False Flag

by Bobby Akart

  “I was told privately that the President urged Hoss to release the information to the media,” said General Sears. “The administration authorized the leaks in order to increase the President’s bona fides on national security prior to the last election. Of course, the White House denounced the leaks and demanded an investigation. The shit storm was then dumped in my lap. I had no choice but to recommend his security clearance be stripped.”

  “How can he possibly advise the President without the necessary security clearance?” asked Morgan.

  “The President isn’t following the rules anymore, John,” replied Sears.

  Morgan chuckled. He never has. “Mason, what is the consensus within the military?”

  “Most are angry, especially at the dictates coming out of the White House,” replied Sears. “Morale is in the tank, and trust in the President’s decisions is minimal at best. Nobody wants to take actions against peaceful Americans trying to survive, but the orders from the President are more directed toward the law-abiding than they are against those wreaking havoc in our cities.”

  With the Declaration of Martial Law, the President exerted the most extreme assertion of domestic executive power in the history of the republic. Morgan anticipated this, but the heavy-handed approach against those who disagreed with him was surprising. There was no functioning Congress, and the President was not taking steps to reconvene one. The courts were closed, with no plan to bring them back into session. The President was wielding power without any checks and balances. Morgan took a deep breath and chose his next words carefully.

  “Mason, we may be approaching a constitutional crisis in our country. You need to carefully compile a list of those high-ranking officers who would stand with us if the President needs to be removed from office.”

  “John, are you suggesting a coup d’état? This will be a difficult subject to broach with anyone under my command. Remember those three words—duty, honor, country.”

  “Of course I remember them,” said Morgan. “I pledged them myself many years ago.”

  “Honor is a commodity in short supply these days outside of the military,” said Sears. “Our military is the single greatest fighting body in the world today because of this one word.”

  Morgan interrupted. “I am keenly aware that the men and women of the U.S. military take their oath seriously when they pledge to support and defend the Constitution.”

  Sears fired back. “We also pledge to obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over us. According to regulations found in the Uniform Code of Military Justice, that last part is important. The UCMJ Article 92 requires all members of the United States military to obey lawful orders.”

  Morgan didn’t like arguing with General Sears. One confrontational phone call was enough for today. But he had to pursue this option. “Do you consider the President’s actions to be a lawful order?”

  “Article 92 works to define what a lawful order is, but in a nutshell, it’s any order given by a superior authority in good standing.”

  “Unless,” added Morgan, “that order conflicts with the Constitution, U.S. law, standing lawful orders, or is issued by someone who does not possess the authority to issue that order. I’m also familiar with the UCMJ’s loose definition of an unlawful order.”

  “But, John, removing the President from office, forcibly or otherwise, is not our job. Nor do we have the requisite constitutional authority. We’d be just as guilty as the President if we initiated a coup.”

  Morgan remained quiet for a moment as he realized the overthrow option was not viable. He knew the law prohibited it. Article II of the Constitution established the President as the Commander in Chief. Regardless of the actions of a sitting President, unless he was legally removed from command, he was in charge. The honor of the military precluded them from doing anything against their commander, regardless of their personal opinions. The nation as a whole might believe a President had no honor at all, but that was what made our military better than him. They did have honor. Ultimately, they might not like what he was doing, but they would stand with their honor intact and continue to obey all lawful orders issued by their commander.

  “Mason, you’re right,” started Morgan. He knew a commander unfit for duty could be removed from office. But there was a process required by the Constitution. In the case of the Commander in Chief, that task resided with Congress. The House of Representatives must impeach him, and the Senate then had to enforce that impeachment, passing sentence and removing him from office. “A military coup would not be constitutional and thus a violation of the oath every service member takes upon entrance to the U.S. military, and that just isn’t going to happen. Our military members are too honorable to stoop to extra-constitutional measures regardless of the consequences.”

  “That’s right, John,” said Sears. “But let me put your mind at ease about all of this. The men under my command are not blind. They see what the President is attempting to do, and they want no part of it. Let’s just say the commanders in the field are initiating a work slowdown.”

  Morgan felt relieved that he had not alienated the most important asset available to him in government. It was time for him to reassure Sears.

  “Mason, thank you for hearing me out. I apologize if my concern for our great country led me down the wrong path in search of a solution. We face a monumental task. It will take great leadership to put the country together again.”

  Chapter 27

  Wednesday, September 21, 2016

  8:00 p.m.

  Prescott Peninsula

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

  Donald led the entourage along the southernmost shore of Prescott Peninsula. Brad walked alongside him while Gunny Falcone, CWO Shore, and Captain Gibson walked twenty yards behind. Not that the contingent needed protection, but simply due to protocol, two seasoned Marines brought up the rear.

  Initially, when Donald, Brad, and Steven discussed creating a safe haven for the Boston Brahmin on Prescott Peninsula, they enjoyed the illusion created by Donald to discourage curiosity seekers from encroaching upon their extraordinary bug-out location. Prescott Peninsula met all the most important criteria for creating a secure survival retreat.

  First, it was close enough to Boston that they could get there without refueling or encountering significant resistance.

