“Let us stand together against these few radicals and any information a citizen can give against these radicals will be rewarded. Contact your local FBI or Homeland office or call the toll-free number at the bottom of the screen,” the President said and then smiled.
“Thank you and let’s all stand together and support your elected leaders.”
The screen blinked to a group of reporters sitting around a table when a clatter sounded in the room. Everyone turned to see Lena had dropped her plate. “Fuck me,” Lena mumbled in shock. Wisely, nobody said anything.
Chapter Seventeen
Monroe, OH
The drive towards Monroe was uneventful as Charlie guided his big pickup with the popup trailer to the loading docks around back of the warehouse at AIM Surplus. A clerk checked him in and Charlie began counting out the Benjamins as two men loaded his order; first filling the truck bed up to the top of the camper, then stacking the last few crates into the little camping trailer’s available storage space.
“That’s a load of ammo there, sir,” the clerk commented when he handed Charlie his change and a receipt. He could tell the young man was staring at the scars on his face and neck but pretended like he didn’t notice. Charlie had gotten good at ignoring those looks over the years.
“Got a lot of buddies coming over to the range this weekend,” Charlie replied coolly, taking the change and stuffing it in his pocket without another word. Today he was wearing his thin black gloves, something he’d been doing more of late when he went out with Joan. Nothing he could really do about the face in public, but he’d be damned if he was going to have someone staring at his left hand and those missing digits if he could help it.
On the drive back, Charlie started by listening to a little Creedence Clearwater Revival on the CD player, followed by a copy of the Eagles Greatest Hits, and he was nearly through the heavy metal mix Cody had prepared for him when he thought about the whim that had prompted this buying spree. Operating the truck on automatic pilot, he saw his exit approaching and realized he’d been wool-gathering for nearly three hours.
He was thinking about Joan when he pulled into his garage and shut down the engine. He’d driven straight there and straight back, stopping at the corner store and filling up his tank. He’d been shocked to see fuel going up again, and that got him to wondering about what else he had missed.
Looking at all the ammunition stacked up in the camper and his truck bed, Charlie wondered if maybe he needed to start seeing a therapist again. Maybe later, he temporized, and transferred everything carefully into the camper. The little twelve-footer seemed to squat on its axle, but Charlie knew if he drove carefully, he could get the load to the retreat without any problems. Randy had customized the little trailer for Charlie years ago, and they’d never managed to overload it. The solid tires helped, Charlie thought with a little grin.
As Saturday came to a close, Charlie spent some time working on the discoveries he would be serving Monday on one of his new cases. Nothing earth-shattering, but he knew he would have to dig a little more than usual to get the facts he needed for this one. The defense firm was one who had a reputation for playing ‘hide-the-ball’ and he needed to box them in ahead of time. Heck, he already knew he would soon be dusting off an old form and drafting the motion to compel he knew he would be filing in sixty days. Just the nature of the beast.
He called Joan just before bed, checking in, and he was amused to hear how Joan was already looking for a training partner for her swimming. The pair, both competitive in almost everything they did, had already raced a few times at their gym and where Charlie had the edge on endurance, he grudgingly acknowledged that Joan had the God-given talent to dominate anything under 800 meters.
“Well, just go easy on them at first,” Charlie warned, “or you will run her off. Or him.”
“Definitely a her,” Joan replied. “And I think she is going to be pushing me pretty hard as it is.”
“You can take her,” Charlie encouraged. “And if you end up getting cramped, just give me a call.”
“Oh, really?” Joan replied with a suggestive laugh. “Are you making advances, Mr. Tucker?”
“Of course, Miss Norgren,” Charlie bantered back, “but in this case, I actually know an excellent massage therapist only three blocks from our gym.”
“Well, I guess that will have to do, for now,” Joan said with a fake pout that turned into a little purr, and Charlie bit his lip to suppress a groan.
“Goodnight, Joan,” Charlie forced himself to say.
“Goodnight, Charlie,” Joan replied. “Thank you for calling.”
