by Henry Hack
Looking directly at Harry now Phineas concluded, “Thanks to a fearless law enforcement leader, the terrorists – the Apostle and the remnants of The Romen Society – were finally and completely defeated.”
“What did you think of that little speech?” Phil asked.
“We knew he was involved and he now admitted it. But like he said I believe he has seen the light. I like him, and I always believe in redemption.”
Twenty open-topped jeeps pulled up and, two to a jeep, they all got in the back seats and took off for a leisurely two-hour trip through the countryside. Harry noticed his driver and the other drivers, some female, were mostly young and very fit. He wondered if they were part of the Minutemen. When he broached that to Phil, he said, “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Can’t do that. What if he’s not associated with the Minutemen and it raises a question?”
“That’s why he has to be one of them,” Phil said. “It’s too late in the game to bring in outsiders, even if they’re only drivers for a day.”
Phil tapped the driver on the shoulder and said, “Son, do you and the other Minutemen train on these grounds?”
“Minutemen, sir?” the driver said briefly turning and winking. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re speaking about.”
“Good answer, son. See. I told you, Harry.”
* * *
They wrapped up the next morning at eleven o’clock and Chris addressed them one final time. “We are as ready as we’ll ever be, although the exact date of the first move we make is not yet fixed. It will be sometime in late May. Hopefully, that strike will have sufficient effect that further violence will be unnecessary. But I’m not hopeful in that regard. The socialist movement will not easily give up its big chance to completely control our country. I’ll take some questions and then we’ll get back into our jeeps and head to Yellowstone National Park for lunch and a tour of some of the most glorious scenery and natural wonders that exist in America.”
“Chris,” Phil asked, “When you complete the first strike do you plan to communicate what has happened to the media?”
“Yes, this is a most important part of the plan. We want them to know what we did, why we did it, and how they can prevent future actions from us. And we will communicate via the print media. Maybe we can get some people away from their TV’s and back to reading newspapers again.”
“And if that doesn’t spur compliance, then what?” asked a female attendee.
“We strike again – harder. I do not anticipate failure. My only fear is that a determined law enforcement effort may shut us down.”
“So the position on the Committee remains unfilled?” asked another woman.
“Unfortunately, yes. However, I feel we can strike and achieve our objective before the law enforcement community mobilizes. They have lost a lot of experienced men to retirement.”
“What about that guy from New York?” asked a bespectacled professorial type. “You know, Cavendish, or something like that. The guy who took down OBL-911 and The Romens.”
“You mean, Cassidy – Harry Cassidy?”
“That’s the name.”
“He’s retired. He’s an old guy now and out of the fight,” Colonel O’Grady said with a huge grin. “He just wants to relax and live out his life in peace with his family. I assure you we have nothing to fear from him.”
“How many Minutemen do we have?” Harry asked having to suppress a grin of his own from O’Grady’s needling comments.
“We’d like to keep that secret,” Chris said. “Let us say we are confident that we have a sufficient number of young, well-trained field operatives dedicated to our cause to allow us to achieve our goals.”
After a couple more questions they got on their way to Yellowstone which was even more spectacular than Harry could ever have imagined. He would definitely bring Susan back out here for a more detailed exploration of the state. When they were back at the compound the buses were there waiting to take them back to their hotels. Chris addressed the group saying, “Good-bye and Godspeed, and may our mission be successful. I firmly believe we are the last, best hope for the survival of America.”
As they boarded their bus Chris took Harry aside and said, “I hope you didn’t mind the Colonel’s remarks about you.”
“Of course, not. They were right on the money, but I think you already figured out I can’t actively join the Committee.”
“Yes, reluctantly I have to now admit that.”
“And I assure you I won’t oppose you and the Minutemen. I doubt I’ll be asked to join the fight, but if I am I’ll politely decline.”
“Thanks Harry, but I’m still afraid, still uncertain.”
“Why?”
“My deep research of you tells me that you will indeed oppose me if asked, and my fear is that your leadership is the only thing that can take us down.”
“If you truly believe that, why not just shoot me here and bury me in the woods?”
“A few of the Committee members suggested just that.”
That comment got Harry’s attention and he said, “But you convinced them you could swing me over to the cause – neutralize me – and as I told you, I am definitely out of the fight. You don’t seem to believe me though.”
“I really do believe you – now. But when things get sticky, I’m not sure you’ll feel the same way.”
“Nonsense. Good luck, Chris. Let’s hope for a quick victory with minimal bloodshed. You did make a believer out of me.”
“Remember that when you’re called on to destroy us. I’m prepared to die and to go down fighting. You will have to pry my gun from my cold, dead hands as the saying goes.”
“That will never happen. Good-bye, and good luck.”
* * *
On the bus ride back to the Sheraton Phil said, “So what did you tell him?”
“Just what Susan advised. I’ll sit this one out if the law enforcement community asks me to participate, but I doubt that I will be asked.”