  Second, it was a good distance from the major population areas, which enabled them to avoid the resulting social unrest and the likelihood of a medical crisis, which could result from lack of resources or sanitation.

  Third, the Quabbin Reservoir provided them an excellent water source, which was one of the most important considerations when choosing a bug-out retreat. The Peninsula was surrounded by the largest body of fresh water in Massachusetts, but also included fresh-water springs and underground well water.

  Fourth, 1PP was well concealed from outsiders. Centrally located in a heavily wooded area, the current residents could move freely around the compound without fear of detection from those across the shore. Donald did stress the practice of light discipline out of precaution. As fall approached, the leaves would drop, and their cover would gradually disappear.

  Fifth, Prescott Peninsula offered them the ability to survive by adopting a self-sustainable lifestyle, which typically involved hunting, gardening, and raising livestock. Freshwater fish was abundant, as well as a variety of wildlife, which they could hunt as a future option. Their food stores were sufficient to maintain the Boston Brahmin and the growing military contingent for about a year. Planting the gardens would become a priority in the spring if the power outage continued.

  Other factors typically considered were the threats of natural disasters and the prohibition of local governmental entities pursuant to zoning regulations and ordinances. Under the present circumstances, the county zoning restrictions were the least of their problems, which was why Donald brought them down for this conversation.

 
“Here we are,” said Donald. It was nearly a full moon, providing excellent visibility across the reservoir toward Little Quabbin Island and the mainland, known as Quabbin Hill. Donald pointed toward the southeast. “There. Do you see the boat launch?”

  “Yeah, just around the point,” replied Brad. He lifted his 6 x 50 mm Bushnell night-vision monocular to his right eye and panned the shore across the lake. He slowly surveyed the banks from the boat launch to the west towards Belchertown. He saw the draw of a cigarette create a bright red cherry. “Someone is smoking on the bank near Belchertown.” Brad lowered the monocular and handed it to Gunny Falcone, who looked as well.

  “What’s that structure across the way?” said Gunny Falcone. He lowered the monocular and pointed due south from their position to the top of a concrete building sitting on top of Quabbin Hill. “It looks like the top of an air traffic control tower. Is there an airport over there?”

  “It’s not an airport,” replied Donald. “It’s the Quabbin Reservoir Observation Tower.” Built in 1940, the eighty-four-foot tower provided spectacular views of the Quabbin Reservoir watershed and the surrounding landscape.

  “Let me see,” noted Brad, who missed the structure the first time. He took another look through the monocular. “The leaves are dropping already. When they all fall over the next week or so, someone in the tower could have a clear line of sight to 1PP. How far is it from the Observation Tower to 1PP?”

  “Approximately five miles,” replied Donald.

  “Too far for a sniper,” mumbled Brad, “but not for a Stinger.”

  Gunny Falcone nodded.

  “Belchertown is about a mile from the shore,” continued Donald, pointing toward the southwest.

  At Prescott Peninsula, Donald coordinated security while Brad dealt with Governor O’Brien. Frequently either Gunny Falcone or CWO Shore were pulled away to perform their official duties. Brad confided in Donald that he was having difficulty juggling the security of Prescott Peninsula with the duties assigned to him by his superior and the monitoring of O’Brien. Donald was taking a bigger role in the defense of their bug-out location.

  Donald continued. “They’ve been watching us. I’ll show you on the topo map when we return, but I thought it would be useful to see the topography in person.”

  “It’s possible that Pearson recognized me at the gate this morning,” said CWO Shore. “I had my sunglasses on and tried to use my weapon as a distraction.”

  Brad interrupted him. “Don’t put this on yourself, Shore. It doesn’t matter how we change our attire; even a hack like Pearson will recognize military, whether undercover or fully dressed out.”

  “Also, this has been going on since the shooting at the front gate,” added Donald. “I believe the local residents are getting curious and might take it to the next level.”

  “They also appear to be organizing patrols by boat,” added Shore. “We confronted two fishermen along Rattlesnake Den Road on the west side this afternoon, but they weren’t fishing.”

  “They were observing our reactions to their presence,” said Brad.

  “That makes sense,” Donald interjected. “It appears we’re being stalked, gentlemen.” The men remained quiet as Brad took another turn using the monocular.

  “We always knew this would be tough to defend because of its size,” said Brad. “Before the cyber attack, we defined the perimeter as a restricted area by providing a physical and psychological deterrent to unauthorized entry. This served notice to the locals that entry was not permitted. But it has piqued curiosity, and the shooting incident didn’t help.”

  “The security fencing at the top of the peninsula has worked well,” said Shore. “We haven’t had anyone attempt to breach it. It has helped that the team we have in place up there is permanent. They know that fence, trust me. We’ve all logged hundreds of miles walking it.”

  “The luxury of our permanent personnel will be tested soon,” said Brad. “As far as my superiors know, and our new governor, most of my men are AWOL. Gibson is in a strategic position and can’t be pulled out. Falcone will always be with me. Shore, you are very important on that fence. We are still vulnerable along the shoreline. I need more eyes on the water, to free up my men to conduct the actual patrols and be a quick-response force in the event the locals try something.”

