Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  “Not very politely, I might add.”

  “Entering the United States under a false identity is a felony.”

  “So you are arresting me? In that case, where’s my lawyer again?” Skull thought that the fact he still hadn’t been booked and processed meant Vergone didn’t want his presence entered in the FBI’s impeccable files. That was the key to wiggling out of this situation and regaining his freedom.

  “We could arrest you,” Vergone sniffed. “Oh, so very easily. We could hold you on a dozen charges including assaulting federal agents, resisting arrest, breaking and entering, theft of government property, inciting sedition, and using false identity documents.”

  “But...” Skull said, leaning forward with a smile.

  Vergone closed the folder. “I believe there’s another way out of this. A way that can make all of this go away and be of the utmost benefit to us both.”

  “Go on. Forgive me if I maintain a certain degree of skepticism.”

  “We know that you have been contacted by the secessionist government in Texas to perform a service for them. You’re one of three people they have reached out to.”

  Skull nodded. “Yeah, a few days ago I got a message. I turned them down flat. Not interested in getting involved in lost causes for no pay.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but we want you to go back and accept the job to become a mole on the inside.”

  “And why would I be willing to do this?”

  “Didn’t I just give you a laundry list of reasons? We could put you away for at least twenty years…and all sorts of things could happen in that time. Bad things.”

  “Bullshit,” said Skull. “To convict me would mean a trial, and that means public exposure. The last thing you would want is those documents as court evidence. Might open up a Pandora’s box of questions you’ll never be able to close. If you charge me on anything, I’ll talk to my lawyer about everything.”

  “We could put you in one of our military detention facilities,” Vergone answered. “Guantanamo still has some empty cells. You could sit in there until your attitude changes.”

  “Not with an American citizen, you can’t.”

  “We’ve done it with millions of Edens.”

  “I’m not an Eden, so that stupid law doesn’t apply. Miles, I applaud the effort, I really do, but I think you’ve overplayed your hand here. I called your bluff and you lost. There’s no shame in it. Better luck next time. Now if we’re done here, I’ll take possession of my water gun and be on my way.”

  Vergone sighed. “I was afraid it might come to this. I didn’t want to have to resort to unsavory measures, but I can see no choice.”

  “Because the measures you’ve used so far have been completely savory? Like the ‘prime rib with melted butter and a loaded baked potato on the side’ sort of savory?”

  “You’re originally from the hardscrabble hills of western Tennessee, correct?”

  “That’s right. Rocky Top, baby.”

  Vergone nodded. “We’ve actually been looking for you for some time. Even before Texas reached out to you. We of course talked to your grandmother up there. Detta, I think her name was. What a wonderful woman. Quite spry for someone her age.”

  Skull froze and forced his hands to unclench. This was exactly the sort of reaction they were trying to elicit. They wanted leverage, beyond the threat of torture, which they had to know would be useless.

  “She gave us a great deal of useful information on you and your extended family. Not the model of healthy interpersonal relationships, but let’s face it, every clan has its issues.”

  “Where is she now?” Skull asked in almost a whisper.

  Vergone’s face took on a look of surprise. “Oh, dear. It just occurred to me that you don’t know. You really should stay in contact more. Family is important.”

  “Know what?”

  Vergone explained with mock sadness. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but that poor woman’s heart simply gave out. We were right in the middle of talking to her and did everything we could to save her, but evidently the stress was just too much for her to bear. It should be a comfort to you to know she lived a very long life.”

  Skull held onto his temper, knowing it wouldn’t serve him. “You tortured an old woman? And here I thought the FBI hadn’t gone the way of the Security Service.”

  Vergone shook his head. “We didn’t torture her. We simply talked to her, and at times used...shall we say, enhanced interrogation techniques to help her remember. They say the memory is the first thing to go once you start getting around her age.”

  “And you think torturing and killing my grandmother will make me want to help you? As a matter of fact, you probably want to find a dark hole somewhere far away to crawl into before pulling a rock over your head. I’ll still find you, but it may take longer.”

