by Bobby Akart
“Honey, I know you want to find out why they called off your pickup, but under the circumstances, it’s doubtful you can get to the truth. Am I wrong?”
Duncan nodded. “Probably not. Forget what’s happened to the world for a second. The information I’m trying to attain can’t be found through media inquiries or congressional investigation. In my world, there is no internal affairs to find the truth. We live in the shadows, and the powers that be reside deep within the government. They transcend presidents and politics. More importantly, they protect their own.”
“Like a bro code,” Lucy added.
“More than that, Momma. I’d call it deep-state code, or, even better, shut-up-or-die code. There are names you’ve probably never heard of—Vince Foster, Seth Rich, Jamie Zapata, Mary Mahoney, Ed Willey. The list is long.”
Lucy studied her son’s eyes over her coffee mug. “I never took you to be a conspiracy theorist.”
“Momma, it’s not all conspiracy theory. I wasn’t in North Korea because I thought it up on my own. I most likely wasn’t there upon orders of the president either. Listen, our spy agencies have a group of longtime insiders who make these decisions. They run things, despite what presidents and congress might believe. Whoever ordered the assassination of Kim Jong-un was the same person who retracted the order to retrieve Park and me from North Korea.”
“You could’ve been killed,” Lucy interjected.
“No, I should have been killed,” said Duncan matter-of-factly. “It was a combination of skill and luck that got me out of there alive. My partner was not lucky. Somewhere, his mother is sitting alone at a kitchen table, wondering where her son is. And the people responsible for his death are still tucked in bed, nice and comfy, without giving Park, a good man, a second thought.”
Lucy sat quietly and absorbed Duncan’s words. He was angry and passionate about finding the people responsible. As the rest of the house could be heard stirring awake, she decided to ask one last question. “Duncan, I understand, and I wish your pain could be taken away. Is there any possible way you can move on from this? Can you accept what happened as fate and just let it go?”
“I’d never be able to live with myself if I did.”
Chapter 21
January 2
The Mansion
Austin, Texas
Following a swearing-in ceremony at the state capitol, President Burnett held a reception for high-ranking members of both parties in the ballroom of the Mansion honoring the formation of the new Republic of Texas. Despite the monumental tasks before them, lawmakers of all political persuasions were anxious to get to work in a bipartisan effort to make life better for Texans. However, the matter of refugees coming into the new country remained a point of contention.
“Madam President, congratulations on accomplishing something those of us only dreamed about,” said her new Senate Majority Leader, Connie Miles. The Republican from Flower Mound had been a friend and ally of the president for years.
“Thank you, Connie,” the president responded. “While I appreciate today’s lovefest, I sense the underpinnings of discontent from those on the other side of the aisle.”
“New country, same political issues,” said Miles with a laugh. “The biggest issue seems to be finding ways to feed our residents, especially those in the typically high-crime areas within the Houston and San Antonio inner cities. Armed gangs are forming, and local law enforcement is overwhelmed. Your martial law order is being disregarded by crooks and cops alike.”
“Are our people standing down?” asked the president.
“Madam President, you know I’ve always got your back. I’m sure your Homeland Security folks are overwhelmed dealing with the border, but within Texas, societal collapse is approaching. The spirit of cooperation is giving way to a me first attitude. We’re on the brink, to be honest.”
President Burnett saw the Senate Minority Leader, a rabble-rousing flamethrower of a progressive from Austin, heading their way. Austin had often been referred to as a blueberry in a sea of tomato soup. Prior to the collapse, Austin had ranked in the top ten most liberal cities in America behind such bastions of left-thinking political persuasions as San Francisco, Seattle, New York, Chicago, Detroit, Boston, and Washington, DC.
If Austin was the blueberry, Patrick Linkletter, it’s rotund former mayor and new Senate Minority Leader of Texas, was its Violet Beauregarde of Willy Wonka fame.
His voice, as boisterous as his belly was round, was a megaphone on the left. There was nothing that Marion Burnett could propose, either before or after secession, that he’d agree with.
Free food for all? His people didn’t get their fair share.
A government stipend to stay home and off the street? Mere crumbs from the wealthy oil barons.
Texas has a border and it must be respected? Tear down that wall!
“Madam President, Majority Leader Miles, thank you for inviting this humble servant of the people to this extravagant soirée. I have my assistant gathering my share of the aperitifs to distribute to the hungry outside your beautiful iron fences.”
President Burnett bristled at Linkletter’s pompous, holier-than-thou attitude. Yet she stifled a laugh at the man’s misuse of the word aperitifs. He probably thought he was referring to the appetizers, because there were no dessert cocktails served at this midday gathering.
“Well, thank you, Patrick. I was unaware that we made doggy bags available to our guests.”
“Hrrmph,” grunted Linkletter as he tried to allow the slight to roll off his shoulders. “Madam President, now that the coronation is over, it’s time to do the people’s business. What are you doing to solve the hunger problem?”
