by Bobby Akart
Sarge had not spoken with Katie at length until now. There were several emotional outbursts since she was told of Steven’s death, and he allowed Julia and Abbie, who were far more diplomatic than he was, to console Katie.
The Loyal Nine came together by fate, and their group was built on a foundation of trust. Family relationships and associations were part of it. Abbie, Julia, Brad, and J.J. were tied to the Boston Brahmin by lineage. Sarge and Steven were chosen at a young age by the handshake of two powerful men on Bakers Island one sunny day.
The Quinns came into the fold because of Donald’s loyalty to a trusted friend of John Morgan’s. Katie was allowed into the inner circle by virtue of her special relationship with Steven and her extraordinary analytical ability as a brilliant spook within the CIA.
Katie was the member of the Loyal Nine with whom the group interacted the least. It wasn’t because she was unwelcome. To the contrary, Katie was considered a vital asset to the team and an important mole for Morgan inside the White House. Katie’s time was spent in Washington, so levels of trust weren’t fully established.
As the Loyal Nine came together, there was no stated goal or formal association defined. They had common interests and a love for country. None of them ever contemplated a death within the group. Nor did they consider the possibility of expelling one of their own.
Sarge had seen the warning signs that emerged following his appointment to head the Boston Brahmin. Katie’s love for Steven resulted in a jealousy of Sarge’s success and attention. Naturally, she thought Steven deserved accolades of his own, so she set about to drive a wedge between the brothers.
When she saw the opportunity for Steven to shine, she’d guided him to undertake the risky operation on Election Day—despite Sarge’s instructions. She admitted to Abbie and Julia that she had been blinded by envy, and the result had been Steven’s death.
Sarge recognized there was a major change in the group’s dynamics. The loss of Steven was huge. But now he had to deal with the possible banishment of Katie. He’d never mulled over the prospect of a traitor or malcontent within their ranks. Besides, Katie was hardly either of these. If she were, his decision would be an easy one. Traitors got shot. Troublemakers got straightened out. If the rabble-rouser didn’t change his ways, he got shot too.
All of the members of the group were privy to the secrets of the Boston Brahmin, including their wealth, political power, and just as importantly, their location. Banishment was not the answer because an angry, rejected person was a potential liability.
Sarge had a solution to avoid the fate afforded a traitor or troublemaker. He hoped Katie would agree to take on her new role. Otherwise, the alternative was not a good one—for her.
“Katie, I want you to find my brother’s killer. There’s nobody more aware of Steven’s dealings with Elkins and Grant than you.”
“You’re right, Sarge,” said Katie sheepishly. Their conversation had been going on for ten minutes as Katie continued to apologize and pledge her loyalty to Sarge and the group. She admitted her mistakes and acknowledged responsibility for Steven’s death. She was desperate to make it up to Sarge.
“Good. One of Brad’s most trusted men, Second Lieutenant Michael Smalley, is also very familiar with O’Brien and his operation. He was involved with the quasi-training session of O’Brien’s top people early on at Camp Curtis Guild. Smalley will be a valuable asset to you, and you can count on him to have your back.”
Sarge did not reveal to Katie that Smalley was under strict instructions to monitor Katie’s activities. Sarge was giving her wide latitude in conducting this search. He wanted to make sure she stuck to the task at hand. If Smalley got the impression Katie was going off the reservation, he knew what to do.
“I know Smalley,” said Katie. “We’ll find the guys, Sarge. I promise.”
Sarge wanted to keep this conversation short. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly forgive her for the role she’d played in Steven’s death. Katie didn’t stick the knife in his brother’s back, but she was instrumental in clouding his judgment, which allowed it to happen. It was best that Sarge keep their interaction to a minimum until some time passed.
“Katie, this is very important. I want you to promise me you’ll do everything necessary to bring Elkins back alive. I want to look my brother’s killer in the eyes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 4
Friday, November 11, 2016
8:00 p.m.
