Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

  “Pops, the minute we step foot outta the State of Texas, the feds will reinstate that original warrant on you somehow. How the hell are we going to pull this off?”

  “Nobody needs to know we are leaving. Tell command to make up an excuse for not meeting with the FBI today. Hell, tell ’em I got the damned runs or something!”

  He continued. “We can’t use any DPS aircraft. Get someone to charter us a commercial plane under some other name. Ain’t no way I’m getting on a state plane, right now, anyway. We also don’t want them to file the real flight plan. We can deviate and change course in the air.”

  Two hours later, a chartered Citation lifted off the ground from Addison Airport in north Dallas, headed to a private airport in the D.C. suburbs.

  After fifty years in law enforcement, Pops was now faced with the decision of his life. Just going to where Will was holding Ottosson could put him at odds with the law he was sworn to uphold. What was even worse was that he had no idea how Will’s crew had coaxed these admissions from Ottosson. Pops never believed in torture of any kind for prisoners of war, much less an American citizen on American soil. Few people realized that Pops entered the Korean War at eighteen years old and was captured by the North Koreans. He was held for ninety-seven days before he fashioned a daring escape that freed him and three other American soldiers. Pops was awarded the Silver Star for his valor.

  While Pops was a POW, the North Koreans inflicted horrible beatings and torture sequences on him and his three fellow Marines. In Pops’ mind and in his heart, torture of any kind was extremely difficult to justify.

  Chapter 58

  “The biggest threat to the American people today lies with the United States government. And while gun ownership stands as a barrier to potential, Nazi-like behavior, the long-term solution is to dismantle, not reform, the iron fist of the welfare state and the controlled economy. This includes the end (not the reform) of the IRS, the DEA, the ATF, the SEC, the FDA, HUD, the departments of HHS, Labor, Agriculture, and Energy, and every other agency that takes money from some and gives it to others or interferes with peaceful behavior. It entails the repeal of all laws that permit such conduct. And it means the privatization of most of the bureaucrats who work for the U.S. government.”

  - Jacob G. Hornberger

  Future of Freedom Foundation 1997

  Milton Weingold opened the door to the Oval Office as President Bartlett was on the telephone with the Prime Minister of Israel.

  Bartlett liked to conduct many of her calls with heads of state from other countries without being monitored by her chief of staff or cabinet members. The calls would be recorded, then replayed later to determine whether to keep the recordings. Bartlett was very sensitive to criticism and did not appreciate any guidance that may come her way from inside the West Wing while a conversation was taking place.

  Bartlett immediately noticed the look on Weingold’s face, letting her know that his sudden entrance in the middle of her phone call wasn’t appreciated and would likely mean he had disturbing or unsettling news. Bartlett ended the call abruptly. Few outside of Bartlett’s close associates knew of her vicious temper that could flare with the slightest provocation.

  “I’m sorry, Madam President. I’ve received several calls from CIS, members of Congress and the CIA regarding Ottosson. He’s nowhere to be found.”

  “What the hell does that mean, Milt? I’ve told you people before that he was a liability because he can’t keep his damned prick in his pants. He’s probably shacked up with some whore somewhere on a drinking binge. Why in the hell are you interrupting my call for something like this?”

  “Whenever this has happened before…”

  “Before? How many times has this happened?” Bartlett asked.

  “It has happened before, but the difference this time is the CIA always knew how to get in touch with him. Even the CIA has not heard from him in three days, and he always answers them.”

  Bartlett looked at Weingold, who still had a very pained look on his face.

  “What are you not telling me, Milt?”

  “The CIA detected incursions into the messaging system and files they have on Ottosson. Somebody has breached Langley’s systems to acquire highly confidential files on Ottosson.”

  “How is that possible? What the hell are you really telling me, Milt?”

  “It means someone has possibly gotten access to highly sensitive information. In the wrong hands, it would be extremely damaging.”

  “Milt, why in the hell would we keep that kind of information stored anywhere?”