This night at least, if Charlie experienced any dreams, they faded with the arrival of the morning.
For Sunday, Charlie had no plans for working and decided to postpone running down to the retreat for the following weekend. He didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of having enough ammo in his garage to cause a major explosion if the block burned, but he’d stored lesser amounts in his garage in the past. At least he wasn’t stockpiling bomb-making ingredients.
The next week passed in a blur, as Charlie watched the news with mounting horror. He saw the aftermath of the violent protests and the Federal government posturing, but then, these kinds of scenes were sadly becoming almost commonplace. The main difference being the state government’s willingness to use overwhelming violence against questionable provocation.
He’d discussed the situation with Joan several times and he was getting that same sense of foreboding dread as before. His conversations with the boys were much more subdued, avoiding saying anything that might trigger Echelon, or whatever they were calling it these days.
It was a lazy Sunday, and Charlie awoke early from yet another nightmare. After a breakfast of coffee- black, orange juice- chilled, and grapefruit- split, Charlie hit the home gym for a bit of resistance training and pounded out three miles on the treadmill before the sun had risen properly over the trees. He was feeling restless and wondering what else he had to do today when his cell phone rang. Sitting on his narrow deck with another cup of coffee, he hit the Bluetooth function on his phone and listened as the call was accepted.
“Charlie, is that you?”
Bryce’s voice had a small echo and at first, Charlie thought it was his phone, but realized it might be on the other end. Whatever was going on, Charlie barely recognized his friend.
“Yeah, Bryce, I’m here,” Charlie prompted, then he could hear fumbling on the other end of the phone and the echo faded as Bryce’s voice grew stronger.
“Charlie, they’re coming for me,” Bryce announced, his breathing fast and labored, and Charlie felt a knot of worry form in the pit of his stomach.
“Who is coming for you, Bryce? What are you talking about?”
“The DHS agents,” Bryce said softly, almost whispering. Fear edged his every word, and Charlie could sense the panic fast approaching.
At that moment, Charlie nearly ended the call, after watching riots breaking out around the country. Not because he didn’t want to hear the rest of what Bryce had to say, but because Charlie knew everything being said on the cell phone was being recorded. Recorded, and likely being used to identify him and his location. Still, Charlie had to know.
“Why, Bryce? Someone eavesdropping on your calls again?” Charlie said forcefully, trying to get his friend to think about the next words out of his mouth before he spoke.
“Judge Wallenstein, he told Rodger what was really happening. And what their meeting was about. It’s the water, Charlie. The water bill already passed like the President said. Part of the UN Agreement on Natural Resources,” Bryce’s voice rose as he spoke, still trying to catch his breath, and he was nearly shouting by the end. “The Administration has been setting this up for months, Charlie. That meeting with the judges, it wasn’t just here or in Cleveland. It was everywhere. All of the judges, Charlie. The President and his cronies, they don’t just want this implemented, they want to avoid anybody trying to get it h
eld up in the courts. They gave the District Judges their marching orders and told them to toe the line or else. Nobody is going to be allowed to successfully challenge this bill. Charlie, they threatened the judges with everything up to summary execution for failure to comply. And the Senate just passed amendments strengthening the bill this week in closed session.”
“Holy Mother of God,” Charlie whispered. This was tin-foil hat territory, but he believed the story coming from Bryce. Not just because of who he was, but because suddenly, the pieces started fitting together. There had been rumblings in the media about protests in some of the Western states, something about a change in farm policy, but the media quickly moved on to other stories. In a country where every police stop was a standoff, and every use of force by the local police became tinder for the next riot, Charlie had tuned them out.
“Are you okay? Are you somewhere safe?” Charlie asked, suddenly concerned for his friend, worried that his comments might have gotten Rodger and Bryce in real trouble.