Prescott Peninsula
Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts
Julia returned to their bungalow, where Sarge was loading a couple of chunks of wood into the Vermont Castings wood-burning stove, which filled the room with heat. Even this small cast-iron unit overwhelmed their space, prompting Sarge to crack a window.
“How’s this for a treat?” asked Julia as she presented a box of Ritz Crackers, a jar of Reese’s Peanut Butter, and a squeezable honey bear.
“Delish.” Sarge laughed. “Why haven’t I seen the Reese’s before?”
“These were part of the food provisions at the Food Bank. Steven, um, well, he knew you liked it, so he set aside a case of each for you.”
“He did this during the raid?” asked Sarge.
“Yeah,” she replied softly. “He was always cool under pressure.” Julia’s voice trailed off as Sarge blankly focused on the flame inside the stove. She vowed to be more careful as Sarge adjusted to the loss of his brother.
Julia had to change the subject. She rubbed Sarge’s shoulders for a moment until he responded, bringing himself out of the trance.
He looked up at her and smiled. “Let’s have some.”
“Allow me,” said Julia as she patted his back and kissed the top of his head. She made her way to the small dining table and fixed up the peanut butter hors d’oeurves topped with honey. “Try this.”
“Compliments au chef,” said Sarge in his best French.
“Merci, Monsieur,” replied Julia, who quickly gave Sarge a loving hug.
She was worried about Sarge, and anytime he showed signs of his old self, she rewarded him with extra physical attention. It had only been a few days and Julia helped Sarge through the grieving process the best she could. In a world where you were constantly maintaining a heightened state of awareness, a person didn’t have the luxury of sinking within themselves. Sarge was under a lot of pressure now. Last Tuesday’s raid on the State House created a whole new dynamic in their lives. There wasn’t time to grieve for his brother. There was work to be done.
She talked to Sarge when he was receptive, but mainly, she listened. They shared memories of Steven growing up. They laughed about his sexual exploits. They wondered what kind of uncle Steven would have been to their unborn child.
“So, Sarge,” started Julia playfully, “I couldn’t help but notice there’s a package on the sofa, and it has a ribbon tied around it. Sure looks like a present to me.”
Sarge laughed as he finished off another Ritz cracker smothered with peanut butter and honey. Sarge picked up the package and presented it to her with a smile. “For you—Momma.”
Julia, giddy with excitement, quickly unwrapped her gift and immediately began crying as she clutched the book to her chest. It was a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
“Honey, don’t cry,” said Sarge as he kissed away her tears. “I love you. I didn’t want to make you sad.”
Julia sniffled and then laughed. “I’m not sad. I love it! I was just afraid that, you know, I was afraid you forgot I was pregnant.”
“No, darling, I didn’t forget. It’s just been so crazy and this is our first time to talk since, well, Tuesday. Honey, I’m sorry I’ve been out of it. It’s just—”
“We’re having a baby,” interrupted Julia, beaming with pride as she held her belly.
“Indeed we are,” said Sarge. He placed his hands on her slightly bulging abdomen. “While I was at 100 Beacon Wednesday night, I went through Donald’s prepper library to pick up some maps and b
ooks. I came across this one. The man thought of virtually everything last summer when he was planning 1PP.”
“Sarge, Donald even remembered to stock prenatal vitamins, moisturizer to alleviate stretch marks, as well as medications for constipation and gas.”
“I love Donald Quinn.” Sarge laughed.
Julia playfully smacked him with her new book. She immediately started thumbing through the pages, anxious to dive in. “Susan told me she had one of those rockers left over from her pregnancy with Becca,” said Julia. “I know it might be dangerous, but it’s in the Quinn’s garage. Do you think you could get it for me? She said there’s a crib there and some other things for a nursery that we can have.”
“Count on it,” said Sarge. “I’ll get with Brad and we’ll send in the Marines!”
Julia set the book on the table and fed Sarge another loaded Ritz. She wiped the crumbs off his chin and kissed him on the mouth.
