Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1)

by L. Douglas Hogan

  Separate from these things that Denny had learned was the fact that there was a global initiative titled Agenda 21 that he had heard about years prior at the Southern Illinois Home Guard meetings with Nathan. Agenda 21 was an unreferenced part of the big picture, being population control of the earth, a primary mission of the Agenda 21 protocol.

  “Blake,” the woman said.

  Denny just looked at her. He didn’t know what the redhead was talking about.

  She could see the confusion on his face. To her it was lighting up like a Christmas tree.

  “My name is Blake,” she elaborated.

  “Well, Blake, are you ready to finish this?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Denny looked back at the men and women that were stacked against the walls in preparation for one last advance upward.

  The previous fights in the stairwell areas were fierce. They were the areas where they had sustained the most casualties. Denny readied his rifle and began his advance up the stairs. To their surprise, there wasn’t a single enemy to be seen. Once they had reached the top floor, Denny stopped the team and he peeked around the corner. A storm of bullets were shot down the hall in his direction. He had only peeked and quickly pulled his head back in. They had narrowly missed his skull.

  “There’s four men in the hallway, two on each wall,” he said to his team. “Do we have any more nades?” he asked. Nades being slang for grenades.

  “We’re out, boss,” somebody said.

  The comment made him think of Nathan. His best friend had run out toward the White House in hopes of killing his mortal enemy, a stranger called the Fist. This was the first time he had decided not to tag along with Nathan. He felt committed to the mission of securing the executive building, but Nathan’s heart wasn’t in it. Under calm conditions, he might have been able to talk him out of going. He and Nathan were an anchor to one another, always being able to talk sense into the other when they were about to do something irrational. This time, it happened too quickly, under different circumstances. He had a deep sinking feeling in his gut about Nathan’s safety.

  “Do we have a smoke grenade?” he asked.

  The men searched themselves and called backwards down the staircase, asking for a smoker. Denny felt a tap on his knee and looked back to see Blake was handing him a smoker.

  “Thanks,” he said, pulling the pin. “Gentlemen, we’re going live,” he said as he tossed the smoke grenade. The smoke filled the air, and bullets started firing down the hallway again. The enemy couldn’t see their targets, so that simplified things a little, but the dangers of being shot were only marginally reduced. The militia ran into the hallway and started firing in the direction of the enemy’s position. They advanced towards them as they went. Denny felt a burning sting in his side and knew he had been hit.

  He was now engaged in a point-blank gunfight with four men. By the time Denny had advanced on them, one of them was already dead. Three were still shooting into the approaching militia members. Denny kicked the rifle of one of the men out of his hands and struck him in the face with the buttstock of his rifle. When the man’s head jerked back from the force of the impact, Denny shot the man three times in the chest. Each of the UN soldiers were carrying M4 rifles. This had been the case for every encounter they had with them. It worked out because the militia seemed to have a never-ending supply of ammunition, at least for those carrying Colt-style rifles.

  A set of double doors stood before Denny and Blake. She noticed he was leaning against the wall, holding his side. She looked at him and saw he was bleeding.

  “You’ve been shot,” she said.

  “I’m good. They’re not,” he said, pointing down at the dead UN soldiers.

  Blake looked back down the hall and saw several others lying on the floor. “You fared good compared to them,” she said, pointing at their dead allies. Denny looked back and was upset that he had lost so many in the final push. The dead in that hallway were greater than the total they had lost in every stairwell combined.

  “You didn’t get hit?” he asked her.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Must be your thin physique?”

  “Maybe. You ready to clear these rooms?”

  “Yeah, let’s finish this. Nathan needs me.”

  Nathan and his men had advanced to the third floor of the White House before they were met with heavy resistance from the west offices. Amidst the sounds of gunfire, Nathan heard a distinct sound of music coming from the east end of the central hall. He was drawn to it like a moth would be drawn to a flame.

  There was almost no cover from incoming fire in the hallway. Modest-sized furniture adorned the hallway and that was all he had to use. Moving from wall to wall, he advanced eastward toward the sound of music. Eventually, he turned a corner and the music was very distinctly coming from the music room. The Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Strauss II was playing loudly. The sound of the famous waltz drowned all the gunfire and seemingly shrouded everything that was happening in the District. Nathan was trying to ignore the sound, but there was one in the music room that was not drowning it out. The Fist loved classical music, and when he found this room, he couldn’t help but play the oldies as an ode of good-bye to the world.

  Nathan saw the Fist and was captured by the moment. He wasn’t armed with a rifle or pistol, so Nathan wanted to relish this moment. It was the moment he had been waiting for, a moment alone with the Fist where Nathan was clearly in charge.

  The Fist saw Nathan and smirked. He turned down the music and said, “I love Johann Strauss. They don’t make musicians like him anymore.”

  Nathan didn’t say anything. He just studied the Fist and moved deeper into the room, taking in the moment as if he didn’t want it to go away.

  “That won’t help you here, boy,” the Fist said, referring to Nathan’s rifle.