“Judge Wallenstein called Rodger into his office yesterday and told him everything he knew, Charlie. He doesn’t know the endgame, but what he does know is terrifying. This water bill, it’s only their first step, and it is a way to pay for the rest of the changes they have planned. Wallenstein thinks this was rushed through after their Small Arms Treaty initiative failed.” Bryce paused as if winded, and when he started speaking again, Charlie could hear that weird echo once again.
“The Judge, they had something on him, but he was too mad to be blackmailed. And…Charlie, he had some documents he’d managed to acquire, and had Rodger pass them on to me. To go to my friends, you know? Charlie, they are targeting you and your people. They are afraid of resistance, so they are going to strike first and preempt the most likely actors. NRA members, Oathkeepers, certain veteran groups, and even the ACLU. The President wasn’t kidding about listing them as terrorists. They have already started rounding them up.”
Oh, shit. Thinking of a particularly memorable scene in Pulp Fiction, Charlie wanted to slam his phone against the wall and start screaming, “Prank call, Prank call!” at the top of his lungs. Some things you couldn’t unhear, not with Big Brother constantly listening. Of course, Charlie knew Bryce meant the ACLU as ‘his friends’, but that sounded like too little, too late at this stage.
“What is happening now? Bryce, where are you?”
“I’m almost home, Charlie. We were coming back from lunch over on the Gold Coast,” Bryce said, and his voice sounded close to tears. Tears of frustration and rage. “They got Rodger, right there in the middle of the street. No warning, just tackled him to the asphalt, and Charlie, they were beating him. With those batons, hitting him over and over. He told me to run, he told me to get away!”
“Bryce, are you off the streets? Can you see anybody chasing you still?”
“No, I can’t see anybody in the hallway,” Bryce replied, his panting and huffing somewhat abated. “I just took the back stairs to avoid the security cameras.”
“Good man,” Charlie said, feeling his own body tense as he listened to his friend’s voice. “Look, they are only doing this to protect the children, right? You know how I feel about those kinds of programs.”
Praying Bryce would get the meaning, Charlie continued. “This is for the children, Bryce. You need to march down to the closest police station and turn yourself in before they have to come get you. This is for the children, so turn around and don’t waste their time. Just get down there and do like I’m telling you, got it?”
In law school, Charlie and Bryce had many funny, stupid, and sometimes heated discussions regarding the shameless use of children in certain political ploys. Gun-free, drug-free schools, requirements for standardized testing and even some vaccine court decisions were all fair game. Both sides of the aisle were guilty, and the refrain, “What about the children?” became a punchline between the two men and their small study group and they would quote: “The state must declare the child to be the most precious treasure of the people. As long as the government is perceived as working for the benefit of the children, the people will happily endure almost any curtailment of liberty and almost any deprivation. ― Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf.
Controlling his breathing, Charlie hoped Bryce was paying attention as he thought of a plan for Bryce. He needed to get out of that building, abandon his apartment, and disappear.
“Oh God, Charlie, they’re here!” Bryce screamed into the telephone, and Charlie could hear shouted voices growing louder in the background. The phone began to get that echo again over the Bluetooth speakers and now, Charlie knew it was the side effect over the microphone of his friend running.
What followed was a jumble of sound as the microphone now picked up cursing and shifting, and the echoes over the phone remained loud and confusing.
“You can’t do this! You can’t do this! I have rights! I have…”
The boom that followed, and the shrill scream, left nothing to the imagination. The last thing he heard before the phone call died was a murmured, “I told that little bastard not to make us have to chase him. Serves him right.”
Charlie ceased taping the call and let his cell phone drop. Acting on instinct, he’d recorded the entire call, and now he was operating on autopilot. Rising carefully from his seat, Charlie opened the glass door and headed back inside as if nothing had happened. His head was spinning with the revelations of the last few seconds, and now Charlie had to decide his next course of action.
Guilt gnawed at the edge of his consciousness, as did a good dose of self-loathing, as he thought about his dead friends. Shit, he’d missed the signs and hadn’t taken Paige Bishop’s warning to heart. Robbie had seen it coming too, but Charlie had let his normalcy bias overcome his good sense.
