Ernest looked down at the screen, shaking his head. “I don’t know who you are, but you were right to want this information out fast,” Ernest said tapping the screen and turning the computer off. “I’m honored to serve with a Minuteman like you.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
In the predawn light, Clarence Dawson crept through the trees to the outskirts of an upscale subdivision on the north side of Atlanta. Like many, he had watched the events playing out in Idaho over the last six weeks.
At one time, Clarence believed in America. That ended six years ago.
Like many, he was tired of the two parties taking more of his money and throwing it away. Then, the Tea Party had sprung up with several other new parties demanding change. His wife formed a chapter here in Atlanta for the Tea Party and started raising money to support the candidates that would represent the working class, and not the elite or foreign powers.
That was when his world came crashing down. The IRS seized his business and home, along with the bank accounts. The business, he had started right out of high school. It was an automotive body shop, his little piece of the American dream.
What was his crime? The audacity of attempting to help start another party to represent the people and the hope for change. Like many others in the Tea Party, Clarence and his family were targeted by the IRS.
For three years, they had fought the IRS and eventually settled out of court. He and his wife could only afford one attorney while the government came at him with dozens. Facing over a hundred different charges for the same offense, their attorney finally convinced them to plea bargain. But in that time, his house had sat vacant and was damaged in a thunderstorm, and the insurance company refused to pay, since at the time, it had been seized by the federal government.
Now, Clarence worked at another man’s body shop because he’d had to sell his to buy a trailer for his wife and two kids to live in. They’d gone from a five-bedroom home on ten acres to a single wide three-bedroom in a trailer park.
Two years ago, he’d met four guys one day at a barbecue that’d had similar things happen to them with the government, and the same end result. They’d all lost everything, but one, from the BATFE, another, from the EPA and the last two, like Clarence by the IRS. Slowly, the group had talked and Clarence started making plans.
Over the course of a year, he followed employees who worked at the federal building, learning where they lived. Eventually, he told one of the others what he wanted to do and soon, he was helping Clarence follow people using a roving tail. In three months, all were helping.
They all knew just following a federal employee was against the law under the NDAA.
None cared, Clarence the least. His wife used to stay at home, taking care of the house and kids. Now, she was forced to work because all of their retirement was gone. The eleven and twelve-year-old kids now had to be left alone for an hour between when she went to work and Clarence got home.
It was the same for the others, but Clarence remembered the smug look on the senior IRS agent’s face the day of the settlement. “You can’t fight us, even if you win, you still lose. We take everything and nobody can stop us,” he’d grinned and laughed, walking out with the small army of attorneys for the IRS that had been sent after Clarence and his wife.
When the videos of what Joshua had done hit the internet, Clarence had sat up all night just watching. Here was one man, fighting back against impossible odds. This Joshua guy wasn’t a soldier. Friends of this Joshua posted he was just a great guy and the government wanted to kill him for his business. The main stream media reported all kinds of things on this Joshua but like many, Clarence didn’t watch them.
Reaching into his pocket, Clarence pulled out a scrench in a plastic bag. He had only used a chainsaw once in his life and it had scared the shit out of him. But he saw at each attack, Joshua left one. Clarence didn’t know why. To him, it was because Joshua was a logger and Joshua was telling the government that he was still there and was the one responsible. To Clarence, the scrench was a sign of rebellion.
Putting his mechanic gloves on, Clarence took it out and shoved it in the oak tree next to him as the sky started to get brighter. “I’m with you, Joshua,” he said, pulling up his bolt action 30-06. He aimed at the house across the street, then moved his crosshairs to a Mercedes in the driveway.
Clarence had been here many times, but never with a rifle. He knew it was one hundred and six yards from this tree to the front door. All his life, Clarence had hunted deer, ducks and bear. Before the IRS had taken everything, he had gone on a dangerous game safari in Southern Africa. Now, he was hunting other more dangerous game. This game was more dangerous because it not only took your life, it took your dreams.