  The Fist had one hand in his pocket, so Nathan was being careful to keep his back against the wall as he moved around, always keeping his rifle trained on the Fist.

  The Fist slowly moved around the room at the same rotation speed as Nathan. When Nathan caught this was happening, he realized that while he was moving deeper into the room, the Fist was approaching the doorway.

  Nathan stopped and shot the Fist in the kneecap. The Fist immediately fell to the floor and grimaced in pain. Nathan lavished in the Fist’s pain and moved in closer to him. The Fist’s grimace turned into laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Nathan asked. In all seriousness, he didn’t care what the Fist was laughing about. All Nathan could see was images of Jess dying in front of him. The Fist’s laughter seemed to get louder, and that made Nathan all the angrier. In Nathan’s mind, he was laughing at Jessica’s death. That fueled his rage.

  “I said what’s so funny?” Nathan yelled.

  “You Americans think you’re so smart with your technology and your democracy. You’re like ants in a field of anteaters. You build your cities up and you strengthen your military, but we will always stomp out your progress and devour your lives.”

  “Not this life. This time you’ve failed,” Nathan countered as he pointed his rifle at the Fist’s head.

  “Have I?” the Fist said, pulling his right hand into Nathan’s line of sight. “I win; you lose.”

  To Nathan’s shock, the Fist had a remote detonator in his hand. Nathan attempted to squeeze a round off into the Fist’s head, but the Fist pulled the trigger first. The White House exploded from the middle floor outward and rocked everything within a hundred yards of it. The glass in the windows of the executive building were blown out as the fire from the explosion burst onto its exterior walls. Denny, Blake, and everybody that was in the executive building ducked in shock and awe.

  “Nathan,” Denny shouted, dropping everything he was doing to head for the exit. Blake saw the explosion and then saw a secondary explosion in the distance. That one blew up the American History Museum with an equal amount of force. Next, a tertiary explosion rocked the Th
omas Jefferson Memorial. When Blake put together what was happening, she shouted, “Everybody out, now!”

  There was a sequence of explosions that were seen, felt, and heard all across the District. Blake ran with all her might toward the ground level, as did everybody that was with her. They were like a stampede of wild cattle being funneled through a narrow gorge. Those who tripped or lost their balance were trampled underfoot. They had just made it out of the building when it exploded into a fiery inferno. Those caught in the wake of the blast’s concussion were thrown several feet forward, away from the discharge.

  On the southwest side of Arlington Memorial Bridge, General John James had sent the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the 21st Marine Corps Regiment into the Pentagon to remove any enemy combatants that might be inside. Rumor was that Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin had taken shelter inside of it to command what was left of the UN forces in America. They wanted him alive and that was the orders of the two Marine battalions that were sent in. That idea fell short when the sequence of explosions began rocking the greater District area. When James discovered what was happening, he ordered the immediate evac of all Marines in the facility. It was an attempted idea that also fell short.

  When the Pentagon exploded, it sent a plume of fire into the sky that could be seen from many parts of Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland.

  General John James threw his mic onto the ground in a fit of rage. When that did not satisfy his temper, he picked it back up just to throw the entire radio into the Potomac River. He had lost nearly two thousand Marines in that explosion. The price was very high and the objective was not met.

  Denny was standing at the White House blast site as it burned and crackled in the cold of the day. His mind was numb and failed to respond to the increasing heat of the fire as it spread throughout the collapsed debris of a once iconic landmark.

  Rory saw Denny standing at the edge of the fiery inferno and he joined him. He couldn’t tolerate the heat, but understood why Denny probably wasn’t feeling the pain. He gently pulled him backwards from the fire and said, “Come on, Den. We’ve got to back up from the blaze. It’s too hot to be that close.”

  Denny obliged Rory, but didn’t respond.

  “We can go through the rubble tomorrow and look for Nathan,” Rory said, attempting to reassure Denny.

  “You saw him go in?” Denny asked.

  “I did; he and a few others. There’s no way anybody could have withstood that blast.”

  Blake saw Denny standing off to the side of the blast site and walked up to him.

  “Your friend didn’t make it out?” she asked.

  Denny shook his head.

  She put her arms around Denny and hugged him briefly, saying, “I’m sorry for your loss,” and then walked away. Rory remained by Denny’s side. Sergeant Banks walked up to his other side and stood there silently. He didn’t need to say anything. Denny knew he respected Nathan, so his silence was a memorial.

  Buchanan stayed with General John James in the following days. Together they discussed the rebuilding of America, and they combed through James’s draft of the new Constitution.

  Two Weeks Later

  Deep Underground Command Center

  Construction on the DUCC began at the turn of the millennia and was intended for continuity of government in the event of a catastrophic national emergency. Deep beneath the west wing of the White House was an entryway to an underground White House, complete with a cyber warfare command center and nuclear command center. From there, a lengthy labyrinth of connecting tunnels led to other emergency command centers, local military bases, and intelligence centers, such as the underground Pentagon.