“I love you, Sarge. We have so much to talk about regarding the baby, but it can wait. Tuesday changed everything, didn’t it?”
Sarge paced the floor before flopping on the couch. He patted the cushion, encouraging Julia to join him. He took a deep breath as he propped his feet up on the coffee table. Julia nuzzled in closer. She liked this.
“It’s time,” started Sarge. “No, actually, it’s past time to get this country back on its feet. O’Brien’s decision to storm the State House was brazen. Kidnapping the governor and the legislature was criminal. But those actions pale in comparison to the crimes against the people of this nation by a President who has the ability to restore power to all but is selectively benefitting his loyal few.”
“You’re talking about the West Coast,” added Julia.
“Exactly. He controls the ports from San Diego to Seattle. He’s made arrangements with the North Koreans to send in replacement parts for the collapsed power grid along the West Coast.”
Julia interrupted. “Wait, did you say North Korea? They can’t even power their own country much less ours.”
“Yes, North Korea,” replied Sarge. “They have the ability to expand their electric grid across the entire northern half of the Korean Peninsula, but they purposefully choose not to. Keeping the peasant class under the thumb of Kim Jong-un is the key to maintaining control. Denying their citizens modern critical infrastructure like electricity, running water, and the Internet accomplishes that purpose.”
“I suppose they do have the technological capability to build these massive transformers,” said Julia. “They just seem like an odd source for the parts.”
“I’ve learned from our contacts within General Sears’s command that the President is offering the supreme leader a seat at the table of the United Nations.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” asked Julia in more of a statement than a question.
“Nope,” replied Sarge. “I’m sure it’s been part of his so-called fundamental transformation from the beginning.”
Julia pushed herself off the sofa and immediately realized the ordinarily simple task was going to become more difficult to do. Nonetheless, she grabbed the Reese’s and a spoon, digging out a big scoop of peanut butter. Who needs pickles?
“What’s the next step?” she asked as she returned to her spot next to Sarge on the sofa.
“Tomorrow is a full day of planning, followed by an evening with the master,” replied Sarge.
“John has been very supportive,” said Julia.
“John? We’ve always called him Mr. Morgan,” said Sarge.
Julia laughed and patted his stomach, which was getting smaller than his pre-collapse fighting weight.
“John,” said Julia, stretching out his name for emphasis, before continuing, “says that he is retired now and mister no longer suits him. Besides, he imagined that you would now be called Mr. Sargent.”
“Hey, I like it. You may call me Mr. Sargent!”
“Fat chance, buddy. I was thinking more along the lines of Henry.”
Chapter 5
Saturday, November 12, 2016
2:00 p.m.
Prescott Peninsula
Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts
The brown and yellow leaves blew across the ground in front of them—rustling and hustling to their next destination before the wind determined it was time to move along. Anyone who believed that fallen leaves were dead had never watched them dancing on a windy autumn day.
“Henry,” started John Morgan as he pulled the blanket closer under his chin. Despite the cool temperatures, he insisted on sitting by the reservoir in the Adirondack chairs. Morgan was reflective. “It’s not that we have to quit this life one day. But it’s how many things we have to quit all at once. For some, it’s the joy of children and family. For others, it’s the pursuit of happiness as they’ve defined it. Happiness is a personal concept. For me, it was the ability to pursue, conquer, and control. These concepts are not necessarily mutually exclusive.”
The waves rippled away from the shore as a northerly breeze forced them toward Winsor Dam. Once in a while, a cloud would pass over the sun, creating a slight chill in the air. Sarge and his mentor enjoyed the solitude of the Quabbin Reservoir. The eerie yodel of a loon carried across the water as another responded in their form of social interaction.
Sarge and Morgan continued their conversation.
“Winter is coming,” said Sarge. “Americans will begin to die at a faster rate as food disappears and the hazards of extreme weather threaten their health.”