  “We don’t, exactly, but we are being told that CIS systems have been breached also. It’s the combination of those two breaches, coupled with Ottosson’s absence, that has our attention.”

  “Can we tell what they acquired in the breaches?”

  “No, but Langley is saying the methodology of the breaches is consistent with the unlocking of different security protocols in succession. It’s like following a trail, and the trail leads ultimately to places we don’t want anyone to go. Also, we were confident in CIS’ ability to lock down data in the past, but whoever is doing this is getting inside information of some kind.”

  “Are you telling me Ottosson has turned somehow?”

  “I doubt it. He’s gotten rich. Why would he do anything other than protect his own interests at this point?” Weingold questioned.

  Weingold and Bartlett had an unspoken agreement never to discuss Volkov. Bartlett didn’t even know his name, but she knew the CIA connected a Russian intelligence operative with CIS and the results, for their purposes, had been spectacular.

  “What about the Russian? Could he have been turned?” asked Bartlett reluctantly.

  “I guess anything is possible, but he had indicated his desire to completely disappear after Dallas. He was paid handsomely and will continue to get paid with each month that goes by. He has no reason to turn or divulge information at this point,” Weingold stated quietly.

  “Do we know what they know?”

  “No, we don’t know anything other than what I am telling you. We’ve checked on Ottosson’s passport and he hasn’t left the country, as far as we can tell.”

  “Damn it, Milt, look how far we’ve come. We are right on the cusp of major reforms. We’ve got the Court turned. We’ve quashed the Texas thing. We are turning the majority in Congress with each election with the help of CIS. Hell, we are about to turn the 2nd Amendment on its ear. We cannot afford a setback; do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Madam President, I agree. There’s only so much we can ask Langley to do. We have to remember there are still a few Boy Scouts there, Madam President. We can’t afford a complete investigative resource effort of the CIA or FBI or send signals to alert the inspector general of each department. We have all the directors and their subordinates on board, but all it takes is one of those Boy Scouts divulging something to the press, and we are in big trouble.”

  “Who knows how to reach the Russian?”

  “I do not, but I have a CIA resource who likely can. If anyone can, he can. But remember, Madam President, he vowed to retire and completely disappear after Dallas. He stated on numerous occasions that, if the money kept coming, we’d never hear from or see him again.”

  “Part of his deal was we would keep paying him as long as the investigation went as planned and none of his compatriots were arrested or charged, right―for years to come?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “If we are paying him monthly, then somebody knows how to reach him.”

  “I’m not sure about that, Madam President.”

  “If you can’t find him in the next twenty-four hours, then quit paying him,” Bartlett snapped. “This will flush him out and force him to reach out to someone. Since we have been told he is the best in the world at what he does and, if we haven’t found Ottosson in the next twenty-four hours, his continued payments are contingent upon him finding―or dealing with Ottosson.”
>
  “Madam President, are you sure this is what you want me to do?”

  “Milt, you can’t find Ottosson, right?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “You’re telling me CIA and CIS systems have been breached to the point someone may have intelligence or evidence against us?”

  “Possibly, Madam President.”

  “Do you have another plan, Milt? Right now you aren’t presenting me with many options.”

  “Madam President, the Russian is highly volatile.”

  “Damn it, so is Ottosson, for different reasons. But is he reliable? Isn’t that what you have been told?”

  “Yes, reliable is an understatement.”

  “If you can’t locate the Russian to help us find Ottosson, then turn off his access to money.”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Have you provided me an alternative?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve only giving you the facts as they stand at this moment. But, Madam President, let me express my utmost reservations at stopping the flow of money to the Russian.”

  “If you’ve got a better plan, Milt, now is the time to tell me.”

  “I do not, Madam President.”

  “Then why are you still standing there?” Bartlett barked. Weingold dropped his head and replied before answering sheepishly, “I will implement this immediately.”