“Hmm, world hunger,” started Miles as she stepped in to shield the president. The three leaders of government were starting to draw the attention of several members of the new Congress. “That’s a tall order for any administration, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Minority Leader?”
“Surely you have a plan,” he insisted, ignoring Miles’s deflection.
“Yes, Patrick, I have a plan, and it is being implemented daily. Today, in fact, additional United Nations relief flights are entering Texas for further distribution to our people and to points beyond in the U.S. We are working diligently to marshal our nutrition assets to assist those who need it the most.”
“Well, if you’d come out of your palace and walk around your own neighborhood, you’d see that your efforts are not enough,” said Linkletter disrespectfully.
Miles bowed up and once again came to her old friend’s aid. “What’s your plan, Patrick? I’ve heard nothing but dissent and complaints since this whole thing began. You don’t think we all heard the clips played on WBAP radio?”
“I have a duty as the leader of the opposition party to voice the concerns of the people,” said Linkletter defensively.
“You’ve got the rhetoric down pat, Patrick,” responded Miles sarcastically. “What’s your plan?”
“Okay, since you asked,” he replied, then directed his attention to the president. “For one, call on your rich rancher buddies and tell them to fork over some of those cattle assets they’re sitting on. I have reports of the big ranchers holding onto tens of thousands of head because they couldn’t make it to the auctions before the EMP hit.”
“Come on, Patrick, you can’t be serious,” said the president dismissively. “Our founding principles, just like those of the United States, would be abandoned if we began to confiscate the assets of private citizens for redistribution.”
“Oh, sure, hide behind the Constitution while Texans wither away to nothing,” Linkletter shot back, emboldened by several of his like-minded lawmakers who’d gathered around the conversation.
Miles, who towered over Linkletter by a good six inches, cowgirled up and stuck her finger in his chest. “You need to show some respect to our president, mister.”
“I’ll give her the respect she’s due when she solves our problems,” said Linkletter as
he continued. “How about putting all the farms in this state to work? Your side of the aisle stood idly by while out-of-staters like the Koch brothers swooped in and bought up all the small farms and ranches only to convert them into unproductive patches of dirt. Rather than producing, they cut back on operating the farms so they could artificially drive up the price of food staples around the country.”
“Patrick, you’re being unreasonable,” said President Burnett. “We can’t even find the Koch brothers, much less order them to begin farming.”
Linkletter was on a roll now. “Well, if you can’t find them, then they can’t object to your taking over their operations under the martial law declaration. It’s within your purview. Take over the land, put it to work, and feed your people. Easy breezy, mac and cheesy, in my book.”
Several members of Linkletter’s entourage began to applaud, which drew even more attention. President Burnett was not enjoying this exchange, nor did she like Linkletter getting the upper hand. All of his points struck a nerve with her as she tried to stay true to her principles while helping Texans survive too. Her adjutant general, Kregg Deur, gave her an escape.
He approached and whispered to her, but loudly enough for all to hear. “Madam President, we have a situation. It’s urgent, I’m afraid.”
The president bowed her head, frowned, and nodded her understanding. “I’m afraid we’ll have to take this up another time. Good evening, all.”
President Burnett didn’t like leaving the argument this way, and she was not one to shy away from a fight, but the emergency got her out of an unpleasant situation. As she walked away with Deur, Linkletter fired off one final shot.
“What about the refugees? Are you planning on letting them freeze to death? Do you even know what the body count is?”
She stopped in her tracks and spun around like an angry bear that had been poked one time too many. She strutted back toward Linkletter, who was taken aback by her forcefulness.
“Do the people of Texas you purport to speak for know that you want to let millions of outsiders into our country? Do they know that all of those people want to eat their food? Take their jobs? Live in their homes? Who do you represent, Mr. Minority Leader? Texas or everyone else in the world?”
Linkletter sank within himself as his hypocrisy was exposed. After a death stare, which was caught on camera by a local news photographer, President Burnett turned and left the ballroom without another word.
Chapter 22
January 2
The Mansion
Austin, Texas
President Burnett led the way to her office without asking Deur what the situation was. Linkletter’s rant did give her an idea, however, one that wouldn’t be popular with her ranchers, but it might help everyone solve a problem. As she turned down the hallway, she hailed her chief of staff and instructed her to bring the agriculture secretary to her office immediately.
By the time the president reached her office, she’d forgotten Deur was several paces behind her, trying to keep up. When she moved around her desk to sit, his presence startled her.
“Madam President, my apologies for interrupting you,” started Deur as he stood between the chairs in her office. “The first UN aircraft have landed, and the unloading process has begun.”
“Okay,” she interrupted. “Is there a problem?”
“Madam President, we’re processing the personnel first in order to keep tabs on who is entering our country. Many of their passports are not checking out and not in any database. While they all have personnel files from the UN at my insistence, too many are ghosts, so to speak.”
President Burnett rolled her eyes and fell back into her chair. She knew this was a bad idea, but she was under the gun and had to do something. “Kregg, what do you suggest?”
