Patriots & Tyrants (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 2)

by Cotton, Brian

  Whatever the case was, Kaspar knew that he would be ready.

  ***

  “It’s unfortunate that this had to happen,” Sanders said, looking down at his large computer monitor. “But, at least this has shocked others into action.”

  “Yeah,” Harvey replied.

  Ever since the government controlled news agencies reported of the resistance members who were killed, several of the rebel leaders around the country who initially said no were changing their minds. This latest development almost hurt Harvey on the inside watching what was happening. Did it always take something terrible happening to move good men to do the right thing? Was this even about doing the right thing or was it all about revenge for the resistance killings? These questions haunted him and he didn’t have an answer for them. He certainly didn’t share Sanders’s apparent enthusiasm for the events that unfolded.

  Harvey was learning more and more things about Sanders as time went by. For himself, Harvey was never a believer in the old phrase that the ends justified the means. He always saw that quote as pure bull. His partner, however, he seemed relish in it. Every time the USR made a move on the innocents, he got excited. It seemed to give the old war veteran a sense of justification for fighting back. The fact that the USR destroyed the foundations of America was enough justification for Harvey.

  “You’re doing it again.” Sanders commented.

  “What?” Harvey demanded.

  “You’re getting all blue on me.”

  “I don’t share your enthusiasm. We lost good men. The innocent civilians out there are going to be the ones to suffer.”

  “Look at the bright side, though. We’ve got some more help for this thing. We might not have gotten this kind of help without it.”

  “I understand that, but we shouldn’t celebrate it like it’s a victory.”

  “I don’t see it as a victory, you hear me?” Sanders’s face turned red to match the red scar on his head. “This is a tragedy, no doubt about that. Yes, the innocents will suffer, but if this is what it takes to shake our allies into action then so be it.”

  “All right,” Harvey said. “Let’s just move on with our strategy.”

  “Agreed.”

  The two military minds sat down in front of one of the laptops and discussed their views how their plan could be a success. They also discussed the help that would be coming in. Overall, the estimated total of rebels who would be somewhere above one hundred. It was lower than Sanders would have liked, but Harvey felt that they could work with that. That number was certainly better than what they had before the events of last night. A fact that Sanders liked to throw down Harvey’s throat even after they agreed to disagree.

  “We’ll be meeting up with several of them tomorrow night,” Sanders went on. “I’ve talked with a few squads based in the Midwest today. They’ll be ready to meet here.”

  Sanders pointed on his screen to a glowing dot on the map. Harvey nodded in agreement.

  “Sounds good,” Harvey replied.

  “The others on the east coast, obviously, will be headed straight for the Capitol.”

  “What about those on the west coast?”

  “Afraid that we don’t have that much support past the Midwest. Those on the West are focused on their own battles. It would cost them too much to move across the country. We’ll have to do without them. But, they are planning on getting together to plan their own Op in the near future. They are concerned about this threat, too.”

  “What do you think our chances are?” Harvey asked.

  It took Sanders a moment to answer that question. Harvey could see the wheels turning inside of the old man’s head. The movements of his eyes gave that away. He started to rub at his chin and the wheels seemed to turn faster. For Harvey’s part, he thought that their chances were moderate, but not enough for him to feel comfortable about a full on victory.

  “I think we can do this,” Sanders replied. “We’ve got good men fighting for us. It’s going to be a tough one, but I like our chances.”

  Harvey wished he was as confident.

  .48

  Masters stood outside the door of a nice, red brick townhouse in the suburbs. The morning sun had risen and was almost to the top of the sky. This was different, he thought as he watched the two combat jeeps move up and down the street, complete with a soldier on each manning the .50’s on top. Usually, they were in the inner city, cleaning up the trash that infested there. Now, they were called to the places where the more upper echelon of the population lived. To him, he didn’t care, he was anxious to do his duty.

  The soldiers under his command seemed ready, too. His number one was banging on the door next him while Masters waited with his G36 rested in both hands. The soldier was on his third round of the bangs when he turned to Masters and shook his head. Masters was about ready to call for the breach when the door finally opened. The instant it did, his men moved in so fast that the woman who opened it was knocked to ground.

  Masters moved in last as his men went to work. There wasn’t even a thought to helping the woman, who was in her mid-thirties, up to her feet. She seemed well enough to do it herself. The woman had that same scared look on her face that the decorated USR soldier had grown accustomed to. As she rose to her feet, she wiped away the blood which leaked from her lips. The bitch must’ve bit her bottom lip on the way down. Masters also noticed that she was too scared to scream. She just kept staring, the fear was in her eyes, so that at least gave him some satisfaction.

  Over to his left, Masters caught sight of a little boy. The boy stood there, coming up to Masters’s knees, and looked upward. There was no emotion on the boy’s face. He was holding a teddy bear close to his chest. After a moment, Masters allowed a grin to creep along his lips. The boy, too young to know what was going on, smiled back up. Masters reached down and rubbed at the boy’s hair. After that, he looked back over to the woman, who managed to get back to her feet. Tears ran down her face now.

