Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

  “Aren’t we already free?” John asked.

  Zach looked at Pops, a tiny bit irritated with this guy who was interrupting his conversation with Pops. “Pops, forgive me, but where was he during the whole Texas Crisis? Can he really sit there and ask if we are free after that whole damned federal incursion? How in the world…”

  “Son, son… Calm down. John here is just old school law and order. He doesn’t trust civilians to take matters of law into their own hands. He don’t mean anything by it. Let’s get back to the matters at hand. You said you have some evidence?”

  “Beard here is going to fire up his laptop and show you some documents and communications we intercepted.”

  “Intercepted?” commented the deputy Ranger.

  “Hold on, John, let them show us what they’ve got,” snapped Pops.

  “Beard is going to start walking you through what we have.” Zach motioned to Beard as he set his laptop on a large mesquite coffee table and turned it to face Pops.

  “Boys, tell me one thing. Do you have a name for the bald-headed Russian?” Pops asked.

  Zach looked at Will and Beard. They were all dumbfounded that Pops already had this lead.

  “Yes, sir, we do. His name is Vasily Volkov. He is from St. Petersburg, Russia. He came to the U.S. two years ago on a six-month temporary visa, although under a different name, and apparently never left,” cited Beard matter-of-factly. “He’s former KGB.”

  Pops and the Rangers were now equally dumbfounded that these three could easily espouse the name of the man they had been hunting as the lead suspect in the Milsap murder.

  Pops took another drag on his cigar, then leaned forward. “Show me what ya have, boys,” he said as he got closer to the laptop on the table.

  “Beard, walk him through all the documents,” instructed Zach.

  For the next twenty minutes, Beard showed Pops and the Rangers everything they had on Volkov. The Rangers were astounded at the level of detail, the scope of the communications, and the accuracy of the information.

  “I’ve got to ask, sir, how did you know you had a Russian for a prime suspect?” asked Zach.

  “Some very shaky, after-the-fact eyewitness information that was just circumstantial. They didn’t see the murder, but they did have interactions with someone that spoke with a deep Russian or Ukrainian accent with his description in the area both before and after the murder,” answered Pops. “Now we just have to understand the motive and find this scumbag.”

  “Sir, we have a contact who just laid eyes on him yesterday in Alexandria, Virginia,” said Zach.

  Pops moved back into his chair slowly, reached for the lighter and relit his cigar, which had been unattended in the large ashtray as Beard led Pops’ team through the evidence. What Beard hadn’t done so far was connect the dots between CIS, Ottosson and Volkov.

  “You boys aren’t telling me something, right?” Pops squinted and locked down his steely blue eyes on Beard.

  Beard looked nervously back at Zach.

  “Pops, we believe Milsap was being extorted,” said Zach.

  “Milsap had a problem with the ladies. However, he wasn’t wealthy and you don’t get a bullet in the back of the head from a former KGB agent simply because someone saw an opportunity to bribe a few bucks from a cheating husband,” said Pops.

  “Well, no, sir,” answered Zach.

  “This is tied to the referendum vote, isn’t it?” asked Pops.

  Zach was ticked off at himself for underestimating Pops. Yes, they were telling Pops some things he didn’t know or have, but they weren’t that far ahead of him. He just hadn’t made the CIS connection.

  “Yes, sir, but it’s a little more complicated than that,” Zach said reluctantly.

  “What the hell is a high-level Russian KGB agent doing in Texas, assassinating a middle-of-the pack state politician who’s not wealthy? Who is willing to do a murder for hire to defeat this referendum? Boys, it’s time to stop pussy-footin’ around and tell me what you really have!” Pops ordered firmly.

  Zach looked at Will and Beard.

  “Sir, can I speak to you privately?” asked Zach.

  Pops looked at his Rangers and said, “Gentlemen, go out to the kitchen and take these two boys with you and grab some chow. Mr. Turner and I are going to chat.”

  The rest of them got up and left the room.

