by Bobby Akart
“Madam President, the vice president needs you for one moment.”
“Good, please send him in. I’d like him to meet a couple of old friends.”
Gregg marched into the room, which was customary for him, and began to address the president when Major and Duncan rose out of their chairs to greet him.
“Oh, my apologies, I was unaware you had guests,” said Gregg with an air of formality.
Major studied his demeanor. The confidence Gregg had exuded when he entered was quickly replaced with an ashen, almost withdrawn look when he first noticed their presence.
He extended his hand to shake Gregg’s. “Mr. Vice President, it’s an honor to see you again. We met here, at Marion’s secession announcement. I’m Major Armstrong.”
“Yes, um, of course. That was an eventful evening.”
“It sure was,” added Major. “You were here with another gentleman. What was his name?”
An innocent question, so Major thought. Major had made a career out of reading people. Body language told him a lot as he interrogated suspects and dealt with the criminal element. Gregg’s eyes darted back and forth between everyone in the room. For some reason, Major had struck a nerve.
“Oh, of course. Billy Yancey, a fellow Texan and supporter of the president,” replied Gregg. He quickly moved to change the subject. “Who is this stout young man?”
“General Gregg, my name is Duncan Armstrong. I proudly served you for three tours in the Middle Eastern theater and later with special operations. It’s an honor, sir.”
“A pleasure,” said Gregg, who started to back out of the room.
“Monty, did you need something?” asked the president.
“No, Madam President. It can wait.”
“Mr. Vice President, if I may,” started Major, “the matter we need to discuss with the president could use the benefit of your military expertise. What my son has observed could have a profound impact on national security, for both Texas and the United States.”
“Oh?” said Gregg inquisitively.
“That sounds quite ominous and foreboding, Major,” said the president. “Monty, please join us.”
He nodded and took up a seat to the side of President Harman’s desk. Major saw him wipe his palms on his pants as he sat down. He’s nervous.
Duncan was instructed to begin and spent the next ten minutes relaying the details of what he’d seen. Gregg took in the information and occasionally asked a question, but mostly he appeared to be uneasy. His demeanor stood in stark contrast to the evening when Major had met him in the ballroom of the Mansion.
After the discussion was completed, the president assured Major and Duncan she’d pass the information on to her Homeland Security team, who’d increase security patrols along the nation’s western border with New Mexico.
A few pleasantries were exchanged, Gregg excused himself, and the Armstrongs left for their truck. As they walked out of the entry toward the front lawn, Major leaned in and whispered to Duncan, “The new vice president seemed mighty nervous.”
“Yeah, well, he should be.”
Chapter 12
December 28
Austin, Texas
Major and Duncan swiftly, but casually, made their way to the truck without speaking. Both had sensed the tension in the room during their conversation with the president and Gregg. In case they were being observed, they avoided any conversation that might be misconstrued. They were several miles away from the capitol grounds when Major broke the silence.
“Son, the former Secretary of Defense was clearly nervous from the moment he saw us turn around. You woulda thought he’d seen a ghost.”
Duncan didn’t respond right away as he continued to process the brief encounter. Another quarter mile down the road, he pounded the passenger window three times with the back of his fist.
“Son!” shouted Major. “You need to start talkin’ to me, now.”
Duncan stopped clenching his fist and shook his hand to relax it. “Dad, he knew exactly who I was. He may not have known me if we passed one another on the sidewalk, but when he saw you and looked at me, his eyes gave it away. He knows!”
“You mean the assassination attempt?”
“Dang straight, Dad, and probably a lot more.”
Major laughed. “That man was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”
Duncan managed a chuckle, but his mind was clearly racing to a certain conclusion. “Yeah, he was. Listen, Dad. I’ve never met the man in person, but I’ve seen him on TV many times. He’s calm, collected, and the consummate military man. What I saw today was a politician squirming under pressure, constantly eyein’ the exit door.”
“Well, I watched his eyes, son. It’s something I’ve done throughout my career, and it’s served me well, not to mention kept me alive on a couple of occasions. When I met the former Defense Secretary at Marion’s coming-out party, as I like to call it, he had that same shifty look. As soon as I introduced myself, his eyes got squirrelly, and he started looking from me to that Yancey fella.”
“I’m surprised they’d be seen in public together,” said Duncan dryly. He rested his chin on his fist while staring out the passenger window as they cleared the city limits and hit the open highway back to the ranch.
“Do you know the guy?” asked Major.
“Oh yeah, but we only met once,” replied Duncan. “His name is Billy Yancey. He’s a Texan and a butt-buddy of the general, um, vice president. Whatever. Anyway, his official title is head of the Political Action Group within the National Clandestine Service.”
“That’s a mouthful,” quipped Major.
“All you need to know is that he’s former CIA. The PAG, as the Political Action Group is called, conducts psyops, cyber warfare, and creates economic chaos to effectuate regime change. They’re real active in Latin America although they’ve been known to manipulate elections in Europe as well.”
“You mean like that Russian meddling garbage from years ago?” asked Major.
