by Ryan King
"Very nice to meet, you," said Janice. "It's wonderful of you to stop by. We get so few visitors these days."
"Visitation is a lost art form," said Ethan. "Perhaps it will have a renaissance without the Internet and phones to interfere."
Janice smiled and struggled to stand. "It wouldn't surprise me. Let me get you both some tea."
"Oh no." Ethan patted her hand and gently eased her back into her seat. "It would make me feel like such a cad for a sweet lady like you to wait on me. I'm sure Reggie and I can take care of ourselves. Can't we, Reggie?"
"Indeed," said Reggie on edge.
"Would you think it terribly rude, ma'am, if I borrowed your husband to talk a little shop?" asked Ethan. "I promise not to keep him long."
"Not at all," said Janice, holding up a paperback novel. "I'll keep myself occupied."
"So you shall," said Ethan. "Thank you."
Reggie led them out onto the back porch. "Would you like some tea or something to drink?"
"No, thank you," said Ethan. "I really can't stay long. I simply wanted to take the opportunity to speak to you while I had the chance."
"Speak to me about what?" asked Reggie.
Ethan sighed. "We've always worked well together in the past. I was upset that you lost the election. People can be fickle. I've always respected you and appreciated your efforts to make things better."
"That's kind of you to say," said Reggie.
"That was an unfortunate bit of business with Tim Reynolds," said Ethan. "Poor man was certainly distraught, but we can't have that sort of talk. Gets people riled up. I know you understand that. You always go out of your way to keep people calm if you can."
Reggie's guard was fully up now. "People don't tend to think clearly when they're excited or angry, that's all."
"How right you are," said Ethan. "So much emotion these days. Most unfortunate."
"Are you talking about the exiling of Nathan Taylor, the execution of Clarence Anderson, or the riots in Paducah?"
Ethan looked at Reggie with a wry smile. "You have always had a way with people."
"I would say I try to be honest with them and treat them as I would like to be treated."
"That sort of outlook is rarer than you would think," said Ethan, "which is why people respond to it."
"Maybe you should try it," said Reggie.
"It's not the sort of thing you can fake," said Ethan. "At least not very well."
"Are you trying to ask me for a favor?" asked Reggie.
Ethan laughed. "In a sense, yes, and I admit it is awkward, which is why I'm having such a difficult time getting around to it."
"Just say it," said Reggie.
"We could use your help," said Ethan. "People are too keyed up. There's violence and even bloodshed at our very doors. We would like you to help us. Talk to people. They would listen to you."
"They were listening to me before you shut down the radio station," said Ethan.
"And you were so very good at it," said Ethan. "That's why we would open the radio station back up. You could do broadcasts once a day if you would like."
"I'm presuming you would want to approve what I say?"
"Well, it is important we're all on the same sheet of music," said Ethan reasonably. "Also, I would hate for you to say something that could be misinterpreted by someone. People are wired so tightly lately. Coordinating things first would be best, I should think."
Reggie nodded and looked out onto his patio. "You know this is where the assassin came. The one who tried to kill me and instead took my wife's leg."
"Oh dear," said Ethan, moving up beside Reggie to look out on the deck. "I had no idea. That must have been horrific."
"It was," said Reggie. "Janice saved my life and lost her leg in the process. She has never said a regretful word about it. Not one bit of self-pity."
"A strong woman," said Ethan. "The fairer sex is often like that."
"I would give one of my own legs for five minutes alone with the man responsible for that act," said Reggie, looking down at the small man.
"I can understand," said Ethan smiling.
"Nathan Taylor had some interesting ideas," said Reggie.
"Deranged ideas."
Reggie grunted. "One of those ideas was that you...Ethan Schweitzer...was the man who ordered my assassination. That you were ‘Gabriel’ that I spoke to on that satellite phone many months ago. That you were responsible for hurting my wife."
Ethan's mouth dropped and he looked around as if to see if help were near. "That's simply ridiculous! Preposterous! I would never do such a thing!"
Reggie nodded and tapped Ethan on the chest with the handle of a fireplace poker. Ethan had not seen him pick the tool up.
"If I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was you," said Reggie, "I don't think you would walk out my door."
"But you don't know. Not beyond a shadow of a doubt," said Ethan. "And you never will. That assassin was some sick plan of General Sampson’s. No one could keep track of all the schemes in that man's head. For everyone's sake, sir, please let it go. Also, I don't want to imagine what those protective thugs out front would do to you and your wife. They are good at what they do, but sometimes overzealous."
"You are very good," said Reggie with a smile. "Do you even recognize anymore when you are telling the truth and when you are lying?"
"What an ugly thing to say," said Ethan, his face becoming hard. "And here I thought you were the courteous sort."
"Courtesy has nothing to do with it," said Reggie.
"So, is that a no or a yes?" asked Ethan. "Will you do the broadcasts?"
Reggie stared at Ethan for a long while before answering, "I'll think about it."
"Not the wisest answer," said Ethan, "but also not the unwisest. The middle ground can serve you well, but only for a short time. You have to pick a side at some point."
"Is that what we're doing? Picking sides?"