  A loud commotion that came from upstairs broke the silence. By the sounds of a man shouting out curses, Masters assumed that his men found the mark they were looking for. The woman cried “no” as the man, with a soldier on each side, was dragged down from the stairs and through the living room. Masters shouldered his G36 and pointed it at the woman. She assumed the position, getting down to her knees, and putting her hands behind her lowered head.

  “This is a fucking sham!” the man yelled as he was dragged out the front door. “Honey, I will get home soon!”

  “I love you!” the woman cried.

  Masters moved over to the woman. With her head lowered, she could see his military boots. She moved her head upward at the sight and made eye contact once again. Masters raised his left hand and then backhanded the woman across her cheek. Her mouth stayed wide open in shock.

  “I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Masters said. “You take care of your boy, now.”

  When the Lieutenant walked out, he slammed the door shut behind him. With his G36 now across his chest, he made his way to the armored van which would transport their prisoners to their destination. Masters didn’t know all the details, but like a good soldier, he carried out his orders. It didn’t make a lick of sense to him to take citizens who actually made some sort of contribution to society away, but orders were orders. So long as he got some killing in, or at least got to rough up a few of them, that was all he cared about.

  The soldiers who dragged the man opened the back doors and threw him inside. There were already seven men crammed on the inside. The back doors slammed shut leaving the men, scared out of their own minds, alone in the darkness to think about what would come next. There would be no way for them to even guess. They were already in pure shock to be taken from their homes without notice.

  Masters watched the van take off as he reached for his walkie. He punched in the correct codes and got patched in with Blackman.

  “Sector eight a success,” Masters said into the black device. �
�Moving on to Sector nine.”

  “Good job, Masters.” Blackman replied. “Any problems?”

  Masters rubbed at his forehead with his free forearm. “None to report. This mission is for panty waists. Don’t you think that with my expertise I could be doing something more vital?”

  “This mission is vital, Lieutenant.”

  “How vital?”

  There was a pause. “You know I can’t tell you that. It’s of the utmost secrecy. Just know that you are serving the USR with this mission.”

  “Understood,” Masters said with a sigh. “We’re moving out to the next Sector.”

  ***

  The sun was nearly finished with its decent behind the tall buildings of Caine’s city. He looked down to see the little ants scurry about to their cars, cabs, buses, whatever their form of transportation for getting home would be. A buzzing noise from his desk shook him out of his trance. Caine walked over to the desk and pushed the red button underneath.

  “Yes?” Caine said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “Sir, this is General Blackman, may I have a word?”

  “Come on in.”

  With a press of the green button, the doors unlocked. The loud sound of the clicks let Blackman know it was okay to enter. A moment too soon and the electroshock from the door handles would put him on his ass. Once inside, Blackman saluted his leader, who gave him a halfhearted salute back. Caine reached underneath his desk for his smuggled whiskey. After he poured himself a shot, he offered one to Blackman, who declined. Caine shrugged his shoulders and then took the shot in one quick swig. The burn of the alcohol felt good going down. Soon, the effects of the bourbon would calm his nerves.

  “What can I help you with, General?”

  Blackman cleared his throat. He still got nervous every time he talked to Caine. “I wanted to fill you in on what happened today.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “All the Sectors you provided for us were cleaned out. We got all the names on the list imprisoned except for one.”

  “Who would that be?”

  Blackman pulled out an index card and searched for the last remaining name that hadn’t been crossed out from that particular Sector. Age was getting to the old General, no way in the past he would forget a name like that. Sloppiness was something that he never tolerated as a military leader, but that was what was happening to him. It caused a feeling of disgust followed by disappointment.

  “William Sullivan,” Blackman replied.

  “I sent a spy after him. I added him to the list just in case.”

  “I understand. We found your spy dead on the floor. Four shots to the head. Looks like the poor bastard was knee capped as well.”

  “I see. And, he’s nowhere to be found?”

  “No, sir. His vehicle was missing. No traces.”

  Caine nodded his head. These spies he sent out were always a wildcard. Some of them were coolly efficient. Give them a job and they completed it then moved on to the next job. Simple as that. But, there were also the occasional ones like Little.

  Caine had high hopes for the youngster. He seemed to have a knack for this sort of thing. The reports he would give were detailed enough. After three successful kills before the other night, this one was looking like another success. The fact that Little didn’t report in wasn’t that much of a concern, at least not until now. He was supposed to work in secrecy. Caine assumed that the spy just moved on to wait for his next assignment.

  “Well,” Caine said, “I guess that’s what I get for sending in a spy to do the military’s work.”

  Blackman grinned, “Yes, sir.”

  “That Sullivan didn’t go check on his son, either. If he had, he’d be Swiss cheese right now.”

  “Sullivan, that name sounds familiar.”