  Beard and Will turned back to look at Zach. The plan all along had been to only give Pops the information he needed on the Milsap murder, but Pops was even more intuitive than they had calculated. Would Zach tell Pops everything?

    

  “Son, I get the distinct sense you are holding out on me,” said Pops, letting out a huge billow of cigar smoke.

  Zach had such immense respect and reverence for Pops that he was struggling internally to stick to the original plan.

  “Sir, this is only the tip of the iceberg. What we uncovered is so large―and so unbelievable―that I have deep-seated concerns about who sees it because I have people in very vulnerable positions who could die if this gets out.”

  “Son, do you trust me?” asked Pops.

  “Yes, sir, I honestly do. But I can’t speak for anyone beyond you.”

  “Well, son, let’s do this. How ’bout you share with me what you know and I’ll commit to you right here and now, that information will not be shared with anyone unless you grant me permission? You have my word. Will that work for you?” asked Pops convincingly.

  Zach pondered this for a few seconds. His thoughts immediately traveled to his network of operatives and their families but, if there was anyone he could trust outside of his inner circle, it would be Pops. As long as Pops kept the information, he decided he was comfortable.

  “Sir, if you will commit to me that this information won’t leave this room, I will share what I know,” began Zach.

  “You already have it, son.”

  “Sir, the same Vasily Volkov that murdered Senator Milsap was on the chartered fishing boat the day Chief Justice Noyner died.”

  “Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Pops.

  “It was called Operation Walrus. They injected him somehow while he was on the deck of the boat with what’s called a Russian cocktail that causes heart failure and seizures, then they shoved him overboard, where he likely drowned.”

  Pops sat silent for a few moments before saying, “This guy is apparently an assassin for hire. Who hired him? You’re not telling me the Russian government had our chief justice murdered, are you?”

  “He was working for a supposed lobbyist for the Swedish firm CIS. His name is Nils Ottosson.”

  “CIS? The damned foreign election systems firm those dumbasses in D.C. hired to run the elections?” asked Pops.

  “Yes, sir,” Zach confirmed. “They don’t actually run them, but most of the states use their software and cloud applications for their election systems. And it gets worse, sir.”

  Pops put his cigar down in the ashtray and stood up. He took his cowboy hat off, rubbed his head, then put it back on as he stroked his mustache. Pops seemed to move and talk slowly to most people; however, despite his apparent age, his mind was sharp as a tack, and now it was working overtime.

  “No autopsy! I said a hundred times, why in the hell aren’t the feds doing an autopsy?” complained Pops.

  “Same as me, sir. In fact, this is what originally got us suspicious, you know, with us being conspiracy theorists and all,” Zach said half-jokingly, referring to the deputy Ranger who was questioning their motives earlier.

  “Go on, son. I know you ain’t done.”

  “The election, sir.” Zach paused.

  Pops turned back toward Zach with a look he had never seen from Pops.

  “Damn it to hell! What is wrong with these lame-ass politicians? You are going to tell me now, I’m sure, that somehow this CIS was able to impact the last elections, aren’t you?”

  “Sir, they did more than impact it; they manufactured the results.”

/>   “Sons of bitches. I knew it,” snarled Pops, referring to the improbable comeback Bartlett staged to win. “Son, you better show me everything you have.”

  “Let me get Beard, who can pull up all of these files and communications, sir.” Zach began to walk toward the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to Pops.

  “Sir, there is something very important. We’ve uncovered some kind of plot for an operation they have dubbed as Madison. So far, we don’t have any data whatsoever on what, where or when this operation will happen,” admitted Zach.

  “Madison? If it involves these turds, it can’t be good,” Pops said, indicating that Zach should go get Beard.

  A few minutes later, Beard, Will and Zach were briefing Pops with all the records and details.

  “Should I ask you boys how you happened to get this information?” asked Pops, partly in jest, but also partly curious.

  “Sir, I would attribute our ability to gain this intelligence cache to the fine training all three of us had at the CIA.”

