Chip a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “That isn’t so.” Chip denied the allegation as he allowed her to snake her arm in his and then lead him towards the family room. The family room featured a whole wall covered by a bank of large-screen, plasma televisions, hidden behind some sliding oak panels. It was called the family room because that was where the family would eat dinner when dad was home, which wasn’t all that often.


  “So, who won the big game, Chip?” Mary asked.

  “I’ve been trying to find that out since I got here. I was busy working and missed the ending,” Chip responded.

  “I wish I could tell you, but I don’t watch football unless Steven insists, and I lucked out today.”

  Chip knew that was a bold face lie; her dad was a member of the NFL Hall of Fame—the former San Francisco Forty-Niners, all-world offensive lineman, Harry Halstun. She loved the game almost as much as her old man did.

  “Then why did you ask?” Chip inquired, acting as though his feelings were hurt.

  “Just to be polite,” Mary retorted with a smirk.

  “Oh, I see, I’m just another guest, am I?” Chip laid on the guilt by sounding as pathetic as he could as Mary let go of his arm and turned towards the kitchen door.

  “I think there was some incredible play with just a second or two left.” She smirked again as she stepped aside, just as her husband pushed the door to the family room open, entering from the kitchen. They affectionately smiled at each other as she slipped past him, leaving the boys alone.

  “What would your wife have said, you flirting with a woman young enough to be your daughter?” Steven asked as he held out one of the two glasses filled with ice and a golden brown liquid.

  “She’d have said, ‘Go for it, Chippy!’” Chip smirked. “This had better be Jack Daniels,” he commented as he reached for it the glass Steven was offering. “Say, do you two choreograph those moves?”

  “What?” Steven stated, looking at him oddly.