“Dad, what the Russians did on Facebook and Twitter is child’s play compared to what Billy Yancey has orchestrated in the name of American national interests. Trust me, I know. I’ve been right in the middle of it.”
Major slowed the truck, as a group of six people were blocking the road ahead. They had broken out the window of an abandoned car and were looking for anything of value. He gave them a wide berth and picked up speed again.
“Son, would he have been involved in the orders to assassinate Kim Jong-un?”
“Are you kiddin’?” said Duncan with a sarcastic laugh. “It was probably his idea. Here’s the thing, Dad. I’m not gonna argue with their goals or my orders. In a way, I’m to blame for shootin’ the wrong guy. Every sniper has the final say on any mission. It’s his trigger finger that sets things in motion.”
“Kim inserted a body double into the equation,” interrupted Major. “He must have been tipped off.”
“Trust me, I’ve played this through my mind a thousand times. It was either a double-cross by the sister, or she simply got cold feet. My beef isn’t with the North Koreans. It’s with the guy who called off our extraction. They left us for dead, Dad, and someone has to be held to account.”
Major, unaware that his speed was approaching ninety, suddenly caught himself gripping the wheel with white knuckles. “Do you think Gregg and Yancey know something?”
“More than that, Dad. The way Gregg acted today, he may have been the one to give the stand-down order.”
Major slowed to a more reasonable speed as he and Duncan processed their conclusions. Under the circumstances, it was probably best to let it go. They needed to focus their efforts on protecting their family and the ranch. On the other hand, he knew his son to be a principled man who was like a dog with a bone. Once he’d set his mind on something, there was no shakin’ him from it.
“Duncan, even if you could find evidence, what would you do with it?”
“Eye f
or an eye, Dad.”
Chapter 13
December 29
The Armstrong Ranch
Borden County, Texas
Palmer and Sook decided to host a gathering in the barn for the first taekwondo lesson. Riley, who insisted upon learning the Korean martial art, was most likely to be a punching dummy. Duncan sat next to Cooper on top of a picnic table that had been pushed to the side. Major and Lucy found a spot on the other side of the barn on top of some rectangular hay bales. The center of the barn was reserved for Palmer, who took on the role of master of ceremonies, and Sook, who’d been officially proclaimed to be the instructor of the Armstrong Ranch do-jang, the term used in Korean martial arts to refer to their training hall.
“Good afternoon, students,” Sook said with a bow. After a few giggles from the group, as they were still enamored with her accent, they responded, “Good afternoon.”
“Today, I will teach you about the Korean form of martial arts—taekwondo. During World War II, before Korea was separated, our country’s martial arts experts combined karate and Chinese martial arts like kung fu to create our own technique. Taekwondo is about more than fighting. It is also about the human spirit. You will learn this first.”
Palmer joined Riley at the side of the barn so Sook could be the center of attention. Everyone focused on her words, clearly taking her lessons as seriously as the person imparting the knowledge.
Sook continued. “As students of taekwondo, you must, at all times, observe the basic tenets of this art. These principles are basic means of treating one another with respect during training and in life.
“First, practice courtesy to one another. Be polite to one another as you would ask a stranger to be polite to you. Politeness and courtesy are required in everybody’s life to maintain a harmonious society.
“Second, one must be able to know the difference between right and wrong. You must have the power of conscience that if you are wrong, you must feel guilt. This tenet is known as integrity. Without integrity, you will have no self-respect.
“Third, I want you to remember an old saying from the Orient. Patience leads to virtue and merit. One can only make a peaceful home by being patient for one hundred times. In your training and in your life, happiness, prosperity, and achievement will be the reward given to the patient person who is willing to persevere in pursuit of perfection.
“Fourth, all of those who practice taekwondo must remember this is the art of self-defense. It must always be used as a last resort, which requires you to maintain self-control. Taekwondo is the most powerful, and deadly, of the ancient arts. A loss of self-control can be dangerous for the stronger, and deadly for the weaker.
“Fifth, all students of taekwondo must be modest and honest with their fellow man. When you are confronted with injustice, you must deal with hostility without fear or hesitation. You should approach your adversary with an unconquerable spirit, or you will become the conquered. With this spirit inside you, you can pursue your goals with inner peace and strength. You will not fail.”
Everyone nodded their heads, but it was Riley’s reaction that caught them off guard. He broke up the reverent moment with spontaneous applause and a Texas-sized yee-haw. When nobody joined in, the ever-emotional Riley, who stood the most to gain from the tenets of taekwondo, dropped his chin to his chest and stepped backwards toward the outside wall of the barn.
Sook understood Riley’s enthusiasm. In a way, her recital of the tenets of taekwondo weren’t unlike what she envisioned a minister saying to her in church. The principles had deep philosophical meanings for those who practice the art, but also for those who were looking for guidance in their life.
Clearly, what she said to the group was especially helpful to Riley. He might not learn the techniques, but he had a grasp of how to apply them to his life. Sometimes, that was more important than learning how to fight back.