  “I have an idea,” said Donald. “I have a lot of warm bodies at 1PP who are bored out of their minds.”

  “Are you gonna put the old people in the patrol boats?” Captain Gibson laughed.

  “No, but why can’t they be equipped with radios and binoculars,” replied Donald. “It will give them a sense of purpose and free up your Marines to conduct patrols and nighttime security.”

  “That could work, Colonel,” said Gunny Falcone.

  Brad thought for a moment and then nodded. “Pick the most trainable ones, Donald. Radio discipline and situational awareness will be critical. By adding the extra eyes on the water, we’ll have a better chance of dealing with any hostiles.”

  “I’ll put it together tomorrow,” said Donald. “What about Pearson?”

  “We need someone to infiltrate the good people of Belchertown and find Pearson at the same time,” replied Brad. “I think I know two spooks that are available.”

  Chapter 28

  Friday, September 23, 2016

  6:00 p.m.

  100 Beacon

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Brad dismissed Gunny Falcone and advised him to take Captain Gibson back to Prescott Peninsula. A combination of the increased patrols and the volunteers from the Boston Brahmin enabled his officers to monitor the activities of the nearby residents. Their activities on the water and the banks of the Quabbin Reservoir were increasing. The residents of Belchertown were preparing for something. He hoped his plan would work.

  J.J. greeted him at the door and was in good spirits. Apparently, his time away from 1PP and the terrible memories of Sabina’s final hours had subsided. J.J.’s self-imposed therapy was helping others. This helped him cope with his own psychological issues.

  “Greetings, Colonel,” said J.J with a salute and a laugh. Clearly, he was in a good mood. “Thank you for meeting with us in our humble abode.”

  “Shut your cock holster and listen up,” replied Brad as he gave J.J. an unexpected hug. The two men had never been best buds, but now they shared a common bond—a fallen comrade.

  “Very funny, Brad,” said Julia as she approached him with an adult beverage. “After your visit with our illustrious governor, I suspect you could use one of these.”

  “Roger that,” said Brad. “The man is a real piece of work, but the fact that he is an open book plays to our advantage.” He took off his gear and laid it on the floor under the wall of televisions.

  “What’s the latest?” asked Sarge. He pulled up a bar stool and swiveled back and forth. “Dealin’ with that guy must be a challenge.”

  “It is, Sarge,” replied Brad. “His mood swings are incredible. One moment, he’s leaning his fat ass back in a chair, puffing on a cigar. The next minute, he’s enraged. Face red. Veins pulsing out of his neck. Then he’ll go back to Mr. Chill Governor.”

  “You have to wonder,” started Katie. “Maybe he’s bipolar?” She opened two beers and handed one of them to Steven. They clinked bottles before drinking.

  “I’m no psychobabble guy, but he definitely is volatile,” replied Brad. “This enables me to read him and manipulate his decision making, which is one of the reasons I’m here tonight.”

  “Oh, we thought you were excited to watch another riveting address from his highness, the President.” Steven laughed.

  “Well, there’s that,” said Brad. “Actually, I have a job for you, my friend, and Katie, too.”

  “The dynamic duo.” Sarge laughed.

  “Superman and Wonder Woman!” shouted Katie as she jumped down off the bar stool and struck a pose.

  “I was hoping for Mr. and Mrs. Smith—Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie,” said
Brad.

  Steven started laughing hysterically. “Yeah, I want Angelina Jolie!” he shouted.

  “How about I beat your ass, Commander!” came the response from Katie, who chased him around the sofa a couple of times.

  “Seriously, guys,” interrupted Brad as he tried to bring the group back to business. “We have a problem developing out at Prescott Peninsula.”

  Brad went on to explain the events of the last several days, including the appearance of Pearson at the front gate and the increased activity of the locals on the banks of the Quabbin Reservoir. He relayed his plan to the group.

  “I’ve secured O’Brien’s approval to hire Steven and Wonder Woman here to locate and apprehend Pearson, a man now wanted for treason.” Brad pulled flyers out of his kit and handed one to everybody. They resembled a wanted poster from the nineteenth century.

  “How did you manage this?” asked Sarge as he studied the flyer.

  “With the help of my man, Gibson, we convinced O’Brien that Pearson was responsible for the failed attempts to secure the weapons from the armories,” replied Brad. “I provided him images of the MBTA vehicles traveling toward Fort Drum in New York. O’Brien took the bait.”

  “What’s our role in this?” asked Steven.

  “We’re going to kill two birds with one stone,” replied Brad. He handed a letter to Steven on Citizen Corps stationary, which included the signature and seal of Governor O’Brien. “This letter will provide you safe passage through any government checkpoints. I also had Gibson secure several blank copies of the sealed letterhead. You never know when they’ll become useful.”

  “Hey, Nomad, we get to kill somebody!” exclaimed Katie.

  Steven shot her a look. Brad knew that even amongst the Loyal Nine, he didn’t like his Aegis code name mentioned.