  “I want hourly updates, Milt. I want the CIA director in my office within the hour, along with the NSA director or anyone who can tell me how we are going to find these two people,” she ordered Weingold as he was leaving the Oval Office.

  “Yes, Madam President. I will make this happen.”

  Weingold slunk out of the office, his tail figuratively between his legs.

  Chapter 59

  “A society of sheep must in time beget a government of wolves.”

  - Bertrand de Jouvenel (1903-1987)

  French Philosopher & Economist

  “Right now, I don’t want you to take me to Ottosson. I want you to show me the videos you took,” Pops told Will as they met at a pre-determined location about twenty miles from where Ottosson was being held.

  “Pops, before you watch this, you must understand we did what we had to do to get Ottosson to give us this information.”

  “Son, if you did what I think you might have done with this scumbag, I’m not sure how reliable the information will be. I’ve seen men who have had the snot beaten out of them and would give their captors any information, true or not, just to stop the pain. Doesn’t mean it’s real.”

  For the next two hours Will and Beard showed Pops and Dyson the videos of Ottosson’s interrogation. Pops winced, then got up from his chair from the very first moment Ottosson was struck on the foot with the sledgehammer.

  “None of what you will see from here forward is life-threatening to him,” said Will. He couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable Pops was with the blow to Ottosson’s foot.

  “Boys, I’ve seen this method before, and I’ll tell y’all right now that most men will say anything you want to hear to stop the pain.”

  “Sir, we asked him open-ended questions that we either knew the answers to or ones in which we had some evidence he was connected,” offered Beard.

  “Go on; show us the rest of the tape,” directed Pops.

  Pops and Dyson watched the rest of the tape without much emotion except from Dyson, who got very uncomfortable with Ottosson’s guttural screams when the voltage was ramped up on his scrotum.

  “What do we do with this information now that we have it?” asked Will. “We’ve got to get Zach outta jail. This should do it.”

  “Except that it will put you two boys in jail. I’m glad I’m seeing this outside my jurisdiction ’cuz I’d be obligated to haul you boys in.”

  “Hell, Pops, this is learned behavior by these CIA spooks. They do this crap all over the world, I’m sure,” commented Dyson.

  “Sir, no disrespect, but I’m not sure if we have time to argue the morality of enhanced interrogation techniques. I will tell you it has helped us avoid serious terrorist attacks you don’t even know about. We’ve got a mass shooting of eight hundred people, many of whom were kids, and there’s evidence that ties this directly back to the White House,” said Will.

  “Son, we understand that. It’s not been proven that the stories you get as a result of torture are consistently reliable. Not to mention that some poor innocent son of a bitch could be tortured. It completely skips due process and, as much as you boys are protectors of the Constitution, I would imagine that would be important to you.”

  “It is, sir, believe me.”

  “Ya know, son, I think of the Constitution kinda like the Bible. You can’t pick out that piece there and this piece here to suit your fancy,” Pops told them. “I’m sure the CIA taught you this was acceptable. King George, Stalin, Hitler, Mussolini and other tyrants tortured their people. Terrorists torture people.” Pops turned from Will and Beard toward Dyson, “Damn it, Dyson, exactly when the hell did this country fall to the dark side? We used to be better than this? We won the Big War without torturing anyone,” said Pops, shaking his head.

  Will didn’t want to argue with Pops, but was intent on having Pops see things his way. “Sir, now that you have this information, what do you want to do with it? The damned Deep State is so vast, I’m not sure who we can trust. Do you have people in law enforcement at the federal level you can trust?”

  Pops pulled his paper cup up to his mouth to spit some tobacco juice, generated by the pinch between his bottom lip and gums, into it as he pondered Will’s question. “I know this. If you turn Ottosson loose, none of us will ever hear from him or see him again. They’ll get rid of him. Now, if Ottosson was somehow in Texas where we could arrest him and keep him in protective custody, that would be the first step. There are very few Yankees in D.C. I can trust. You gotta remember that most of them boys at the FBI would love to do to me what you just did to this Ottosson fellow. The damned governor is no help; he’s part of the problem. He has too many ties to D.C. and I don’t trust him as far as an armadillo can piss.”

