by Robert Boren
Frawley’s eyes got wide as the thin man pulled down the hood. “Governor Sable?”
“Sorry about what happened,” Sable said. “California is in big trouble.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Cooley said. “Why are you with these guys?”
“I’m not anymore,” Sable said. “I’ve been lied to, and the President is in way over his head. We let a monster into our midst. We need to stop him.”
“Saladin,” Frawley said. “What’s he gonna do?”
“He’s going to create a reign of terror,” Sable said.
“C’mon, uncle, he’s not…”
“Shut up,” Sable said. “After we finish here, you’re taking orders directly from me, and if you let Saladin know what’s going on, I’ll have you killed.”
“You can’t do that,” Chief Smith said. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Watch me,” Sable said, his anger raging. Then he calmed down in an instant and turned to Frawley. “Sorry about that.” He nodded towards Smith.
“How do we know we can believe a word you say?” Katz asked.
“Let him talk,” Frawley said. “Go ahead, Governor.”
“This morning Saladin’s forces attacked Poway,” Sable said. “It was supposed to be a small terror attack, the start to a process of putting the rest of California under martial law. Saladin is supposed to be a moderate helping the Administration to neutralize the Caliphate’s rise.”
“Saladin is part of the Caliphate,” Frawley said. “We figured that out a couple of weeks ago. You know about this cretin’s history, right?”
“I do now,” Sable said.
“Why the hell does the Administration believe we need martial law in parts of California that are stable?” Cooley asked.
“We’ve been aware of enemy fighters staging in many of those areas, and conducting attacks on population centers from them. Outside of Bakersfield. East of San Diego. Around Visalia. Outside of Concord. Around Folsom, near where we are right now. Dunsmuir. Garberville. Lompoc. Other places.”
“You were going to get martial law going in all of those places?”
“We were going to reach a tipping point and then declare it state-wide, but it was only supposed to be temporary,” Sable said. “No more than six months. I’ve since found out that there’s nothing temporary about it. The Administration plans to take total control of the state directly, and keep martial law in place to handle rebellious citizens until a stable power structure is in place.”
“That’s not going to work,” Cooley said.
Sable nodded in agreement. “Saladin plans to turn on the Administration as soon as he has control in a group of strategic places. He’s teaming with the UN to make this happen. They think they’ll be able to subjugate the people of this country and break the hegemony of the United States, freeing the Caliphate to attack Europe full force.”
“Makes sense when you think about it,” Katz said. “Keep America busy fighting for her survival over here while the Islamists march north over ground to take Europe, joining all the sleeper cells they put there during the various refugee crisis events over the last fifteen years. After they consolidate their power over Europe, they turn to the United States and try to finish the job here.”
“So what now?” Frawley asked. “You know Saladin is going to have us killed as soon as he can get away with it. Then he’s coming after you unless you toe the line.”
“I’m letting you guys go,” Sable said.
“Uncle! They’ll kill us.”
“They’ll try,” Sable said. “Maybe we deserve it. We should’ve known better.”
“How do you know we won’t be shot as soon as we walk out the door?” Cooley asked.
“I’ve got my personal security staff outside, guarding the area,” Sable said. “I won’t candy coat this. You guys will be on your own once you leave here. If Saladin has caught wind of this little meeting, we might all be killed before we get more than a hundred yards away from this building. He’s got moles all over the state government.”
“Maybe I’ve misjudged you,” Frawley said.
“I’m a frigging idiot,” Sable said. “Like I said, I should’ve known better.”
“I don’t want to get killed, uncle,” Chief Smith said.
Sable looked at him with disgust. “Go bring that duffel bag over here.”
“You sure about this?” Smith asked.
“Do it now,” Sable said.
Chief Smith got up and left the cell. As soon as he was out of sight, Sable pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket. “Don’t let that idiot see this. Get it out there, if you can get to a PC.” He handed it to Frawley.
“What is it?” Frawley whispered.
“The location of Saladin’s encampments. Locations of UN bases. Names of people working with the enemy. Names of dirty Federal employees. Location of supply depots. Everything needed by the citizens and police departments to put these guys down.”
Frawley put it in his pocket. “I know what to do with this. I’ll get it out there if we survive.”
Chief Smith was back with the duffel bag. He set it down outside the cell and unzipped it.
Cooley picked up the flashlight and kneeled next to the bag, shining the light inside. He took out three Mini-14 rifles and three automatic pistols, plus several boxes of ammo.
“That’s not much ammo,” Sable said.
“I was in a hurry,” Smith said. “You know how hard it is to get this stuff now.”
“You don’t know how to take orders,” Sable said, glaring at him.
“You guys better go,” Smith said. “Fast. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Cooley, check what’s in the magazines,” Frawley said.
He pulled the magazine out of one of the pistols. “Son of a bitch, this is loaded with blanks.”
“You piece of crap,” Sable said. He pulled out a hand gun and pointed it at Smith.
“No, uncle! No. They forced me. I swear.”
Sable shot him in the chest four times. He fell into a bleeding clump on the floor.
“Shit!” Katz said. “That was loud.” His eyes darted around.
