Stolen Liberty: Behind the Curtain

by Thomas A. Watson

  Since the rioting had gotten worse, Robbie had checked in with the family each evening for a solid week. He anticipated a day when he would have to load up and run like hell. In preparation for that day, Blaster had cleared out his house and sanitized it of all connections to the retreat.

  Robbie had left a message for the kids to get their camping gear ready and have the house ready for a surprise vacation when he pulled in. Emily and Clark knew how to pack to go camping, but Robbie didn’t want to say too much over the phone. This trip may prove to be a permanent move.

  Robbie and Jerome kept their speed within the posted limits and Robbie cringed when they passed a traffic camera. His plates on the Harley could be linked back to him, and if what Charlie told him was true, the locals and feds would want to talk to him in a windowless room without the benefit of legal representation. Surviving in the pokey without an arm would mark him instantly, so Robbie avoided the toll roads that looped around Chicagoland, and he led Jerome directly into the belly of the beast. He wanted to go south on Green Bay Road to avoid the tolls on I-94, then hit the Skokie Highway out of Gurnee. Jerome complained about dealing with the lights and traffic, but Blaster had already made the trip multiple times on dry runs to Ohio.

  Outside of Northbrook, the pair merged with I-94 until it bottlenecked into the I-90 split. Robbie led Jerome off the interstate and hit Cicero Avenue.

  Robbie keyed the mic. “Stay right on my tail, Roadrunner. The neighborhoods get sketchy in a little bit.”

  “No shit! I had one of my work trucks jacked near Cicero on the West Side. I promised to never come back here again.”

  Robbie had his own “vibrant” experiences around the Garfield Park area in the past. He’d had to bluff his way through a group of toughs waiting outside of the Green Line stop at Kedzie when a client had mistakenly decided to ride the train to look at a piece of property two blocks from the EL. Robbie had flashed his “claw” at the crew and smiled at them. The youths, confused by the crazy man with the metal prosthetic, had backed off and let him escort the woman to the property unmolested.

  Taking their route through the roughest sections of Chicago seemed silly to Jerome until Robbie had explained his thinking. They’d sat around the kitchen table at Robbie’s home and hatched the plan weeks ago. “The police basically leave those communities alone to their own devices during the day. I didn’t see anyone actively dealing on Cicero because that’s a major street, and I think it’s a dividing line for some of the GD’s and the Unknowns.”

  “How can you be sure about that?” Jerome asked.

  “I ran that stretch during the day and later at night to check it out. Nobody came out at the lights to offer me anything,” Robbie shrugged.

  “Offered you what?” Jerome scratched his head.

  Robbie smiled. “Anything. On the back streets along that stretch, you can find just about anything for sale, but the dealers stay off Cicero. It’s too public and well-lit. The stupid police cameras don’t hurt either.”

  “Are you worried about the ‘blue light specials’ seeing us on the move?”

  “Please, that’s Chicago PD’s cameras. They had to make them bullet resistant to keep the locals from shooting them out faster than they could put them up. Once we cross into Oak Lawn, those things dry up.”

  “What if we get stopped?”

  “If it’s local cops, we give out license and insurance and look lost. If it’s the feds, we are screwed. Hell, Chicago isn’t the problem. We still have to cross Indiana and most of Ohio before we are home free.” Robbie had tried to reassure his friend, but he felt the plan’s simplicity made it easier to accomplish.

  Get the kids and Kristi out of there before the dance started.

  The slower surface streets in Chicago decreased their pace and added an extra hour to the drive. Even for a low traffic Sunday, the eighty miles between Kenosha and Oak Lawn dragged on, and the congestion at Midway Airport and the stupid mall down the street from the bustling airport had Blaster chomping at the bit.

  When they pulled in front of Kristi’s house, Robbie shook out his right hand and stretched. The next leg of the trip would take another six hours to complete if the traffic behaved, but Robbie had a route that took them around the Tri-State Tollway and used Highway 30, instead of the interstates around Gary. His intuition said to stay off the main roads, so he’d scouted the route in advance.