Bring his stock to his shoulder, Clarence waited in the bushes. At seven twenty, he saw the woman who he knew was the wife, come out with three kids and they jumped into a minivan. He watched the van pull off and his heartrate sped up.
Not even looking at his watch, Clarence knew it was just before eight a.m. when the front door opened and a man wearing a nice suit strolled out, carrying a briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
Raising the rifle up, the man’s image filled the scope as Clarence followed him in the crosshairs. When the man set his coffee up on the roof of the Mercedes, Clarence slowly exhaled, flipping the safety off and slowly squeezed the trigger, keeping the crosshairs on the man’s chest as he pulled out his key fob.
The loud thunderous roar of the gunshot filled the quiet, secluded neighborhood, making birds take off and dogs start barking.
Clarence watched the man jerk back and the window of the Mercedes behind him turned red before it shattered. Before the man hit the ground, Clarence was running back through the woods. The car he was using was pulled behind a small store, half a mile away.
Reaching the car, Clarence glanced around as he opened the trunk, shoving the rifle in. He calmly got behind the steering wheel and drove off, very surprised that he didn’t hear sirens.
Driving to a vehicle storage lot that people flying out used when they didn’t want to pay the ransom the airport demanded, Clarence turned off the car and climbed out. He had only driven it to the scene and back and had worn gloves the entire time, so he wasn’t worried. Popping the trunk, he got out and unlocked his truck which was parked next to him.
Looking around and not seeing anyone, he grabbed his rifle and put it behind the seat. Turning back to the car he’d used, Clarence closed the trunk and locked it back up. Clarence had worked on cars all his life and he could hotwire any car, but with the new computer technology, it was simpler to just program a fob. Getting in his truck, Clarence said a prayer for the others.
They had each taught each other what they knew. Clarence had taught them how to find a car, use a computer get its code and then program a key fob. Another in the group had taught them how to get rid of evidence while another, on building an alibi, along with other things. They weren’t part of any big group. They were just family men who’d had everything taken.
Cranking his truck, Clarence drove home and found his wife sitting at the table, texting on his phone. She smiled at him and Clarence smiled back with a slight nod. He hugged the kids and went out to his small metal work shed.
He took the stock of the gun off and used a saw to cut it in half and tossed the two pieces in a charcoal grill. Grabbing a bag, he covered the wood stock and lit the charcoal briquettes, watching the wood stock slowly catch fire.
Putting the metal frame of the gun in a vice, Clarence took the scope off, then grabbed a blow torch and lighting it. Soon, the only evidence left was a pile of ashes and melted metal bits on the floor. “Laugh at me again for taking everything,” Clarence mumbled, turning off the torch.
His wife walked in the shed, “Everyone is back,” she said, putting an arm around his waist. “Will we do this again?”
Clarence looked down at her and gave a hopeful smile. “If the government doesn’
t get the idea, we will,” he said and kissed her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Looking at the clock on the wall, Moore sighed, seeing it was almost nine-thirty a.m. He had been sitting in the briefing room with all the senior staff, listening to Griffey scream for the last hour and a half.
“Why can’t anyone tell me why there wasn’t a guard on the aircraft?!” Griffey bellowed.
“Griffey,” Moore said quietly. “Even if there would’ve been a guard, we would have a dead guard with the destroyed choppers, planes and drone.”
“Those Blackhawks cost twenty million each! And the mechanics say they are destroyed!”
“Yes, and could you please quit shouting,” Moore said grimacing. “It doesn’t help anything.”
Panting like a raging bull, Griffey leaned back in his chair looking at everyone around the table. The only ones that seemed relaxed were Moore and Winters. The others were fidgeting with papers, avoiding looking at Griffey.
“So Moore, what do you have to say?” Griffey almost growled.
“Nothing, I told you that Joshua would eventually hit us here,” Moore shrugged. “I asked for patrols around the compound and in nearby hills and mountain slopes, but you wanted more teams in the field.”