“They know we’re here,” Sable said. “There real ammo in those boxes?”
Cooley’s hand trembled as he opened the first one. “Yeah.”
“Let’s reload the guns and get the hell out of here if we can,” Frawley said.
“My men are still outside,” Sable said. “I trust all of them.”
“They’re already dead,” Frawley said. He got down on the floor next to Katz and Cooley to load guns.
“You bring something for us to leave in?” Katz asked.
“Yeah, there’s a Jeep Wrangler parked in the exercise yard,” Sable said. “Had it placed there before we got here. Smith didn’t know about it.”
“You knew he was dirty, didn’t you?” Frawley asked.
“I was about 90% sure,” Sable said. “Now I’m going to have to deal with my sister. Would have nailed him before now if it wasn’t for her.”
“Well, if it’s any comfort, you’ll be lucky to get out of here alive,” Cooley said, flashing a toothy grin.
“I’ll go check the main door,” Katz said. He rushed out, pushing the door open a crack. It stopped when it hit something. He peered out. There was a body on the ground, piano wire wrapped around the neck. He quietly pulled the door shut and rushed back to the cell. “Body blocking the door. Man dressed in black with piano wire around his neck.”
“Dammit, that’s my head of security,” Sable said.
“There’s a lot of doors in this place,” Cooley said. “Been here before, years ago. There’s two gun towers, each with a 360-degree view. We might be able to create a diversion from there for long enough to get away, assuming that Jeep is still intact.”
“I’ll take one of the rifles up there,” Sable said. “I’m a good shot. You guys try to get out of here.”
“I’m going in the other tower,” Cooley said. He lo
oked at Frawley and Katz. “You two need to get out of here alive with that info. Can I trust you to do it?”
“Trust us?” Frawley asked.
“I’m about to get killed over this,” Cooley said. “I’d rather not waste my life.”
“You’re a good man, Cooley,” Katz said. “If we don’t get that data out there, it’s because we got killed.”
Cooley chuckled. “I didn’t think you guys would chicken out. I want to make sure you’re motivated enough to survive.”
“We are,” Frawley said. “Let’s go. I’ll take the third rifle.”
“I’ll drive,” Katz said.
“Don’t go out there until you hear at least one shot fired from the towers,” Cooley said. “I mean it.”
Frawley nodded and followed Katz down the hallway towards the door to the exercise yard while Cooley and Sable went the opposite direction. Cooley pointed to a door on the left. “That leads to the first tower. Just take the spiral staircase, but be quiet. It’s metal. Hard shoes make racket on it.”
“Got it,” Sable said. He ducked into the door as Cooley continued down the hallway, ducking into the doorway to the other tower.
Frawley cracked the back door open and peered out. The Jeep was parked in the shadows near the wall closest to the door. The gate hung ajar about sixty yards away, across the dirt and dead grass of the yard. He slipped back inside, silently closing the door.
“Still there?” Katz whispered.
“Yeah, looks un-molested,” Frawley said. “That’s a brand new Jeep. It’s got paper tags. The top and doors are off too.”
“So?” Katz asked.
“We can get in without the lights coming on. It probably has Uconnect Wi-Fi. If it does, I’ll upload this before we leave. I’ll put it on the CHP site and publish it organization wide.”
Katz looked him in the eye. “Sable doesn’t have access to that, does he?”
“No,” Frawley said. “Why?”
Katz paused for a moment. “Sable knows we aren’t getting out of here alive. He needed you to do this. We’ll upload this and try to get away, but chances are we’ll get nailed.”
Frawley sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“You know how to run this Jeep Wi-Fi system? We’ll probably have less than a minute to do the job.”
“Yeah, I know how,” Frawley said. “I’m an off-roader, remember? I bought one of those six months ago. Know that system like the back of my hand.”
“Okay, then I’ll cover you with the rifle while you do it,” Katz said. “Hand it over.”
Frawley nodded and gave him the Mini-14. They waited.
There was a gunshot, then three more in rapid succession.
“There’s our cue,” Frawley said. He pushed the door open and crawled out in the shadows, sneaking into the car as more gunfire erupted.
“Hurry, man,” Katz whispered as he got behind the Jeep and watched the walls and the yard, gun at his shoulder.
Frawley climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key onto accessory. The light came on. More gunshots came from the towers, and then Katz opened fire at the wall on the far side of the compound. Somebody yelled something in Arabic, and a body fell off the wall. Katz continued to fire. A bullet whizzed by his head and hit the brick wall of the prison behind him.
“You in?” Katz asked.
“Yeah, uploading now,” Frawley said. More gunfire came at them, and suddenly Frawley’s left arm exploded in pain. “I’m hit.”
Katz fired several more shots, killing two Islamists who were running along the top of the wall. “Can you finish?” he asked.
“Almost there,” Frawley said, as another bullet ripped into him, hitting his left thigh. Katz fired again, three more times. Then his head exploded against the wall as he was hit from three directions.
“Katz!” Frawley yelled. He pulled out his pistol and fired at several men who were rushing the Jeep from across the yard, hitting the first two before he got hit in the shoulder, the gun flying out of his hand. He felt himself losing consciousness, but not before he saw the upload finish. He smiled as the Islamist got to the Jeep and shot him in the forehead.