“Yes, Henry. I feel the sense of urgency that you do. Regretfully, I underestimated the resolve of this President to allow Americans to suffer in order to shape the nation in his vision. Admittedly, I had similar designs. My goal was to put us back on the proper course, one envisioned by our ancestors.”
Sarge waved over one of the guards who were his constant companions. He placed his blanket over Morgan, providing him additional warmth. The increased cloud cover had dropped the temperature several degrees. Sarge instructed the Marine to retrieve two more blankets and a surprise he had for his godfather. After the guard left, Sarge began to lay out his strategy.
“Sir, first we have to drive the vermin out of Boston using a combination of Brad’s Marines and the Mechanics. By reaching out to the smaller, local communities in the region, we’ve established allies, who now realize that help is not coming from the government. Many of these towns fell victim to the UN’s callous acts in the name of peacekeeping. They’ll gladly provide warm bodies to help us set a new course for the region.”
“Good,” said Morgan. “Henry, you possess an astute political mind, whether you fancy the compliment or not. You’re a skilled orator and a consensus builder. You’re exactly what this nation needs to rebuild and heal.”
The guard returned with the blankets, which were folded to conceal a time-honored method of warming the bones—Morgan’s beloved Glengoyne Scotch whisky. Sarge revealed the eighteen-year-old bottle and two glasses.
“Well done, Henry.” Morgan smiled as he patted Sarge on the arm. “Pour me a glass, young man. No ice is necessary today, don’t you agree.”
Sarge laughed as he poured half a glass for each of them. They clinked and took a sip.
“I must warn you, sir. This is the last bottle at our disposal, so I suppose we should make it last.”
“Henry, it’s time for you and I to forge new traditions. Once this bottle is emptied, we’ll cast it away and find something else to share when we celebrate.”
Sarge tipped his glass to his mentor and finished it off. Morgan did the same, wincing slightly as the sudden rush of alcohol hit his body. Sarge had discussed Morgan’s health at length with J.J. earlier in the day as part of their conversation concerning Julia’s pregnancy. The Massachusetts winter would be hard on Morgan, opined J.J. After a brief conversation with Donald, a private bedroom within 1PP was agreed upon. Abbie could have her privacy in the bungalow, and Morgan could enjoy the more regulated temperatures of the 1PP facility
.
Sarge refilled their drinks and began to lay out his strategy, which was consistent with the approach envisioned by the framers of the constitution.
“We are formulating a plan to drive the United Nations out of Boston and restore order using a combination of the Marines, and former law enforcement personnel. Local residents are looking to our people for support and are offering to help in the rebuilding effort.”
Morgan’s hand trembled slightly as he took another sip. Sarge couldn’t decide if it was the colder temperatures or the aftereffects of the stroke Morgan had suffered.
“You must think long term in this regard,” said Morgan. “The United States currency will have to be resurrected or replaced.”
“As you know, I’m a strong advocate of returning to the gold standard,” said Sarge. “Other nations will push back—especially the Chinese. Their monetary policy was built upon a house of cards as bad as the U.S. economy was.”
“It required a major catalyst to justify a period of instability while the gold standard was adopted,” added Morgan. “The virtue of a properly constructed gold standard is that it’s both stable and flexible. It will be stable in value but flexible enough to meet the marketplace’s natural need for money.”
“That brings me back to the local and then regional approach,” added Sarge. “Throughout New England, commerce is coming back based upon the traditional free market economy. Barter is the primary method of payment. At this point, U.S. currency is deemed worthless.”
“Henry, you must infuse capital into the economy in the form of gold and silver,” said Morgan. “When the dollar makes a return with newly minted Federal Reserve Notes backed by gold, you can gradually bring the gold out of the public’s possession in exchange for easily transported gold-backed currency.”
Sarge poured himself another glass, but Morgan waved his hand over his, declining a third drink.
“I can’t do anything until I reestablish the local government hierarchies,” said Sarge. “Once local and state governments are functioning, I will propose public-private partnerships for everything from security to the reconstruction of our power grid. This will insert gold and silver into the recovering economy on a local scale.”
