I jogged slowly back to the registration center to recover Rogan’s ladder while he hooked the detonators up to the plunger. The box holding the T-handle plunger reminded me of Saturday morning cartoons, but he assured me that the larger device was preferred over a handheld “clacker”—what he called the smaller units that had also come with the C-4. The clackers generated enough electrical charge when you squeezed the handle to power two or three blasting caps simultaneously, but it became iffy for more than that and we’d placed about twenty or so charges around the building. The plunger would generate much more electricity and should do the job nicely.
“Okay, you ready for the big boom-boom?” Rogan asked. His eyes crinkled at the corners through the mask’s lenses. He was smiling like he’d just taken a shit in the principal’s office and gotten away with it.
“Uh, yeah,” I responded.
“Get around me here, behind the building,” he directed, pointing along the wall. “We aren’t far enough away to watch it blow up—too dangerous. But we can look right after I blow it while shit is still falling.”
I slid over behind the wall and he glanced at me to make sure I was behind cover. “Alright, here we go!”
He connected the two wires to the plunger and used a multitool to tighten the screws. Then, he raised the plunger handle up slowly. “Fire in the hole, bitch,” Rogan muttered, slamming the handle downward.
The world erupted around us. I mean it literally erupted with fire, debris, and sound. A massive wave of heat rolled over us as the fireball expanded rapidly. The windows of the building we hid behind shattered and so did the ones on the next building over. Then, large chunks of concrete impacted against our building and fell near us, just a few feet away in the open space between buildings. Jagged shards of glass flew through the air, tinkling to the pavement at our feet. I was fairly confident that my ears were bleeding because we’d been so close.
Rogan had been worried that there wasn’t enough C-4 to do the job, but when he pounded on my shoulder, pointing around the building since I couldn’t hear a goddamned thing, I took a look. The Citizen Registration Center was a pile of rubble. Dark, acrid smoke poured from a hundred different fires that burned every record of every transaction that the shitty Black Suits had made.
I might have been in shock. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected would happen to the building, but that hadn’t been it. We’d completely destroyed it. Rogan’s earlier belief that the building might be too well built was completely false. The C-4 had done its job, and then some.
After a moment of observing our handiwork, Rogan again pounded on my back and pointed away from the scene. I guessed that he meant we needed to go. Already, I could feel the drones overhead, shifted from the protest to the major event just down the street. To steal a phrase from my Special Forces partner, it was time to bug out.
We’d just struck a blow against one of the major arms of the NAR. This would set them back quite a long time. It felt good. It felt cathartic after what they’d done to my family, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted blood; I wanted to make them pay for killing my parents and my brother.
Even though, logically, I knew that Rowan’s death was not directly attributed to the NAR because he’d chosen to raid a police station, I still placed the blame at their feet. He would have never been there if they hadn’t taken over our country illegally in the first place, so his death was their fault.
As I jogged behind Rogan, keeping pace in the shadows, I decided that I wanted to escalate my role. Right now, we were picking at the edges, hitting the NAR at vulnerable points that would eventually do enough damage to hurt them. But I wasn’t satisfied with eventually. I wanted to do something big. Do something that would make them fear leaving their home every day.
And I had the perfect target in mind.
SEVENTEEN
“Are you fucking stupid or just a goddamned moron?”
I glared back at Rogan. I hadn’t expected this reaction from him when I told him my idea. “It’s not developed yet. I’m just in the beginning of formulating a plan.”
“It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard of, Haskins. Like it or not, you are one of the faces of the Revolution. If you get captured—which your hair-brained idea would likely result in—then that’s a major win for them. Hell, Plummer doesn’t even want me taking you on the missions that you’ve gone on. They’re too risky and—”
“You wait a goddamned minute,” I interrupted. “I came out here to be a part of the Revolution, to fight back against the NAR and the CEA. I didn’t come all this way to be a poster boy, just a big PR stunt. I want to fight and I think my idea is a way to get them to sit up and notice. We’ve done a lot of good stuff here in Austin, but it’s all been small potatoes. We need to make a big impact and this will do it.”
“I know what we’re doing, man. We’re playing it safe, hitting them where we can,” Rogan countered. “Did you forget that they still have more than half of the military, a lot of the police, and a whole shitload of normal people who want things to keep on going this way? We have ten thousand people across the US willing to actively fight for our freedom, maybe a little more or less. There’s a lot of big talk online behind the keyboard, but when it comes time for them to put their money where their mouth is, very few of them actually show up.”
“We have millions of protestors,” I scoffed, jabbing my finger at the television, which was currently broadcasting a protest from Portland. It was a veritable orgy of vandalism and anarchy. The media loved it. Their ratings were through the roof.
“Protestors. Sure,” Rogan admitted. “People have been conditioned for decades to protest. The leaders of these protests were in high school and college during the first quarantine. They saw the power that groups of people could have. But we need fighters, Haskins. We need men and women who are willing to go toe-to-toe with the NAR lackeys. Until something major happens, we just don’t have that support.”
“My plan might do that,” I insisted.