  Robbie took off his helmet and checked on Jerome. “We made it, buddy! Do you see your ex-wife’s car around here?” Robbie scanned the residential street.

  “I don’t see her. I gave her the address and asked her to come by with the kids, so we could visit. She had better not screw up our plans.”

  Robbie clapped Jerome on the shoulder and headed to the front door. “Watch out for them and keep an eye on the truck. Let me see what Kristi is up to.” Before Robbie could knock, Clark ripped the door open.

  “Where’s Momma?” Clark asked Robbie and looked out to the street.

  Robbie almost dropped on the porch in a panic attack. “She’s not here? Where is your sister?”

  “She’s packing everything under the sun. How long are we going? What about school?” Clark looked excited to get out and have some fun after the long winter.

  Robbie pushed past Clark and raced into the kitchen. He hit the play button on the answering machine. The speaker played the last message which ended up being a hang up. The caller ID displayed a local number with a Chicago area code, but no new messages. He hit the play button again and listened to ten saved messages and skipped through them with Clark standing at the counter. The third from last message was from the hospital. The woman’s voice over the speaker informed Kristi that all on-call staff members had been ordered to show up to handle an emergency.

  “Where have you guys been? I called earlier to let you know. You got the message, but where were you?”

  Clark shrugged. “Mom sent us next door to the Ramirez’s. She said she would be home around noon or so because they didn’t like her to get overtime. I came in to get some bread for us to make sandwiches and heard your message. We’ve been here since then, getting our packs ready. Is Momma coming, too?”

  Before Robbie could answer, Emily ran in and gave him a hug. “Uncle Robbie, how long are we going to be gone? I have a project for school due this week.” Robbie returned the hug.

  “I’ll write you a note. This is an educational trip anyway, so we can write a report to cover your tail with the teachers. Everybody likes a go-getter. Are you packed?”

  “Not yet. I can’t decide what to bring. When is Momma getting back? She’s been out all day.” Emily sounded worried.

  “I’m going to call her and check in. Get your bags finished up and…” Robbie’s voice trailed off. “She took her SUV into work, didn’t she?”

  “She did. Why?” Clark asked.

  Robbie sat at the table and rubbed at his forehead. “We were going to take that loaded with your stuff. There’s not enough room in the truck for all of us and Jerome’s kids.”

  “Are they coming with us? Reese and James are little kids and I like them, but they don’t know much about camping, do they?” Clark asked.

  Leaning back in the chair, Robbie scoffed, “It’s not their fault. Charlene won’t let them hang out with their dad and learn some things. She’s supposed to be coming by to let their dad see them, but she is a no-show.” He pulled out his phone and opened his address book to find the emergency contact number for Kristi’s department at the hospital. “Go on up and help your sister. I’ve gotta talk to your mother.”

  Clark nodded. “Sure. Hey, do you know what’s for supper? It’s getting close to that time.”

  “I have no idea right now. We should be on the highway eating greasy fast food and singing road tunes by now.” Robbie picked up the house phone and dialed the hospital and waited as the phone at the nurses’ station rang off the hook for a minute before anyone picked up.

  “First Floor, this is Marj
orie, can you hold, please?” the voice called out and immediately placed Robbie on hold before he could state his business. The background noise from the floor at the hospital had sounded chaotic from that brief second.

  “Oh, hell,” Robbie whispered to himself. That sound of overlapping panicked voices and the clatter of instruments being trundled around on carts brought back the old memories. The hospital, not five miles away, sounded like a war zone. Robbie carried the phone to the front door and stepped out to the porch. He waved at Jerome before settling into one of the metal chairs.

  From their drive in, neither Robbie nor Jerome had heard the distinctive pop, pop, pop, pop from the neighborhoods off in the distance. The sound of distant fireworks, that Robbie knew were gunshots, sent a shiver down the back of his neck and an involuntary injection of adrenaline to his system.

  “Jerome! Do you hear that?” he called to his friend sitting in the truck.