“Oh, blame it on me!”
Moore looked at Griffey with hard eyes. “No, but I told you that was a risk. You evaluated it and wanted more men in the search.”
Pacified with that answer, Griffey nodded, grabbing a bottle of water off the table and draining it, trying to make his sore throat feel better. The door opened and Agent Schmidt walked in, carrying several plastic evidence bags. “Sorry it took me so long,” he said, heading for his chair.
Seeing a new target that hadn’t felt his anger, Griffey jumped up screaming. “You’re on the hostage rescue team, why didn’t you have guards out!”
Setting the evidence bags down calmly, Schmidt turned to Griffey. “First Agent Griffey, if it wasn’t for me, I’m sure Joshua would’ve tried to enter the compound. I’m the one who started the roving patrols inside the fence. I asked for dedicated men but you refused, so I had to get agents who were coming out of the field to rest, and put them on guard duty. And last, it wouldn’t have made a difference in this attack, we would just have dead guards along with damaged equipment.”
“That’s two billion dollars of damaged equipment!”
“So you’re saying it doesn’t matter that Joshua has already killed what-,” he paused and looked at Moore. “What are we up to now?”
“With the wounded who died from the explosion and those from the field, Joshua has killed six hundred and sixty-eight federal agents,” Winters said, tapping her laptop keyboard and not looking up.
Turning back to Griffey, Schmidt nodded. “Equipment can be replaced, not personnel.”
As Griffey leaned back in his chair, seeing Schmidt wasn’t intimidated, Moore cleared his throat. “What did you find?” he asked.
“The spot Joshua used,” Schmidt said sitting down. “You know, on the other side of that mountain he used to shoot at us is a logged area. I asked the forest service officer who was with me and guess what, Joshua’s company did it.”
“So?” Moore said.
“Moore, Joshua knows this area better than we or anyone we can get ever will, unless they are local,” Schmidt said.
“Believe me, I know,” Moore said and then motioned to the bags. “I see he left his calling card, any traps?”
Schmidt held up the bag with the scrench. “No traps and I swear, it was like he wanted us to find it. I’m no tracker, but he left a trail even I could follow,” Schmidt said, then turned to Griffey. “And yes, I did follow it over the mountain, but it stopped at a dirt road. That’s what took me so long.”
Pushing back from the table, Griffey walked over, grabbing another bottle of water as Moore leaned over, looking at the evidence bags. “I see he left more playing cards.”
“Yes, two pair, eights and threes,” Schmidt said sliding them across the table.
Looking away from her laptop, Winters shook her head. “At the last one, he left the hand that had one pair, sixes with king high. What’s Joshua doing?”
“That, I haven’t figured out yet,” Moore said looking at the cards in the bag. “I know he’s not taking us seriously.”
Griffey threw the water bottle against the wall, busting it open. “God damn it, fucking kill his family!”
Moore saw everyone at the table jump and Wagner grin. “Griffey, you do that, and Washington will have you bent over when one of their own family is killed,” Moore said.
Grabbing his chair, Griffey dropped in it hard. “I know, and that’s the only reason they are still free.”
“Now, can we start putting patrols around us, not only because of Joshua but like I told you, the sheriff is not backing us with the population anymore. It won’t be long before we start getting shot at by every Tom, Dick and Harry,” Moore said and Griffey looked at him, letting out a long sigh.
“Yes,” Griffey said slumping in his chair. “You wanted to propose new search patterns?”
“Yes,” Moore said and elbowed Winters.
Getting up, Winters tapped her computer and looked at the huge screen on the wall. “Our search teams have no pattern. What we propose is putting two teams in stationary positions and having six teams around them in a circle and move toward the center. This way, they drive what’s in front of them to the stationary teams.
Using a remote, she changed the screen and continued. “Now in large valleys, we put those two teams at one end and use the others to push down the valley. Again, this would force Joshua to move away and into our stationary teams. If we did this in several sections close together, we could clear miles,” she said and turned back to the table.