“How? What do you think you can do to shift the focus from crowds of people throwing rocks at windows and putting trash cans through police car windows? They’re an unruly mob and they kind of do what they do, regardless of what we’d like them to do. The protestors are a great distraction for us to accomplish our goals, but they aren’t the answer.”
“I know that, Rogan. This will strike a blow to them. Senator Bradley was one of the key architects of the New Constitution and according to the news that reports everything the NAR tells them to, he’s making moves to take over the presidency. Goodman has inexplicably been with him for a long time. She has dirt on him, I just know it.”
Rogan sighed. “I know all about Bradley, Haskins. His time is coming,” he said softly.
I looked at him quizzically as he lifted the beer to his lips. When he didn’t answer, I finally asked, “What the heck does that mean?”
He shook his head. “Never mind. He’s just an asshole who’s gonna get rolled up when this all falls apart on them.” He took a long pull and then glanced at Cassandra. “You support this shit?”
She shrugged. “I mean, I don’t support any mission that he goes on that puts his life in danger. But I’m with Bodhi. One, Goodman is a terrible person who needs to disappear. And two—”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Rogan said.
“What?”
He pointed a finger at me, but continued talking to my wife. “That this is a personal vendetta for what she’s done to him and to his family. It’s straight up horseshit what’s happened to you guys, but this isn’t just about you. This is for the fate of our entire country. We can’t go off half-cocked and get ourselves fucked up for revenge.”
“Hey—”
Cassandra held up a hand to quiet me down. “I want to see her pay,” she admitted. “But I don’t think that’s what this is entirely about. Yeah, Goodman is a P.O.S.” She spelled out the letters. So cute. “The woman is also dirty as the day is long. She followed
Senator Bradley around for years. I did a lot of internet research on her during quarantine when I found out that she was becoming the head of the CEA.”
“Really?” Rogan asked. “Why?”
“I thought it was weird that she was at our apartment as a part of the citizen registration thing in the beginning of the quarantine—did you know she was our wedding officiant?” Rogan shook his head. “Yeah. She was assigned to us and performed the ceremony in our apartment. Then, she became the head of the newest and one of the most powerful law enforcement agencies in the city of Austin. That’s pretty strange, so I looked into her. I’ve told Bodhi about it, but I guess he never shared with you guys.”
“It never came up,” I acknowledged.
“Yeah, typical,” she huffed. “So, anyways. There’s almost no information on Goodman prior to her joining the personal staff of Senator Bradley. It’s like she didn’t exist.”
“She was a spook,” Rogan stated. “Or at least she worked in that world. I don’t know if she was an actual spy or not. Got her leg blown off in Afghanistan while she was with the CIA though. Depending on the classification level of the person, their history can be scrubbed clean.”
“Ahh,” Cassandra sighed. “That makes a lot more sense now. I knew she worked for the CIA, but that was only through her official bio. So, she popped up as an employee of Bradley, but nobody ever really knew what she was other than an advisor. There’s no record of what she advised on, who she worked with, or even how she came to work for the guy. She just sort of appeared. That’s weird, right?”
“You think she’s his mistress?” I asked.
“Eww,” Cassandra replied. “Senator Bradley is like seventy.”
“Happens all the time. He was probably in his fifties when they met…”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that aspect.” She leaned back, rubbing her belly where little Bathtub moved around. I could see the baby shifting inside of her through the tank top she wore. “Anyways, regardless of if she’s his mistress or if she is an actual advisor, she is the only staffer who went with him from being the state’s lieutenant governor to the US Senate. Nobody ever raised any questions about it, though.”
“So, you think she’s more important to Bradley than what we know about?” Rogan surmised.
“Absolutely,” I replied.
He held up a hand. “Calm down, son. I want to hear it from the thinker of your family.”
I stiffened, but let it slide quickly. He was right. I tended to act and then think about the consequences later, whereas Cassandra was a planner. It seemed like she had things figured out three or four steps in advance of everyone else. We balanced each other out well as a couple.
“Yeah. I obviously don’t know how or why, but Goodman is key to Bradley. If we can get to her, then we have a legitimate shot at blowing the NAR wide open. The data that y’all released about the Crud is damning, but it doesn’t point to any specific individual or any plan to take over the US by subterfuge—it’s just an example of more government overreach and corruption.”
She took a breath and shifted her shoulders, trying to expand the area of her chest so her lungs could inflate. The baby was already big and getting bigger every day. We thought she was due in December, but that was purely a guess at this point given that she hadn’t seen an obstetrician since everything happened back in June. A veterinarian had stopped by every two weeks down in Alabama to make sure she was okay and a midwife checked in about once a month, but the due date was all guesswork. We really needed to get her some type of medical observation now that we were back in Austin. I added it to my mental list of must-do items.
“I think Goodman has real dirt on Senator Bradley,” Cassandra stated when she was able to get her breath back. “I don’t want Bodhi risking his life, obviously, but getting to her might expose how deep the NAR’s plan goes.”