  Vergone snapped his fingers and laughed. “Silly me, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He reached into the folder and brought out a photograph, turning it for Skull to see. It showed three girls smiling for a photo with a blue backdrop. It was the sort of photo that families had been taking their children to Wal-Mart to get for years. The girls were in their Sunday best. None of them could have been older than ten.

  “So?” asked Skull.

  “I see you’ve never met. You really are the black sheep of the family. The blond on the left is little Allison. The one with the pretty eyes on the right is Danielle. And the cute little one in the middle is Samantha. These are the children of your youngest brother, Darryl Denham.”

  “I see. So you’re threatening to hurt them if I don’t cooperate?”

  “Why do you always assume the worst? We’re actually the good guys here. Darryl and his wife were taken into custody some time back due to being infected with the Eden virus. Unfortunately, they died in the relocation camp long before I even knew of them, and now their children are orphans. I’ve taken steps to have them looked after, but I can’t keep that up forever. The camps are not the happiest of places, I’m ashamed to admit, especially for young girls. All sorts of unsavory types have been transferred there. Much more efficient than the usual prison system, you see. All we have to do is guard the perimeters. What goes on inside, well…”

  “And if I agree to this, you’ll let them emigrate to somewhere friendly to Edens, I suppose.”

  “Exactly.”

  Skull closed his eyes. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d seen his younger brother, and they’d never been close. He’d always thought when times were different, he’d reach out to him and patch things up. Now it would never happen.

  Still, the children’s plight touched him.

  Best not to let them know.

  “Piss off,” Skull said opening his eyes. “You think I give a shit about three little kids I’ve never met?”

  “Now look who’s bluffing,” Vergone said, taking another sip of his coffee. He set the cup down and opened the folder again. “I’ve studied you in some detail. Even the military psychiatrists that recommended your mandatory retirement noted that family was important to you, which I find ironic given your chosen estrangement from them, but that’s beside the point. They also noted that you have a soft spot for females and children, of which these three are both. You know these poor grieving nieces of yours would be in terrible danger in an Eden camp with a bunch of strangers. If you agree, we’ll remand them to whomever you choose, wherever you choose. Hell, I’ll put them on a plane to Colombia myself.”

  Skull’s mind raced. Even if he refused and pretended he didn’t care about the kids, it wouldn’t get them out from under the knife that hung over their heads. As Edens, they might still go to some experimentation camp where they would be starved, or dissected, or given a series of diseases in order for these modern Mengeles to study the effects. Over time, even the miraculous Eden virus would lose the war for survival and they would die slow, agonizing, and humiliating deaths.

  Skull kept his rage confined below
the surface. He knew he had to remain calm, to play for time in order to find a way out of this situation. “So, you want me to accept the Texans’ offer? You said there were two other candidates. How do you know one of them hasn’t already accepted the job?”

  “We have already made sure neither of them is interested. With your earlier refusal, the rebels are frantic. Whatever they want you to do seems important, requiring your special skills. When you contact them and accept, they will likely be so grateful that you can name your price. I’ll even be gracious enough to let you keep the money they pay you.”

  Skull nodded, letting a tinge of defeat show, playing along. “Okay, I’ll do it, but the next time we meet, I’ll want proof the kids are alive and being treated well.”

  “Understood,” Vergone answered with a smile. “One of my associates will brief you on the meeting and communications procedures before you leave.” He leaned in close to Skull. “And let’s keep all this just between us. We’ll be watching you. No talking to your little Free Communities friends. If I suspect for even a second you’re betraying us, these innocent children will suffer the consequences of your actions.”

  Skull stared at the man while mentally imagining himself cutting off his nose and force-feeding it to him.

  Vergone stood. “I can see we have an understanding. Let us know when you’ve taken the job.” He knocked on the door and it opened to reveal two agents waiting outside. Vergone walked through, and then turned back. “Don’t take any of this personally, Denham. Remember it’s business, and everything will be just fine.” He nodded to Skull and smiled warmly before disappearing down the hallway with the folder and his coffee.