  As they began to pore through the records, Pops’ deputy commander came out of the kitchen wanting to take part in the discussion. The trio had arrived at the ranch near noon and it was getting close to 9:00 in the evening. The deputy really wanted to participate in whatever they were talking about.

  Pops glanced up. “John, why don’t you and the team go on home? I’m going to spend a little more time with these fine boys.”

  Zach knew Pops wasn’t really asking.

  “Are you sure, sir?” John asked, looking at the two open laptops and files spread all over the mesquite table, more than curious about what he was being left out of.

  “Yeah, we’ll be fine and, hell, Barbara’s probably wondering where the hell you were for dinner,” chuckled Pops to distract the Ranger, referring to the deputy’s wife.

  As the deputy commander and the other Rangers left, Pops’ demeanor changed. He became more intense and began scrutinizing every piece of evidence the trio produced for him to review.

  At half-past midnight, Pops pushed back from the table.

  “We got us one helluva pickle, boys. Last year’s crisis was the most challenging time I’ve seen in my lifetime, other than the Big War. This goes so far and so deep, I ain’t sure if it’s fixable.” He got up and stretched. “I can see why you’re holding on to this. It’s the most dangerous information I’ve ever come across. It’s pure evil at its core. I need to sleep on it. You boys stay here tonight,” commanded Pops, like it wasn’t even a question.

  “Sir, we really need to get back to our families,” said Will.

  “Damn, son, you gotta stay here so we can work on this first thing in the morning. What the hell is more important in your life right now than saving this country?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many others know what we know tonight, boys? Exactly how many and who are they?” queried Pops.

  “Just our crew, sir, four others. I trust them with my life,” said Zach.

  “And are they instructed not to share anything with anybody?”

  “That is correct, sir, and they won’t.”

  “Well, gentlemen, my house nanny will show you to your rooms. Thanks for sharing the information. Let’s see if we can get some damned sleep, knowing we’ve got the fate of the entire western civilization in our hands. I know it won’t do no good to tell you I wish I didn’t know what you know.”

  “Honestly, sir, I’ll speak for myself, but it helps us that we can share this with you,” admitted Beard. “It’s a load to carry.”

  “Well, I hope I wake up in the morning with you boys as a figment of my imagination and this as some kind of nightmare, because this is going to get bad… really, really bad.” Pops said with finality as he strolled down the hall toward the master bedroom.

  Chapter 30

  “I think Americans raise eyebrows when you tell them that IRS agents are training with a type of weapon that has stand-off capability. It’s not like they’re carrying a sidearm, and they knock on someone’s door and say, You’re evading your taxes.”

  - Jeff Duncan (R)

  South Carolina Congressman

  President Bartlett and Chief of Staff Weingold walked out of the Oval Office together across the corridor headed into the Roosevelt Room. Already seated in the room were IRS Commissioner Ivan Stanislau, NSA Director Blake Herron, and Secretary of the Treasury Bethany Hobst.

  Stanislau, an attorney by trade, was a crotchety, stubborn and inept career bureaucrat who had risen to the top of the IRS food chain as he mastered Deep State politics with ruthless aplomb. He considered himself an intellectual elitist, and he thoroughly enjoyed the unbridled power he held at the IRS to invoke fear in political enemies. His ability to consolidate power at the IRS kept him rising through the ranks, no matter which Party occupied the White House. Even his boss, Secretary Hobst, feared him.

  He thought it strange, however, that they weren’t in the Oval office with just these few people, as the Roosevelt Room with its stately formal conference table and chairs seated sixteen. On opposite ends of the table were paintings of both the Roosevelt presidents (Teddy and Franklin D.), who were principally responsible for the remodeling of the room during their administrations. It was typically reserved for cabinet meetings.

  Everyone stood as President Bartlett walked in.

  “Good morning, Madam President,” everyone said.

  The president jumped right in with no chit chat. “Milton is going to lead us through this meeting,” she stated.