  “It should. He took part in a kill operation that led one of Paxton’s recruits to you.”

  Blackman searched his mind then let out another grin. He remembered that kid whose mother had been killed. “That’s right, now I remember. What happened to him?”

  “He went off the deep end…beyond salvage.”

  “It pains me to see good men go that route.”

  “There are no good men out there.”

  Caine pointed to the window and Blackman nodded in acknowledgement. After that, the secret USR leader reached down for another shot. Once again he offered Blackman a shot, but the offer was again declined. Caine shook his head and told himself that it wasn’t worth losing his temper over. If the old man in front of him didn’t want to accept, well, that was his Goddamn loss. After he took the shot, the effects from the first started to kick in, with his body starting rise in temperature. He was going to have to call in one his dames so this Blackman needed to hurry the fuck up. He leaned back and looked straight at the ceiling.

  “Can I ask you something, sir?” Blackman asked.

  “Anything.”

  “This new operation…is it really necessary?”

  Caine’s head shot down and his eyes lasered in on Blackman’s. “The fuck did you just say?”

  Blackman held up his right hand. “I’m just asking.”

  “Of course it’s necessary. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “It just seems, according to those under me, like a waste of good manpower.”

  “You let me be the judge of that.” Caine reached under the desk. The comment forced another swig. “You just keep doing what you’re told.”

  “Do you ever feel guilty about the things we do?”

  Caine took yet another shot then slammed the glass down on the desk. “Do you want to be executed?”

  “No, sir, of course not. Just asking you, man to man.”

  “I think this conversation is over. You can see your way out. It concerns me to hear you talking like this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Blackman gave another salute which was not answered by Caine. The old General simply bowed his head, turned, then walked out the door. Once out, Caine picked up his red phone. He told the female voice on the other line to come up to his office alone. While he waited for his mistress, hoping that he wasn’t too drunk for a hard on, he thought about what Blackman asked him. The only feeling of guilt he felt was that the world had gotten as bad as it had. The world needed men like him to teach what was right. He briefly thought about issuing a kill order on Blackman, but then decided against it.

  Blackman would be needed. For now.

  .49

  The tall leftover pulled the truck to the side of the road and then put on the emergency brake. After the engine was shut off, he grabbed his phone and dialed in to his bosses. He gave them a status report, that the truck was broken down, but he wouldn’t require any assistance. The voice on the other end of the phone pressed him, but he continually declined it. He told them that if he couldn’t fix it, then he would call, but he reminded him that he was the best mechanic on the payroll. After taking that into consideration, the voice on the other end told him to hurry his ass up.

  The night air outside felt cool as Statue opened the door and walked to the front of the truck. He rubbed at his face while he tried to remember what Reed taught him about hacking into the GPS system. The trick being that he had to make sure those watching his progress couldn’t see that he veered off course. The systems the USR used on their own vehicles, of course, were state of the art. However, every computerized system, according to Reed, could be hacked.

  Statue stared off into the black distance as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes. They would be needed at this critical juncture of the mission. After all that planning, carefully packing away a weapon here and there, and it all came down to this one little procedure. If he couldn’t fool the Agents watching him with the truck then it was all for naught. Statue didn’t like all this pressure put squarely on him, but what else could he do? He was the truck driver. Nobody else on the team could do it.

  Even with being a heavy smoker, Statue never smoked all the way to the filter, usually onl
y smoking about three quarters of a cancer stick at a time. With this one, though, he smoked it all the way to the filter and didn’t realize it at first. He threw the butt into the woods on his right and then moved back into the truck. After a quick, silent prayer, he grabbed his black bag. Inside, he took hold of the black, rectangular device and plugged it in to the receptacle by the truck’s radio. In the heat of the moment, he forgot where the power switch was located. Once he found it, he clicked it on. A green light at the top started to blink, letting him know that the device was hot. There was another black cord at the bottom. At the end of the cord, the plug matched that of the GPS system.

  Statue was almost afraid to touch the GPS. One wrong move would tip off those watching him. This old truck he was driving wouldn’t stand a chance against a host of USR squad cars, tanks, and helicopters. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that the resistance would be short on weaponry for their next planned Op. The craziest one, yet, Statue thought.

  His left hand was visibly shaking as he reached towards the GPS. With his right hand, he grabbed the screw driver from the bag. Once all the screws were out, the GPS was free to move. He had it out of the console then looked around for the right plug to pull out. Unplugging the wrong one would cost him his life.

  He scanned all of the plugs then thought he found the right one. It was instinct that told him to pull at the black plug in the upper right hand corner. He took a deep breath then put his left thumb and index finger around the square plug. In his right hand was the plug from the device. Reed explained that what the device would do was read the coordinates that the USR put into the GPS system. Once the coordinates were read by the hacked device, it would fool the GPS, making it look like the truck was still moving in the proper direction. Once that happened, Statue could drive anywhere he wanted to go and anyone keeping track of the truck would have no idea.