Before Deur could answer, the president’s chief of staff tapped on the door and announced the arrival of Carlos Fuentes, the Secretary of Agriculture. Fuentes was a descendant of Antonio Fuentes, a San Antonian born of Mexican parents who fought alongside the Texians at the Alamo.
“Madam President,” said Fuentes as he entered the room, “Mr. Adjutant General, my apologies. I understood this to be urgent.”
“It is, Carlos, in a way. Please sit down. You too, Kregg.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Deur, who appeared frustrated that he was not allowed to speak with the president first. President Burnett brushed this off.
“Carlos,” began the president, “this will not be an easy task, but I need you to get on it right away.”
“Yes, ma’am, how may I help?”
“I want you to investigate and determine how many cattle are being held in the twenty largest ranches around Texas. Then I want a number of how many of those head would’ve been taken to slaughter in the remaining months of last year had it not been for the EMP.”
Fuentes raised his hand like he was a student in a classroom. “Madam President, without a significant amount of time and resources devoted to your request, I’d never be able to come up with an exact count. May I ask, are you looking for a specific number, or are you seeking a good estimate in order to make a policy decision?”
“A good estimate, please. I want a number that differentiates the ranchers’ current herd count from what is customary for them. Then I want you to determine the average net weight they would’ve brought at auction and the price per pound at the last auction data at your disposal.”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” said Fuentes. “You’re looking for a total value, I assume.”
“Yes. In addition, I want you to put all of this information into a proposal, one which indicates how many mouths we can feed if we were to purchase the beef cattle from the ranchers at a fair price. Also, calculate the costs of gathering the cattle up, taking them to auction, and ultimately to slaughter. Once you have that number, see the Treasury Secretary and create a budget.”
“Then we’ll come see you,” added Fuentes to close out the president’s thought.
“No later than tomorrow, please,” she instructed without looking up from her desk, which contained a weather forecast. As a result, she didn’t see the look of consternation on the face of her Agriculture Secretary. “That’s all, Carlos. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Madam President.” Fuentes quickly left.
Fuentes left the door open, so Deur got out of his chair and closed it. Curious ears didn’t need to hear what he’d discovered.
“I’m sorry, Kregg, continue.”
“Madam President, I have a gut feeling that the UN has done this purposefully. There are too many of their representatives that have no records for us to review.”
“Whadya wanna do, Kregg, kick ’em out?” asked the president sarcastically. “If we’re gonna do that, at least unload the planes first. We’ll see how that windbag Linkletter likes that idea.”
Unaware of the conversation with Linkletter from earlier, Deur appeared puzzled but continued. “No, ma’am, but I do suggest a quarantine or some type of restriction on their movements. The personnel whose identifications check out may continue with their duties under our supervision. Those who do not are subject to expulsion unless further information on their backgrounds is provided.”
“That sounds fair,” she said, her mind clearly elsewhere. She shuffled some papers to the side and looked to Deur to see if he was finished.
“This will necessarily delay the off-loading of the aircraft and the distribution of the supplies.”
“Kregg, I get it. You gotta do what you gotta do. Why are you bringing this to me anyway? This is Monty’s deal. He’s the one who should deal with it.”
“My apologies, Madam President, but the vice president can’t be found,” Deur answered.
“What? What do you mean? He’s the vice president.”
“Yes, ma’am, of course. After the ceremony at the capitol, the vice president eluded his security detail and left in a dark-colored sedan. It crossed through the security barricades and was last seen head
ed east, away from the downtown area.”
President Burnett finally became attentive to Deur. “Kregg, was he kidnapped? I mean, shouldn’t we do something?”
“Ma’am, apparently his chief of staff is aware of the vice president’s departure. When quizzed about it, he said the vice president needed some private time.”
The president sat back in her chair for a moment and recalled her last several conversations with Gregg. He had been distant and had also expressed some difficulty at home with his wife. She thought maybe he needed a time-out, or just an opportunity to hook up with someone to let off some steam. He was in his early sixties. The wonders of modern pharmaceuticals could make that happen, she supposed.
“Kregg, let’s not call out the dogs just yet. But if he doesn’t turn up by evening, let me know.”
Chapter 23
January 2
Austin, Texas
“Where have you been?” Gregg snarled at his companion in the backseat of the black Lincoln Continental. Gregg was used to people moving heaven and earth to do his bidding. His new position as vice president of Texas didn’t seem to carry the same weight as being the Secretary of Defense of the United States had. More importantly, despite the travails of America following the collapse of the power grid, the deep state was still alive and well. He was just not a part of it anymore.
“Business as usual, Monty,” started Billy Yancey, his former comrade in Washington.
“Well, I need you to be a little more responsive when I need you.”
Yancey dismissed the driver by telling him to take a walk. After he left, he responded to Gregg’s statement. “Now, Monty. Hold up. It was your idea for me to stay in Washington. After that confrontation with Major Armstrong, and when I learned the kid was still alive, it was necessary for me to stick around and keep a pulse on things. I would’ve been just fine riding out this storm at my ranch.”