Chapter 14
December 30
Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico
After the initial snowstorms that had greeted Joseph Manuel Holloway and his band of North Korean gang members during their drive to Carlsbad Caverns, the skies cleared, bringing warm sunshine. Their spirits were high as more North Korean operatives from the Lightning Death Squads found their way to deep rocky caverns hidden high above the Chihuahuan Desert.
During the last several days, Holloway had endeared himself to the Korean forces by first bringing them gifts, which he had procured from the National Guard Armory in Roswell. But it was his tales of battle in the Middle East and the conversation of training techniques of the Afghan soldiers that gained him respect.
While the Lightning Death Squads were well trained and committed to their cause, they’d never seen actual combat. The Kim regime and the million-man army it boasted had never invaded a foreign land nor had it engaged any enemy in combat. There wasn’t a combat veteran among them.
Holloway warned their newly appointed general of the North American invasion, Kyoung-Joo Lee, that his men’s training was second to none, but their reaction in an actual firefight was suspect.
As a result of their frank conversations, Lee took Holloway into his inner circle, much to the chagrin of his North Korean commanders. They were fighting an ideological war, one bent on revenge and born out of jealousy. While not being overtly critical of Holloway for fear of execution by Lee’s orders, the men certainly slighted the only American within their ranks at every opportunity.
Holloway subtly made Lee aware of this. He didn’t mind being ostracized by the Koreans. He remained focused on the prize—leading an advance team into Texas so he could partake of the spoils before these locusts destroyed everything in sight.
“General Lee,” Holloway greeted Lee respectfully as he approached the commander and spread a map out on the cave floor. Hundreds of candles flickered around them as some of the soldiers slept on the rock floor while others talked among themselves about girls, home, and what the future would bring.
Lee, who’d spent ten years in Canada training operatives before finding ways to assist them across the border into the U.S., had mastered the English language and was able to converse with Holloway fluently.
“Go ahead, Holloway,” he responded.
“Thank you, sir. As you know, the goal was to destroy the heartbeat of America with the electromagnetic pulse bombs. The nuclear attack was unexpected, but successful, although it did not finish the job. America still has a pulse and it is Texas.”
Lee nodded in agreement. “This is why Dear Leader has ordered us to attack Texas and force it into darkness like the rest of America.”
“Exactly, but our time is growing short. Each day, our scouts report that the Texans are increasing their security forces along their western border shared with New Mexico. I believe we must begin to assess our plans of invasion.”
Lee straightened his back somewhat, indicating to Holloway that he needed to tread lightly on the new general’s turf.
“When the time is right, we will invade.” Lee bristled in his response.
“General, may I suggest that an advance team, led by me and my handpicked men, should enter Texas. We should determine the most accessible route for your soldiers. We can assess the weaknesses of the enemy and communicate the information to you by satellite telephone. Knowledge is power, General, and without the benefit of air and satellite reconnaissance, we must obtain information about the enemy the old-fashioned way—with boots on the ground and eyes wide open.”
Lee pondered Holloway’s suggestion for a minute, picking up the map at one point to get a closer look at the topography and its borders.
History had molded Texas to form the unmistakable shape with its sharp angles of the Panhandle, sweeping curves along Mexico as it followed the Rio Grande, and the jagged edges formed by the Red River and the Gulf of Mexico.
Only a handful of roads stretched into the state from Roswell to their north, in the direction of West Texas, and the Mexican border to their south.
“You will not be able to cross the border in our vehicles,” said Lee. “Our scouts have confirmed double fencing with prison razor wire preventing access. Now, the patrols have increased along this entire boundary.”
Returning his attention to the map, Lee ran his fingers along the western part of Texas from El Paso due east, until a harsh right angle sent the border north to form the Panhandle.
“Yes, General, I have those reports as well. However, there is an exception that we can exploit.”
“Where?” asked Lee as he handed the map back to Holloway.
Unbeknownst to Lee, Holloway had sent two of his men on a twenty-mile trek through the Lonesome Ridge Wilderness area of the Guadalupe Mountains. They found the terrain to be too treacherous for fencing at the Texas border. There were no roads, but walking paths and four-wheeler trails were abundant. After a full day of travel, Holloway’s scouts learned that they’d entered deep into Texas without knowing it. There were no fences, no border guards, and no signs of life in the national park except for deer.
“Here, through the mountains, only twenty miles to our southeast,” replied Holloway as he pointed at the map. “We wouldn’t be able to use our vehicles, but I feel certain we could find suitable transportation once we’ve entered their territory.”
Lee pondered Holloway’s request and stared into the candles. Holloway knew Lee was anxious to begin his operations around the country, not just against Texas, but also at strategic points elsewhere. He was stymied by the lack of communications with the leadership in Pyongyang. Since the dropping of the nuclear bombs, he’d expressed his concerns about moving forward with the absence of direct orders from Dear Leader. Holloway knew this proposal would give Lee the feeling that he was accomplishing something while waiting for further instructions from his superiors.