  Jerome leaned his head out of the driver’s side window and cupped his ear. “What is that?”

  “It’s started.” Robbie stared at the phone in his hand as the hold music played on. His plans to race the Wheaton family out of the city to the safety of the retreat slipped away.

  The music stopped, and the phone clicked once before a voice cut into his thoughts. “This is Marjorie, how can I direct your call?”

  Robbie made a split-second decision. “Marjorie, this is Detective Sparks from the Oak Lawn Police Department. I need to contact Kristi Wheaton concerning her children. This is an emergency. Can you get her for me?”

  “We are overloaded with our own emergency over here. I’ll try to shake her loose.” The line switched over to music again. In the background noise, Robbie had picked up the piercing wail of someone having the worst day of their life at the hospital.

  Jerome left the truck and walked up the porch steps. “What’s going on, Robbie?”

  “I’m guessing here, but the hospitals are getting slammed.” Another string of ‘fireworks’ let off in the distance and had an accompaniment of slower blasts. “Pistol and shotgun, based on the sound.” Robbie reached to adjust his pistol, concealed by his leather jacket and under his left armpit.

  “It’s getting hot out there,” Jerome cocked his head and listened to the sirens in the distance responding to the gunfire.

  “Kristi got called in early. My question is, how the heck did they know to call in their on-call staff unless someone predicted this was coming?” Robbie mused.

  Clark tromped down the stairs with his backpack loaded up and ready to go. “I’m ready. Emily is almost done.” He dropped the pack by the door and stepped out to listen to the distant gun battles playing out in the neighborhoods to the north. “What the heck? It’s not the Fourth of July yet.”

  “Clark, this camping excursion is looking more like a permanent move. I’ve got the hospital on the line, and I’ll let your mom know what’s going down. Go inside and fill every bottle you can with water and fill up the tubs. This may turn into something bad.”

  With his mouth dropping open, Clark looked at Robbie first before turning to look at Jerome. “He’s serious, son. We came here to move all of us to the camp in Ohio. Some crazy mess is coming our way, and we need to get out of here before it hits,” Jerome said as he sat in the chair beside Robbie and listened to the sounds of the city trying to tear itself apart.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hardin County, Ohio

  Sitting in his small living room when he hung up his phone, Randy looked over at Cody. “We need to move,” he said, getting up.

  “Was that Book?” Cody asked, looking up from his laptop.

  “Yeah, he said we need to pack up and head to the retreat,” Randy told him, moving over and looking at the screen.

  Nodding as he looked back at the screen, “That is smart. We aren’t tied to the land, so nobody will know to look for us there,” Cody said. “He get in touch with Robbie?”

  “Yeah, and Robbie is going to get Kristi with Jerome,” Randy answered, seeing Cody was in a chat room. “Who are you chatting with?”

  “No one really, but there is a lot of chat about the feds going after any former military. Especially any with ties to the Oathkeepers or NRA,” Cody said and held up a small notepad. “I’ve been keeping tabs since the presidential address and found out they have detained almost a thousand that fit that category, but the worst is I’ve heard of over two dozen shootings of vets that fit that profile.”

  “Believe nothing you hear and only half of what you see,” Randy said, walking away.

  Watching Randy head to the door, Cody got up and followed. “Randy, if it was only one or two I could follow that idiom, but this is coming from different areas of the nation,” Cody explained, following him outside. “Think about it, Randy. These are the people they know can fight and know what the government is doing is illegal. Charlie didn’t say why we needed to haul ass, did he?”

  “No, but it has to be a good reason,” Randy said, heading to his parents’ house.

  “Like they tried to arrest Charlie?” Cody snapped, and Randy froze and looked at him hard. “Randy, Book is the definition of what they are after. He’s not in the ACLU, but he’s a lawyer, a veteran, and a member of the NRA. He can prove legally that they are wrong but more importantly, he knows how to fight them outside of the courtroom with physical force. Charlie knows every cell phone call is registered in a NSA data bank. Since he is already in that top tier, his number is already being monitored.”