  Abdul Muhaimin was safely tucked away beneath the surface of the earth. The blast that had destroyed the Pentagon two weeks before hadn’t even been felt at his location. He had all the necessities he could have hoped for tucked away with him in the deep underground bunkers. He had let his appearance go, only slightly, for he was alone and shared his whereabouts with no one. He had a predetermined time frame to live in the “basement” of the Pentagon of two weeks. After that, he had told himself, he would integrate into the American populace and not be accountable to the Americans. His hope was to get off scot-free.

  Muhaimin was watching recordings of The Walking Dead when the alarm on his watch went off. Looking down, he could see that it was 09:00 hours.

  “Time to blow this joint,” he said.

  Moments later, above ground, the debris from the old Pentagon was still in place. The story was the same for every American landmark in the District. Nothing had been moved, although some had searched the debris, looking for bodies or, to a lesser degree, survivors.

  Muhaimin didn’t know if he was going to be able to exit from the ground level of the Pentagon, but he thought he’d give it a try. With the turn of a key and a heavy push, he broke open the barrier that had once shielded him from the outside world. Sunshine flooded his eyes for the first time in two weeks. He gave himself a moment to gather his bearings. The sun was bright and the fresh air felt good, even though ashes had fallen on him when he had cracked open the secret hatch.

  Gently he pushed the lid all the way open and climbed out of the bunker. Looking out over the District, he took in a deep breath. He was proud to have destroyed America’s greatest monuments. His chin was tucked, his chest pushed out, and his shoulders were back. He savored the moment before taking off his military dress coat.

  “Is that him?” a female voice said from his rear.

  Muhaimin whipped around and saw two men and two women. One of the women, a brunette, was pointing a shiny 1911 Smith & Wesson pistol at his face. The two men and a redheaded woman had M4 rifles resting across the fronts of their bodies.

  “That’s him,” one of the men said.

  The brunette squeezed the trigger and blew a hole in the head of the terrorist dictator. His body fell limp to the ground and became one with the rest of the rubbish.

  So ended the reign of Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin.

  In the days that followed, Blake and Tori took a liking to one another. Blake and Denny shared stories with Tori that she had missed out on. Blake had barely retrieved the intelligence on the secret underground bunker before the executive building blew. Ryan Lee was instrumental in identifying the executive commander. Although Muhaimin didn’t tell a soul his plan to hide out, it made no sense to any of them that he would blow himself up. “He was too high-minded for that,” they reasoned.

  Ryan Lee left for home, Denny returned to Gorham, and Tori and Blake went on a series of adventures together before happenstance separated them. But that was another story …

  The landscape of the west was far different than that of the Midwest and eastern parts of America. Mexicans had knocked out the man-made borders that separated Mexico from California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. They invaded with hopes of finding a new start and staking claims to land that Americans no longer had control of. All they found was pestilence.

  Across the west, a contagion was being spread from person to person, killing everybody that came in contact with it within six weeks. The young and the elderly didn’t last that long.

  In the moments following North Korea’s EMP attack on the West Coast, the biocontrol and engineering facilities lost their ability to contain a deadly virus that the government had been manipulating for years. When the lights went out and the power failed, the virus spread; it needed only person-to-person contact. The virus was able to survive on contaminated surfaces for twenty-four hours before dying.

  Nobody was immune—nobody except the government’s own employees. Every veteran and government worker employed in 2017 and beyond were inoculated with the EbolaProzyme vaccine. The government knew that if it were to maintain civil obedience via the use of emergency police powers, it would need to be immune to the virus.

  But why would the government develop a virus, you might ask?

  The Agenda 21 protocol called for a populat
ion cap of five hundred million. How could that number be attained with a constantly growing population? It was impossible to depopulate the earth, so the fix was the accidental release of a deadly and uncontrollable viral strand.

  Soon, the world would meet its population cap. The post-apocalyptic landscape would have to be rebuilt, managed, and defended by veterans and retired government employees. But that was also another story …

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  “When I first began my adventure with the Tyrant series, I did so with one goal in mind: to bring awareness to the unconstitutional actions our government is currently undertaking.

  “Throughout the series, I have made multiple references to true-to-life facts. I cite some of them in the back of book 1, The Rise. In essence, the Tyrant series is a work of fiction with fictitious characters, but based on matters of fact. The executive orders I cite are real; Agenda 21 is real; the population cap is real.

  “My experience and training in the Marines and law enforcement have taught me that FEMA is real and, though there may be no viable facts to support FEMA camps, they are possible. Obama’s Executive Order 13603 signed into law the likelihood of a federalized civilian police force. It also signed into law the possibility of a federalized civilian labor force. In the words of this executive order, a tremendous amount of power is given to FEMA and even places the Department of Defense in charge of water supplies. Why would the DOD need to be in charge of water unless it was controlling it? This executive order goes on to declare all agriculture and farmland to be seized. If they can control the people, they can make them do whatever they want.