  “First, per my instructions last week, I want to make sure this meeting is not on your calendars or your staff’s calendars.” Weingold peered over his glasses that rested half-way down his nose.

  Everyone nodded.

  “Okay. Now, first and foremost, this meeting didn’t happen. It’s not on the president’s schedule nor mine, and it shouldn’t be on yours. You will each come out separate entrances in an unmarked, blacked-out vehicle, just as you came in,” he instructed.

  President Bartlett stood.

  “It was very nice seeing everyone here,” she said, then she walked out the door and closed it behind her.

  The meeting attendees were confused by her abrupt departure.

  “I’m sure you’re asking yourselves why the president didn’t stay for this meeting, especially since she requested your presence and because we went to great lengths to protect anyone from outside eyes who may be prying now or at some later point,” Weingold said.

  “We understand,” replied Director Herron, referring to the fact that the president likely needed plausible deniability that she was ever a part of this meeting.

  Stanislau thought to himself how strange it was that she kicked off the meeting, yet needed deniability that she was ever a part of it. He figured to himself that she made an appearance simply to let all those attending know that this was her meeting, whether or not she was actively participating. It was her agenda that was going to be carried out by Weingold.

  “First, let’s get an update on the service of all the audit and collection summonses issued by your department, Secretary Hobst,” said Weingold, looking at Hobst, knowing Stanislau would be the one doing the briefing.

  “Mr. Weingold, Mr. Stanislau can update us all,” she replied.

  “Sure, thank you, Madam Secretary. We had a total of ninety-two summons that were issued and all but one was delivered,” Stanislau stated.

  “Who didn’t get theirs?” asked Weingold.

  “A state senator in Texas named Milsap. He was killed a few weeks ago. We didn’t see any need to add this to his wife and family’s misery,” added Stanislau.

  “That’s not your decision nor Treasury’s to make. Issue the summons to his wife, Mr. Stanislau,” Weingold instructed in a very condescending tone. “What enforcement actions have taken place?”

  “We have levied bank accounts or restricted access to funds for about half of them so far. I think the total number in levy status is about thirty-ei
ght.”

  “Why have only slightly half had enforcement actions?” asked Weingold to Hobst again.

  “Sir, there are some legalities and processes we must follow. Otherwise, we risk bringing the eyes of the Inspector General in, which nobody here wants. It will muddy the water and delay things,” Hobst said.

  “We have about forty-five days before the Texas governor can call for a special session. He has to fill the vacancy for the unfortunate state senator who died first. I need your assurance that the remaining enforcement actions will be carried out by then, Madam Secretary,” stated Weingold.

  Hobst looked again at Stanislau.

  “It will be tight, sir, but we will make it happen,” replied Stanislau.

  “Now, Director Herron, can you update us all, please?”

  “Data capture is going smoothly for the most part. We are sharing this information with Mr. Stanislau and the IRS to detect anything that might raise questions, concerns and opportunities. There are a handful of names on the list who are not providing us with electronic signatures, so our tracking of them has been inconsistent and void of much useful data,” stated Herron.

  “This is what I want to know,” pressed Weingold. “I need to know what aberrations we have, if any. Are these legislators? Who are they?”

  “No, sir, this group of about twelve is made up of former Special Forces and CIA operatives who are connected to a group called Free Texas. As far as we can tell, they are a Tea Party-aligned constitutional militia of some sort,” Herron said.

  “Ex-CIA?” Weingold asked, concerned.

  “Yes, sir, CIA.”

  “Do we have outstanding warrants related to the Texas Crisis for them?”

  “No, sir, we do not. They weren’t identified positively in any of the actions at the time. These guys obviously learned their trade well at the CIA. We can’t connect the dots yet, but it would be unlikely that they weren’t in the thick of things at the time,” noted Herron.

  “I want warrants on them, too. Also, with the warrants, we can ramp up the surveillance on them as needed,” said Weingold.