  Feeling his heartrate speed up, Randy started feeling lightheaded. “Cody, this is the country we fought for,” Randy said in shock.

  “Yeah, and it’s not those in the office. It’s the ideas set down by farmers centuries ago. That is what America is; rights of individuals. Rights that can’t be limited or taken away by those sitting high and mighty,” Cody said as Randy blinked rapidly and turned away, looking out over the fields.

  “They can’t,” Randy finally said.

  “Sure they can, if nobody fights them,” Cody scoffed. “The means of self-defense is the most precious of rights, and governments have fought to keep the population unarmed, long before firearms.”

  “Cody, I know commoners were restricted from carrying weapons in the later middle ages-,” Randy stopped as Cody held up his hand.

  “Yes, because that was the times when empires were established and kings ruled. But if you look further back, you can find many instances of once-small kingdoms established and starting those laws. Once someone got control of an area, they wanted to make sure they were the only ones to have weapons. They could care less if the peasants were raped and killed, as long as the monarchs weren’t challenged in their rule. Those in charge had protection, just like now. That’s who they are going after now. The ones who can fight but more importantly, the ones who know how to fight, legally and with force.”

  Slowly turning back to look at Cody, Randy studied his innocent face and then smiled. “Babyface, Charlie has truly corrupted you,” Randy grinned, and Cody took a breath to speak but Randy stopped him. “No, you’re right. I’m just blinded by the fact we live in America. ‘If the representatives of the people betray their constituents, there is no recourse left but in the exertion of that original right of self-defense which is paramount to all positive forms of government’.”

  Giving a curt laugh, Cody nodded. “Alexander Hamilton, Federalist #28,” Cody answered as Randy turned and headed for the house. “Okay, how about: Guns are completely inappropriate for the kind of sheep-like people the anointed envision or the orderly, prepackaged world in which they are to live. When you are in mortal danger, you are supposed to dial 911, so that the police can arrive on the scene sometime later, identify your body, and file reports in triplicate.”

  Trotting up the stairs, Randy thought as he grabbed the handle of the door. “Oh, Thomas Sowell,” he replied.

  “Damn, I thought I had you,” Cody huffed, following Randy inside. This was one game the guys had always pl
ayed, going all the way back to when they were in the army, reciting quotes and seeing who could answer.

  They stopped and saw the kitchen table stacked with boxes of food and crates of jarred and canned food. They turned to see Oliver and Lena watching the TV. On the screen, a reporter was standing outside of a nice house while black-clad federal agents stormed the structure.

  “This is Rhonda Tillman, live at the home of NRA executive Timothy Benson, who for the last four hours, has been in a gun battle with federal agents of the FBI, Homeland, and BATFE when they moved in to arrest him. We have not been told how many agents have been injured but just a few minutes ago, several explosions were heard inside the house and the agents stormed it. We have just now been cleared by authorities to come closer to film the apprehension,” a young woman said as gunfire roared in the background.

  “We have been told by the FBI’s spokesman that they tried to apprehend Mr. Benson peacefully, but he fired on the officers,” Rhonda said as the gunfire died down and a man walked up wearing a windbreaker with the Homeland insignia on the chest. “Agent Gibson, has the accused been apprehended?”

  The man stopped and looked at Rhonda. “That’s the report I am receiving,” he said as more men rushed the house.

  “Can you tell us if any agents have been injured and if they have, how many?”

  Gibson adjusted his stance and stood tall. “I can say, some agents were injured but other than that, not until next of kin have been notified.”

  Visibly taken back, Rhonda’s hand holding the microphone dropped to her waist. “Agents were killed?” she asked in shock.

  “Rhonda, microphone,” someone said behind the camera and Rhonda raised her microphone and repeated the question.

  Slowly, Gibson nodded. “Yes. Mr. Benson refused to be detained until cleared and have his weapons confiscated. He sent his family to his brother’s home and waited for agents to arrive.”