“That’s good in theory and worth a try, but unless you get lucky, Joshua could just lay down and let the team walk past him,” Schmidt said.
“How can you be so sure?” Wagner asked in a snotty tone.
“Because I did it this morning,” Schmidt said. “I hid in the bushes twenty feet away from them and the team I was with couldn’t find me.”
“So you think it won’t work?” Griffey asked in a raspy voice.
“No, I said it was worth a try and much better than this haphazard shit we’ve been doing.”
Nodding, Griffey looked down the table. “Use this new search pattern starting today,” he said and the others nodded. He turned to see Moore staring at his computer. “Anything else you want to add?”
“No,” Moore said, distracted.
“Wagner, Moore, Schmidt and Winters stay, the rest-- go find this cocksucker,” Griffey said, finishing in a growl.
“I take it we aren’t getting more helicopters today?” Wagner asked carefully.
“Two days at the earliest for Blackhawks. They are flying in three Hueys that the forest service uses in Oregon,” Griffey said, feeling very tired. “Your men did set up the monitoring stations, right?”
“Yes sir,” Wagner beamed and Moore looked over at Schmidt who was making notes.
“Schmidt, what else did you find?” Moore asked glancing at Griffey.
“Joshua arranged the spent fifty caliber shell casings to spell out ‘Fuck U’,” Schmidt said and looked up. “He used two different rifles.”
“What?” Wagner said. “He may have help.”
Winters laughed, “That’s against Joshua’s MO.”
“Then why two rifles?” Wagner asked, not convinced.
Schmidt looked down at his notes and continued writing. “I think he has run out of fifty caliber ammunition. The agent he took that Barrett from only had thirty rounds.”
“If that’s the case, then he didn’t have enough to blow all those holes in our birds,” Moore said and Griffey winced.
Shaking his head but not looking up, “No, I think he got more ammo from one of the other agents he killed. The SRT members usually carry extra sniper ammo,” Schmidt said, glancin
g over at Moore. “I do, in two different calibers. Not fifty cal though because that is just too much gun to lug around.”
Winters snorted, “Honestly, you can’t figure it out,” she chuckled and they all looked at her. “Joshua wanted to see if his rifle would damage a chopper. Because of the BATFE, we know he has two 338 Lapuas. I’m sure he has lots of ammo for those and now, he knows his rifle will put a Blackhawk out of commission.”
Moore stared at her in shock. “How did you come to that?”
“Easy, when I was in HRT, we would put bullet proof vest on targets and see what penetrated them and at what range,” she said, then looked back at her computer.
Thinking about it, Moore raised his eyebrows impressed at both Winters and Joshua. “Well, seems we are creating a stronger monster,” he said, then glanced over at Schmidt. “You did get pictures of the scene, right?”
“I’m in the FBI,” Schmidt said, not looking up from his notes. “I have them on my camera.”
“Will you go and get my secretary to print them? I’m old school,” Moore said.
Pushing back from the table, Schmidt nodded. “Be right back.”
When Schmidt walked out, Moore turned to Griffey and lowered his voice. “Griffey, you need to be careful on how many people you let know that we are watching Joshua’s cabin.”
Hearing that, Winters almost fell out of her chair. She knew who Moore was worried about and also knew he would never tell Griffey. It was just the fact that he didn’t trust Schmidt that blew her away.
“I thought I was paranoid,” Griffey said with a straight face.
“Wagner hasn’t told anyone because he wants glory, so very few people know and I would like to keep it that way,” Moore said.
“People will know if Joshua goes there,” Griffey said.
“Yes, and you will take every phone from every person that knows until you kill Joshua or find the cabin empty,” Moore said and Winters hid her shock by staring hard at her computer screen. The fact that Moore had gone so easily to kill, scared her some.
The Bonner Incident: Joshua's War Page 19