“Your modesty is amazing, and I know it’s genuine. But I am telling you they will attempt to put you back in the fight as soon as the first shot is fired.”
“Nonsense.”
“Want to bet?”
“Bet on what exactly?”
“That they’ll ask you to join the fight in a leadership position.”
“How much?”
“One bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label Scotch.”
“Deal.”
“And I bet if you are asked, you will accept.”
“That’s one you’re going to lose, my friend. For sure.”
“How much, Harry?”
“One case of Blue Label.”
“Deal, and I sincerely hope with all my strength that I lose that bet.”
Chapter Ten
Congressman Bernard Aronson represented an area on Long Island that comprised the eastern third of Nassau County and the western third of Suffolk County. The 725,000 people now living in his district were just about evenly split between Democrats and Republicans, with small percentages of Conservatives and Independents. In the last election, Aronson had defeated the long term Republican incumbent by a narrow margin, less than 4,000 votes. The Republicans cried, “Voter fraud!” claiming that there were at least that many liberal voters who voted in Florida in person, and also in New York via absentee ballot. The Republican’s and his party’s calls for a federal investigation went unheeded and he left a long, scandal-free career of public service in bitterness and dismay.
Now there were just two Republican congressmen left in the entire New York State delegation of twenty-seven, and on this day in late May, both were ten to fifteen points behind their Democrat challengers. Once those two lost, which now seemed likely, New York State would be 100% controlled by liberal Democrats. The entire congressional delegation, including both senators, the governor, and both houses of the state legislature were already in Democratic hands as was the mayoralty and city council in New York City.
Most of the state’s liberal newspapers heralded the extinction of the two-party system as a good thing. One editorial writer gushed with enthusiasm claiming that, “Now that the obstructionists are finally gone, we can pass meaningful, fair, progressive laws to aid the poor and downtrodden citizens of our great state who have suffered under the grinding jackboots of their wealthy oppressors.” Many of those so-called oppressors, including Phil and Mary MacDonald, had already fled the state. Others were planning to follow.
Congressman Aronson had his main office on Old Country Road in the hamlet of Plainview in Nassau County. Congress was in a two-week Memorial Day recess and he had scheduled a meeting there at 10:00 a.m. with a group of constituents concerning a suspected source of pollution in their neighborhood which they felt was being ignored by the EPA. When the usually prompt congressman had not arrived by 10:15, his aide Terry Melrose, called his home phone and cell phone and got his voicemail greeting both times.
Terry, now a bit concerned, asked a junior staff member to drive over to Aronson’s house, which was only a few miles away, and determine where he was. She then began the meeting explaining that the congressman was detained and would arrive shortly. Fifteen minutes later the staffer called Terry and told her the house was locked up tight and the congressman’s car was in the driveway. He said, “I guess the two kids are in school and Melissa is at her job in Manhattan.”
Terry felt a twinge of fear and instructed the staff member to call the police and wait there for their arrival. “As soon as they find out what’s going on, get back to me right away.”
“Okay Terry, I’ll call them right away.”
What the patrol officers from the Ninety-Second Precinct found when they finally broke into the house was a dead congressman shot multiple times in the head and chest with what appeared to be nine millimeter or .38 caliber slugs. There were no cartridge cases to be found in the immediate vicinity of the body. Detectives Danny Boyland and Virgil Webb from Nassau Homicide responded with their supervisor Sergeant Francis Finn, and since Aronson was a congressman, several FBI agents responded from their Long Island office.
By the end of this May 26, nine more bodies across the nation had been discovered shot to death in their homes, or cars, or offices. The list of dead included well-known Hollywood movie producer, Marshall Renfrew, whose feature films and documentaries espoused liberal causes and beliefs. Renfrew used his millions in profits to fund liberal politicians, particularly the ultra-left California socialists.
Found sprawled on his office desk was Wilfred Majors, the owner and chief editorial writer of what was considered the country’s most liberal, left-leaning major paper – the Los Angeles World Mirror. The remaining seven were all, as Congressman Aronson, elected senators and congressmen. The group included one senator each from Connecticut, California and Illinois and four congressmen from four different states – Vermont, California, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts.
On the morning of May 27, all hell broke loose in the law enforcement community as the identities of the dead became known. No one person and no organization stepped forward to take responsibility for the murders and no physical evidence, other than the expended bullets awaiting removal from the bodies, was found at any of the murder scenes. The nation’s Joint Terrorist Task Forces had been alerted by the FBI hierarchy, but could offer no assistance. With the liberal connection staring them in the face, the assumption was made that an extreme right-wing group carried out the assassinations, but none had appeared brightly on the radar in months.
NYMPD Commissioner Charles Carson was on a conference call with FBI Director Walter Kobak and the chief law enforcement officers – police chiefs and sheriffs – in the other jurisdictions where the murders took place. Kobak said, “We know the connection. Any idea who’s responsible?”