"In a sense, yes," said Ethan. "And before you decide"—Ethan tilted his head in toward Janice—"you're not just picking for you."
"Now look who's being discourteous."
"Not at all," said Ethan. "Look at it more as a warning. I am on your side. I would hate for any more misfortune to fall upon you or your wonderful wife."
Reggie nodded. "I've given you my answer. I know it's not what you had hoped to hear, but it's the best I got right now. It's a big decision and I never rush into big decisions if I don't have to."
"I totally understand," said Ethan, touching Reggie's arm lightly. "You and I are very alike. Thank you for your time. When you have your answer, please pass a message through any JP official; they know how to find me." Ethan turned to walk away.
"You know you won't get away with it," said Reggie.
Ethan stopped and turned. "Excuse me?"
"What you're doing," Reggie explained. "The people won't stand for it. They'll realize that it's all a sham and they're being taken advantage of. They'll take their government and nation back. The people always win in the end."
Ethan stared at him in surprise. A low chuckle started in his chest, then worked its way down to his belly, and then back up to his mouth by which point it was a full blown gale of laughter. "No. No. No. No. They will not."
"Yes," said Reggie. "Look at what's happening in Paducah."
Ethan pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the tears that were streaming from his eyes. "You may not know any better, so I will forgive you your naivety. It is common among Americans. Allow me to educate you."
"Please do," said Reggie.
"I have been all over the world," said Ethan. "I have been places most people didn't know existed. In all of those places, I was there because a great power struggle was underway. Most of the time, it was the people against the government, and I can tell you the people do not have some supernatural power to overcome oppression. In nearly every case, the people are crushed and ground under the heavy foot of power. There are those who have power and those who do no
t. Everything else is delusion."
"But the people do have power," said Reggie.
"Let us hope they are not so foolish as to try and match it against someone with more of it then," said Ethan with a wink and then a look at his watch. "I am sorry, but I really must be going. Thank you so much for your time and please do consider my proposal. Until next time.” Ethan turned to walk away. “I shall show myself out."
Reggie raised the fireplace poker and swung it with all of his strength at the back of Ethan's head. It connected with a sickening crunch and the little man collapsed with a low grunt. He looked up at Reggie with surprise and then began trying to crawl away.
Raising the poker again, Reggie slammed it down on the prone man again. And again. And again. Reggie stopped when he saw that the heavy end of the poker was gone and he was only striking the motionless figure with a light wand. Ethan laid motionless, blood pooling out of his mouth and dribbled from one ear onto the tan carpet. Reggie dropped the end of the poker and looked around. He saw the head of the poker stuck in the corner of the ceiling.
Walking purposefully to the front of the house, he flung the door open and yelled at the two guards, "Come quick! Something has happened to Mr. Schweitzer!"
The two smoking men dropped their cigarettes and charged up the sidewalk and into the house. "What happened?"
"He just collapsed," said Reggie. "Hit his head on the corner of the table."
The younger of the two stared at the amount of blood on the carpet. "Looks like he did more than hit his head."
"He's not breathing," said the one kneeling beside Ethan. He looked up at his colleague. "Get down here and help me with CPR. Now!"
"I've got a first aid kit in the bedroom," said Reggie. "Be right back." He walked away from the men and saw his concerned wife in the hallway, balanced on a crutch.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"I'll explain everything in a minute," said Reggie soothingly. "For now, please go sit back down."
She hesitated only a moment and then walked back into the living room.
Reggie went into their bedroom and went to his knees before the bed. He reached underneath and pulled out the double-barreled shotgun his father had given him. He broke the breech to ensure it was loaded and then snapped it back into place before walking back out of the bedroom.
He found them working as a team to revive Ethan. One gave chest compressions while the other attempted rescue breathing. They didn't even look up at him.
Reggie shot first one and then the other, the noise so out of place in their home. The man on the left was still, while the one on the right looked up at Reggie in shock. One hand attempted to reach into his coat to remove a pistol. Reaching down carefully, Reggie pulled the pistol out and slipped it into the back of his pants.
"Why?" rasped the guard painfully.
"Because Ethan was right about one thing," said Reggie. "I do have to choose a side." He turned to find Janice staring at him, her hand over her mouth.
He put his hand on her arm. "We have to go. Pack up everything we're going to need."
"For how long?" she asked, momentarily more overwhelmed by the idea of leaving their home than the scene of bloodshed before her.
"I don't know," he answered. "Maybe forever."
"But why?" she asked, a few tears trickling out of her wide eyes. "You've never hurt anyone in your whole life. That's what you told me."
He nodded sadly. "It was true. But that didn't mean the day would never come. I had to protect us. Protect our friends and neighbors. All those years I tried to serve them in politics, and the good I think I accomplished probably doesn't stand up to the service I just performed for the JP."
"I don't understand," Janice said.
"I know," said Reggie. "Just trust that it had to be done. We also need to go."
"Where?"
"Someplace safe," answered Reggie. "Where we have friends."
This seemed to mollify her. "I'll pack our clothes if you'll get everything else."
Overwhelmed by love, Reggie hugged his wife and gave her a firm kiss. "Thank you."