Rogan drank deeply from the bottle of beer, staring at Cassandra as he did so. Finally, he finished it and said, “Okay. Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” I stated. “We get to Goodman, we get to the NAR. Not just poking at the edges either. We’d be really getting them where it hurts. They don’t give two fucks about all of the foot soldiers, but their leaders? That’s where we get ‘em.”
He sighed. “I’m glad you came to me about this, Haskins. But you’ve got to be careful about who you talk about this stuff in front of and who they potentially talk to.” I knew he meant our host, Beth. She still went about her daily life under the System, authorized to go photograph people for portraits and such. She was a talker, so keeping her in the dark about our plans was paramount.
“Got it,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“No, but you need to keep it at the forefront of your mind at all times, alright? OPSEC is extremely important. You can’t even let it slip to other members of the Resistance that you’re going to ask Plummer about this, hear me?”
“Yeah.” I sensed he was trying to offer me a cryptic warning. Were there spies in the Resistance?
He sighed again as he stood and walked to the edge of the patio to light a cigarette away from Cassandra. “You’re gonna get me killed. You know that, right?”
“I don’t plan on it,” I responded defensively.
“They never do,” he mused. “They never do.”
He finished the cigarette and came back to the table. We sat in silence, drinking our beer for a while before I broached the next topic on my list that I wanted to talk to Rogan about now that we seemed to have a little bit of time on our hands. I needed to hear about my brother’s death, but wanted to ease into it. “Hey, man,” I began.
“You wanna know what happened with Rowan, don’t you?” he surmised.
I nodded and grunted, “Yeah. My little brother is dead, so I wanted to talk to you about it.” I laughed nervously and took a sip. “I had a whole plan to get you talking and then work around to it. I was gonna ask you why you joined the Revolution. I mean, I one-hundred percent appreciate that you got me out of CEA custody, but you were in the clear and could have stayed in without them ever knowing any different. Your family was safe and sound in Patriot Estates. Then, I was gonna shift from your family to mine.”
Rogan stared at me, then chuckled. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, kid. You can ask me anything.”
“I’m not afraid of you. Maybe a little in awe of everything you’ve accomplished,” I admitted, “but I’m certainly not scared of you.”
He shrugged, then stood up and went to the cooler, retrieving two beers. He picked up a bottled water and held it up for Cassandra. She declined with a shake of her head. “I’m just an ordinary guy who’s been surrounded by extraordinary people, Haskins,” Rogan said as he set the beer down in front of me and twisted the top off of his. “I joined the Army at seventeen, right out of high school. I believed we were fighting for freedom and all that good stuff they tell you. I was in the Infantry in Iraq and Afghanistan with 1st Brigade, 101st Airborne. When I was in Iraq, I learned how fucked up the government is, and how little they care about us or the mission. I was just a private. Our patrol base was at a no bullshit chemical weapons factory. We dug up hundreds of one-five-five rounds loaded with chemical explosives, we were told to blow what we had and bury the rest. Tons of dudes I know have all sorts of diseases that only the elderly and soldiers exposed to chemical weapons get.
“The opportunity came to go SF, so I went through the pipeline and earned my tab. Went back to Iraq a couple of times, then my team deployed to Afghanistan when Iraq wound down the first time. We were up in the Pech River Valley, we fought almost every damn day, multiple times a day most of the time. We lost a lot of guys trying to beat an enemy who had safe havens across the border. Days of fighting in small valleys—Korengal, Wanat, and other shitholes you’ve never heard of—all so we could close our bases and pull out of the area that the enemy was in.
“While I was in Afghanistan the first time, the country was hi
t with the recession. Our elected officials bullshitted around and gave money to those who caused the issues. While we were over there fighting, we were labeled terrorists by our own government, our attorney general said we were the biggest threat to America. Sound familiar? The VA was killing veterans through neglect, and Americans didn’t care. The government went on a rampage demonizing us, taking our rights away and no one cared. That was the start of the military, as a whole, being disillusioned, by the way, and why it wasn’t so hard to convince them to stand up to the fucking NAR who wanted to finish the job.
“Things got better under the Trump administration until about halfway through. Then we had actual Marxists in the streets calling for revolution and local governments that supported them while police departments were defunded, and lawlessness took over in US cities. We fought back against it as a society and it settled down after the election, of course. Things seemed to be going well until the Crud came around, then bam! Out of nowhere came the NAR. I was on the short final to get promoted, take a team of my own for three or four years and then retire, but I never forgot about all the bullshit that went on when I was younger. I saw the interagency transfer to the CEA as a way to step up; to get involved and help fix this country. Turns out the NAR is just the continuance of the totalitarian wet dream that the Marxists were attempting to put into place all those years ago.
“I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, Haskins, so it took me a little while to figure all of that out. I talked it over for a long time with Trish, then decided to move her and the kids back out to Tennessee before Plummer and I did anything. Once she was gone, I began reaching out to my contacts in the SF community and to guys in the regular Army that I knew who were still in, while Plummer talked to cops here in Austin. It all just sort of snowballed out of control from there.”
American Dreams | Book 2 | The Ascent Page 12