  “We understand. We can get him to Texas, Mr. Younger.”

  “What about that Russian? If what Ottosson claims is true, and I believe it is, I want that son of a bitch.” Pops stopped, glaring at them. “Surely your spooks across the pond can find this nut job terrorist?”

  “Sir, he’s the best we ever faced in the CIA. If he’s been handsomely paid and has decided to really disappear, then we will have a very hard time finding him. Outside of Osama Bin Laden, he’s the most wanted man by the CIA for twenty years, but the public will never hear his name. He’s killed at least six of our operatives over the years and dozens more from other countries. He’s smart, very smart, and he’s brutally effective.”

  “He may be smart but, like all criminals, he’ll make a mistake. When he does, I plan to be there to make him bleed for taking down the governor and those poor kids,” Pops vowed.

  Pops and Dyson got back on the Citation to take them back to Dallas. They sat quietly in their seats without speaking for nearly thirty minutes.

  Finally, Dyson spoke up, “The Pops Younger I’ve known for forty years would have slapped handcuffs on those boys for kidnapping and assault.”

  “Yep, you’re right, Dick. In normal times. These ain’t normal times. You can consider us undercover, waitin’ for the right opportunity to take it all down.”

  “That was a lot to take in, Pops. You can’t carry this burden alone. We’ve got to find some help.”

  “There isn’t any at the federal level. I used to laugh at this Deep State thing as some invention of conspiracy wackos. Hell, the proof of how deep and how wide this thing runs is we’ve got nowhere to go with the information we just learned. Who the hell do we trust? We have Senator Perez and that’s about it,” complained Pops. “I think we need some trusted sources in the press. If those boys end up with Ottosson back in Texas, then we can make
some progress. That video’s credibility will be challenged by the torture. Damn, I really wish they hadn’t done that.”

  “The IRS commissioner’s assassination will ramp up the search for Will and the rest of Zach’s crew like never before. I give them even odds to make it back to Texas with Ottosson,” said Dyson.

  “They’ve got a network of fellows just like them. They’ll make it.”

  “Sounds like you have a plan.” Dyson glanced at Pops.

  “Ottosson isn’t safe, even when in custody. If the Russian knows we’ve got him, and if he doesn’t know yet, he’ll know soon enough, he’s wily enough to reach him no matter where we hold him. It’s very important that he be kept safe. And besides, Ottosson is how I can draw out the Russian.”

  “So you are going to use Ottosson for bait for the Russian?”

  “Like a jackrabbit in a bear trap! Wherever he’s holed up, as soon as he knows we have Ottosson, you can bet the Russian will not be far away.”

  Pops and Dyson continued to discuss strategy, all contingent upon them successfully transporting Ottosson to Texas. Pops informed Dyson that the only safe place he knew to put Ottosson was in the Death Row Unit of the Huntsville State Prison in Texas.

  “The Death Row Unit is a maximum-security facility,” said Pops. ”What could be better?”

  Surely, Volkov couldn’t reach Ottosson there…

    

  Dyson received a call late in the evening from Will. The van carrying Ottosson, along with Turnbow, Beard, and four others, were in Texarkana and would be in Dallas in the wee hours of the morning. They decided on a rendezvous point in Dallas, and the Texas Rangers were going to escort the van another two-and-a-half hours south to Huntsville. Then, and only then, would Pops rest. He would have Ottosson secured away to plan the next steps of how this damaging information to the entire Republic could be divulged.

  By 3:00 a.m., Pops and Dyson both were getting concerned that they had not heard from Will. He was an hour and a half late at the rendezvous point in south Dallas. The Texas Rangers had staged six vehicles along the route to fall in line in front and in back of Turnbow’s van to lead him to Huntsville.