Not even entertaining the idea, Charlie knew his cell phone was compromised. No way the Powers-That-Be didn’t already have his file pulled up, and now he had a race to get out of sight before the goons came knocking at his door. Charlie needed to move. And move fast.
First, he dialed Robbie. He hoped to light a fire under his friend and get him to evacuate Kristi and the kids. This was only getting started, and Charlie feared the federal government, and this administration in particular, was not above breaking some eggs to make that One World omelet. The President, an avowed Internationalist, had made several statements during his campaign that hinted at his intentions to bringing the United States into the community of nations. After Trump, the lazy and rich had put another giver in office.
Charlie thought the failure of the President’s party’s renewed gun control bill had set the President straight on the mood of the country. Instead, the little dictator seemed bound and determined to have it his own way, and to hell with the Constitution. Charlie now worried those precious to him might have to pay for the President’s hubris.
“Robert, is that you?” Charlie barked harshly, trying to keep his normally chatty friend from getting a word in edgewise, and he continued speaking before Blaster could form a sentence. “I don’t have much time, but you need to get the Primaries to the Happy Place posthaste. Chop chop, my friend, and don’t stop for anything. Seriously, brother. Anything. See you when I see you.”
Tossing the phone on the seat, Charlie turned his attention to getting the garage door open and backing his Ford into position to hook up to his little pop-up trailer. Glad I didn’t unload after all, he mused. Hauling all that ammo back out to the trailer would have been a bear of a job.
Killing the engine, Charlie hopped out of the truck and grabbed his phone as he sprinted around to fasten the trailer hitch and get the garage door closed. Fortunately, the garage was deep enough to take both the truck and the trailer in the same slot. That was frankly one of the reasons he’d bought the place when he’d found it for sale. He left the truck where it sat for the moment and charged to the side door, climbing the stairs while managing to simultaneously hit Randy’s number from his favorites at the same time.
While the phone rang, Charlie ran into his bedroom and opened the closet door leading to his gun safe. Before he could press his thumb on the biometric pad, he heard Randy’s voice on the other end of the phone.
“Brother, don’t say anything,” Charlie began, again taking over the conversation. Like Charlie and the rest of the men, Randy knew their phone calls were monitored, but his friend likely didn’t know how closely they were being scrutinized today. Since last weekend Charlie was sure all vets were on the NSA watch list. After the call from Bryce, he knew everything he said on the cell phone was being recorded for analysis, but he felt the need to give the final warning to his people.
“The pit bull is out of the yard, his owner is on the way, and you need to get a move on to your Happy Place. Go to your Happy Place,” Charlie repeated. “And take all our friends. This is a no-shit warning, and you need to be moving. I think we are on the menu.”
Charlie was referring to a story Randy had told where he’d been chased by a neighbor’s pit bull when he’d returned home from fishing one summer. The owner had been a sheriff’s deputy, who according to Oliver, thought his badge meant he could get away with raising fighting dogs out in the country. Despite several complaints to the sheriff, the deputy continued to raise the vicious dogs with only a three-foot-tall chain-link fence to keep the killers inside.
Randy, who’d been maybe eleven at the time, had barely gotten through the front door before the beast had charged in behind him, knocking the flimsy door open. Randy, winded and shaking, got to his Dad’s 1911 before the pissed-off dog got a bite in on the boy. When his parents got home from town, they found their son trying to drag the massive dead weight out of the kitchen. So, Charlie figured Randy would get the gist of what he was trying to convey.
“Is little sister on her way?” Randy managed to ask, and Charlie imagined he could hear the wheels turning in his friend’s head. Over the years since Wheat’s death, Randy had gradually become acknowledged as the leader of their little band of misfit toys, and one of the reasons was his ability to plan for multiple contingencies on the fly, all while keeping a clear head. Randy might act crazy at times, but Charlie knew his friend was a tactical computer when the chips were down.
Stolen Liberty: Behind the Curtain Page 17