That the FBI Director seemed not to have a clue concerning the perpetrators of these crimes sent a ripple of unease through all the police bosses. Charlie Carson said, “We might have to wait for the other shoe to drop.”
“Meaning?” The Chicago police director asked.
“Assuming the murders are being committed by a terrorist group – foreign or domestic – their previous modus operandi was to commit the acts, then go public with their demands.”
“I can confirm that,” Kobak said, “from a lot of past experiences. But what do we do while waiting for that shoe to drop? Nothing?”
“We could work up a list of possible targets that fit the profile of the ten who were killed and provide them local or federal protection,” said the Boston police chief.
“There are a lot of liberal Democrats out there,” Kobak said, “and some senators and congressmen have already called the President for protection.”
“What was his response?” Carson asked.
“He threw it back to me to work up a plan. I suggest all of you do the same for those who reside in your jurisdictions.”
Jack Fisher, the Los Angeles police chief said, “I wouldn’t have enough cops to cover half the liberals out here even if I shut down a few patrol districts and assigned all the cops to cover them.”
The other chiefs and sheriffs on the call voiced the same opinions but Kobak said, “I understand and I don’t disagree, but we better show the politicos we are taking some proactive measures. The heat is on and it’s only going to get worse if we don’t crack these cases soon. Let me suggest that when your investigators recover the bullets from the autopsies they securely package them and fly them to the FBI Laboratory in Quantico.”
“Good idea,” Carson said, “and I assume that when the President asked you to work up a plan that the FBI will be the lead agency on this?”
“Oh sure Charlie, we’d just love to be responsible for this mess and take all you guys off the hook.”
After the chuckles died down Carson said, “Seriously Walt, you know you have the best agency to be the point on this, especially since the crimes are scattered across the country and most of them are Federal officials. And I guarantee we all will take the heat and pressure, too.”
The conference call ended on a pessimistic note, but all took heed of Director Kobak’s advice and made a mental note to schedule pro-active planning sessions with their staffs as soon as possible. “Let’s all hope that this was a one-shot deal,” said the Chicago police chief, and although they all answered in the affirmative, not a one of them believed it was over.
When the next day and the next night passed without incident, and no more liberal politicians or prominent left-wing Democrat supporters turned up dead, the law enforcement community breathed a small sigh of relief and began the laborious process of solving a crime where the perpetrators were unknown, no substantial physical evidence was found, and no real good information came in on the tip lines. At least all the bullets were now on their way to the FBI Lab; maybe their analysis would lead somewhere. Looking forward to a solid night’s sleep after this hectic forty-eight hour period, the nation’s law enforcement chiefs put their heads on their pillows and closed their eyes tightly hoping their brains would stop churning and sleep would come.
* * *
Ten miles from the Reverend Alton Phineas’s compound, and unknown to him, was the fifty-acre training complex of the Minutemen. The men and women, sixty in number, had been hand-picked by the Committee and militarily trained by Colonel O’Grady and Lt. Colonel Steadman. All were avid bikers, but none had ever been arrested or fingerprinted. From almost every state in the union they were carefully chosen for their intelligence, hatred of the federal government, and dedication to a return to the freedom to live as they pleased without government intervention.
The biggest difficulty in the selection process had been the inherent hatred of other Americans who were not white, male and Christian. If the Committee could not turn them around, they were not chosen. Those that modified their views were conditionally accepted to the group and observed. Most of them were inducted to full membership among the very diverse assemblage. O
f the sixty now in place, twelve were women, six were Jewish, including two of the women, seventeen had varied shades of brown skin, including three of the women, and fourteen were Latino, including two of the women. There was one male Asian – George Chen – who affectionately became known as Gordo the Gook.
They had all come together and had one goal – to take back America. And now they were ready for their first test. Chris assembled them all at parade rest on the drill field the day before they were to embark on their first mission and said, “Tomorrow we strike!”
They burst into cheers. This was the news they were dying to hear. Finally, after two arduous years of training, they would see action.
“As you know our group of Minutemen consists of 105 people. The forty members who you have not officially met provide the money to keep us going and the intelligence of where to best attack. You sixty are the field troops – the arm of the Minutemen who will carry out the attacks. You will now receive your package of instructions. It contains all the information about the locations and habits of your targets to guarantee a successful kill. It also contains the necessary cash, hotel room arrangements, airline tickets, and maps. You will not ride your bikes on this mission and you will dress according to the directions in your package. You will act in teams of two, three or four, but will travel separately to your locations. Read and study your instructions and we will assemble in two hours for questions.
When they reassembled in the cafeteria there were a few questions which Chris and the other Committee members quickly resolved. “My last words to you concern your personal activities on this mission and how to act if apprehended by law enforcement. Having been in the military and ridden a motorcycle for many years, I know your culture is into beer and pot at occasional times.”