***
“You’re ready to go to work?” Robbie asked. Morgan had her cocktail waitress outfit on. “Wish you didn’t have to drive there in that. It’s too sexy.”
“I know,” she said. “If it wasn’t so damn hot, I’d wear an overcoat.”
“If you wore something like that, it’d probably be worse,” Gil said. “They’ll think you’re hiding a weapon or something.”
“I really don’t like this,” Robbie said. “I should go with you.”
Gil shook his head no. “According to the rules and regulations I’ve read, you have to be pre-screened.”
“I’m not prescreened,” Morgan said.
“Yes you are. Your boss had to put your name into their database,” Gil said. “When you get to the checkpoint they’ll look you up. They’ll see your name there and let you through.”
“How are customers supposed to get there, then?” Morgan asked.
“You have to call the casino and put your name in,” Gil said. “This is all BS, of course, because people will start using that to go where they want. I expect these thugs to make examples out of a few people who try it.”
“Fear,” Robbie said, “and keep us segregated with no ability to move freely. The more we learn about this, the worse it is.”
“Stop it,” Morgan said. “I’m scared enough already.”
Robbie got up from his computer and hugged her. “Be careful.”
“You too,” she said. “What time do you have to leave?”
“Six,” he said. “A few hours. I don’t have to go past any checkpoints, though.”
“Well, I gotta go,” Morgan said. “Walk me to my car?”
“Yeah,” Robbie said. They went down the stairs together, then into the driveway.
“Can I have a kiss before I go?” Morgan asked.
Robbie took her into his arms and kissed her passionately. “I don’t want you to go.”
“You and I both know that I don’t have a choice,” Morgan said. She got into the car and started the engine, then kissed him one more time when he bent down to her window.
“Be safe,” Robbie said. He backed away from the window and she put the car in reverse, looking one more time at Robbie’s worried face before she was out of sight.
The streets weren’t as empty as before. She waited in line to turn right on Artesia, then took the split to Redondo Beach Boulevard. The checkpoint was right on the other side of Hawthorne Boulevard. She rolled to a stop at the line, and two UN Peacekeepers were at her driver and passenger side windows within seconds.
“What business do you have here?” asked the man in a French accent.
“I’m going to work at the card club in Gardena,” she said.
“Name please?”
“Morgan Gentry,” she said.
The man at the passenger side window nodded and input her name into his tablet. He shook his head no.
“You aren’t cleared,” the Frenchman said.
“How did you spell my name?”
The other man said “J-E-N-T-R-Y.”
“That’s the problem,” Morgan said politely. “My name starts with a G, not a J.”
“Try that,” the Frenchman said.
He did, then shook his head yes.
“Okay, it checks out,” he said. “What time is your shift?”
“It starts at 4:00 and ends at 11:30,” she said, noticing the man with the tablet reading along. He nodded again to the first man.
“That checks out,” he said, smiling.
“You guys are keeping track of how long I’m there?” Morgan asked, feeling her face flush.
“Do you have a problem with that, madam?” the Frenchman asked with a touch of menace.
“It just seems a little excessive to me, that’s all,” Morgan said. “How does that information help
us to control the terrorists?”
“Would you like to go to headquarters and ask further questions?” the Frenchman asked.
“No, that’s all right,” she said, her heart pounding. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“This is for your own good,” the Frenchman said. “You don’t have any weapons, do you?”
“No sir,” she said.
“Fine, then you are free to go, directly to work and directly home when your shift ends. Good day.”
Morgan drove forward, her heart racing. She glanced at the checkpoint on the other side of the road. A man was being dragged out of his car. A UN Peacekeeper hit him in the head with a baton as a woman in the car screamed.
The rest of the drive was uneventful. She pulled into the parking lot of the card club, dread building as she saw two UN vans parked in front. She walked from her car to the employee entrance, pulling open the heavy metal door.
“Morgan,” her boss said as he saw her walking down the hallway. “You made it.” He was a large middle-aged man, a little overweight but with the look of a mixer. He nodded for her to follow him into his office. She sat at a chair in front of his desk, and he shut the door.
“Can you believe this garbage?” he asked softly as he sat behind his desk. “Damn Eurotrash.”
“Don’t let them bother you, Sparky,” she said. “This won’t last forever.”
“How was the checkpoint?” Sparky asked. “I’ve heard bad things.”
“The UN Peacekeepers were pretty surly,” she said.
“This isn’t good. I’ve seen rumors on the internet. Some people aren’t making it to their destinations. Especially pretty girls.”
“I saw a man yanked out of his car and beaten at the other checkpoint,” Morgan said. “It was on the westbound side of Redondo Beach Boulevard.”
“This is too much,” Sparky said. “Way too oppressive. Feels like we’re occupied.”
“What’s with the UN vehicles in the parking lot?”
Sparky sighed. “They’re here on their off-hours, or so they say. I think they’re keeping an eye on things. You know some of our clientele can be dicey.”
“I know,” Morgan said. “I’d rather deal with the worst of our customers than these UN creeps.”