Twenty minutes later, they were driving east toward the Land Between the Lakes in Ethan Schweitzer's black sedan.
Chapter 11 - Closed Border
David and a makeshift detachment of reconnaissance, support, and infantry troops moved purposefully south down the Trace toward the Tennessee border. The fact that they were allowed to use one of the five-ton trucks from Fort Campbell and some of their precious fuel spoke volumes to everyone of the importance of their mission.
"Something's not right," Harold had told him. "I would go myself, but we got too much happening and I need Major Carter here. Lieutenant Colonel Green is also not available since he's had to take over protection of the dam for Big Jim." Even mentioning the man's name after a week appeared to make Harold choke up.
"What exactly are we talking about, sir?" asked David.
"Evidently," said Major Luke Carter, "there is a strong WTR force down at our southern border. Our commander down there, Captain Reuben, says they have a presidential order signed by Paul Campbell for them to take over protection and oversight of Kentucky Dam."
David growled, "We can't let that happen."
"Exactly," said Harold. "The problem is Captain Reuben appears conflicted. I've ordered him to send them away and not let them in under any circumstance. He continues to tell me he might have to let them in, given it's a presidential order. I want you to go south and check it out. If that officer disobeys my orders to prevent the WTR entry, I want you to officially relieve Captain Reuben and assume command of our southern sector."
"You know what this could mean?" asked David.
"I do," said Harold softly. "Are you up for it?"
"You don't have to worry about me," said David. "You're talking to a guy whose father was wrongly exiled by this corrupt regime. I just want to make sure everyone understands what we're doing."
"We do," said Luke. "If they get a hold of the dam and its electricity, it's all over."
David wished he knew how the confrontation with Captain Reuben and the WTR force was going to go down. There were so many uncertainties and factors beyond his control. The men in the back of the crammed truck were nervous. He had told them as much as he knew, but they didn't know if they were on a nice ride in the countryside or about to enter the fight of their lives.
As they approached the southern border, David saw a confusing tangle of vehicles and soldiers. About twenty feet inside the Kentucky border, there appeared to be small gathering of both JP and WTR officers and senior noncommissioned officers. The discussion looked very heated and animated. Their vehicle stopped, and David hopped out and walked toward the group.
"...have no right to stop us," said an agitated WTR colonel, waving an important looking document.
"I'm sorry, sir," said Captain Reuben, "but my orders are clear. I cannot let you in."
"This order is from the president," the man continued. "Any directive you receive to go against that order is unlawful."
"How do we know?" asked David, walking into the conversation abruptly.
"Excuse me?" asked the colonel. "Who the hell are you?"
"I am Lieutenant David Taylor. I've been sent here by Executive Buchannan."
"Unless it's to let us in to fulfill our orders," said the colonel, "your presence here is not helpful and not welcome. This here is a presidential order."
"Again," said David, "how do we know?"
"How do we know what?"
"That it's a presidential order," said David. "Frankly, I've never seen one." He turned to Captain Reuben. "Have you ever seen one?"
Captain Reuben shook his head and appeared startled by the idea.
The colonel's face went from pink to molten red. He screamed, "It has the president's signature on it!"
"Can I see that?" asked David.
The colonel thrust it out for them to examine.
David studied it studiously
for several minutes, grunting in several key places before nodding and looking up. "It's a fake."
Looking at the colonel reminded David of the fish he used to keep at home. Whenever he was ready to feed them, they would look at him with their mouths opening and closing repeatedly. Even the colonel's wide eyes reminded him of his goldfish.
"What!" the colonel was finally able to scream.
"Yes," said David calmly. "A fake. That can't possibly be a real presidential order, because that is not the president's signature."
"How can you say that? When have you seen the president's signature?"
"Never," admitted David, "but I met a man once who had. He said the P was significantly larger than the C and, as you can see, that is not the case."
The colonel was making the fish-waiting-to-be-fed face again and turned the document around to examine it. Other WTR officers gathered to look over his shoulder. Finally, he turned around and pointed at the signature. "The P is larger than the C."
"I see," said David, "but he said significantly larger, and the man I spoke to was not prone to exaggeration. That P could only be described as the older brother of that C by comparison. Not the daddy or granddaddy of the C.
"Nope," he said loudly for all to hear, "this document is definitely not a real presidential order and therefore not valid. I'm sure it's just some administrative mix-up somewhere. If you can return with the proper documentation, I'm sure we would be glad to assist you."
"This is preposterous, Lieutenant," said the colonel. "We will not leave. We are going to take control of the dam, and you will not stop us." He turned and walked back to his soldiers waiting at the border, signaling for them to start their vehicles and end their smoke breaks.
"You know that document was valid," said Captain Reuben.
David nodded.
"What do we do now?" asked Reuben.
"Stop them," said David.
"Seriously?" asked Reuben. "Do we want to start a war over this?"
"Sir," said David, turning to look at him, "Harold Buchannan was clear that we were not to let that force cross the border. He was so clear that he told me to relieve you and assume personal command myself if I felt you were unable to carry out his orders. Are you able to carry out his orders?"