  The pair of agents walked into the room and unshackled Skull before leading him down the hall in the opposite direction. He recognized them as two of the four he’d tangled with.

  “On second thought,” said Skull, “you can keep the fucking squirt gun. Maybe you can use it to give each other the enemas you so obviously need.”

  One reached for Skull, but the other put out a warning hand. “Vergone said he’s untouchable.”

  The first leaned in close to Skull. “This isn’t over, shithead.”

  Skull met his eyes. “Oh, you are so right.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Skull was tossed outside into the cool night air of Washington, D.C., apparently free.

  But he knew he was trapped, nonetheless.

  For now.

  Chapter 6

  General Gerald McAllister, Republic of Texas Chief of Defense Forces, stared at the map on the projection screen in front of him. It was a topographical portrayal of his new nation and the surrounding U.S. states, with major highways, population centers and rail lines highlighted.

  Colonel Sherrie Gervais, McAllister’s chief planner, pointed at the map. “We completed the process of securing all military bases and federal buildings. Operation Free Range went relatively smoothly, with no fatalities and only about a dozen injuries. Approximately fifty-two percent of the military personnel elected to swear loyalty to Texas and stay.”

  That had to be tough, McAllister thought. The decision had been easier for him. The Texas resident and retired four-star CENTCOM commander had little to lose compared to those still on active duty. McAllister knew the president of Texas had initially offered the top military job to General Travis Tyler, but McAllister’s old friend had elected to remain loyal to the United States and was currently stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado.

  They might even have to face each other on the field of battle.

  Colonel Gervais continued, “We’re working to bring the prime ground combat units up to eighty percent strength using augmentees from personnel recalled to active duty, and from the Army Guard.”

  “I don’t want to deplete our Guard units too much,” McAllister said. “They’ve been doing a fantastic job since they were activated six months ago and still have the critical mission of manning and serving as the first line of defense on our borders.”

  General Buck Clemens, head of the Texas National Guard, cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, sir. My boys can hold until the new recruits get through basic training. We’ve got triple classes going right now to handle all the new enlistments. I’m not sure raw manpower is going to be the issue.”

  McAllister elected not to say anything. Recruits made him nervous, but what choice did they have? Besides, every seasoned and competent soldier was a boot private at some point.

  Gervais pointed to several positions well in from the border. “We’ve deployed all the air defense assets we have in Texas. We now have a shield that should deter air strikes from the U.S. Anything but a full-up air armada, anyway.”

  McAllister grunted. “Make sure those positions are well defended with ground troops. Our radars are going to be prime targets. If they can get attack helicopters in low, or even a strike team to take a few of them out like we did to Iraq, they can open an air corridor into our vital rear areas, which would be very bad news for us.”

  “We can take on that mission,” said General Clint Weston, head of the Texas State Guard. “We’re already helping to secure the major cities and airfields. A few more key sites won’t be too much for us.

  McAllister nodded.

  Until a few weeks ago he had no idea something called the Texas State Guard, separate and distinct from the National Guard, even existed. Few other states had such a robust organization, but Texas’ unique history had sustained this unique, non-federal branch of the militia against the erosion of states’ rights.

  Composed entirely of volunteers and seen mostly as a social club, McAllister had initially been skeptical of their ability to fight, but upon further investigation, he’d been pleasantly surprised. Nearly all of the troops were veterans who had served at least one active duty tour. Also, six Civil Affairs regiments, now reorganized as six light infantry brigades, plus two air wings, an engineer group and a medical group were nothing to sneer at.

  “Thanks, Clint,” said McAllister. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Weston nodded and started writing on a notebook before handing the note to an aide behind him, who got up and left the room.

  Good man, thought McAllister. Weston isn’t waiting for the meeting to be over. He understands every second counts.

  Colonel Gervais continued her briefing. “We’re keeping a four-ship of F-16s on hot alert to be in the air within five minutes. Eight more can be airborne fifteen minutes after that, and the rest in two hours. We’ve also got an AWACS in the air around the clock, orbiting between San Antonio and Austin. The 147th Reconnaissance Wing just finished updating all their UAV software to prevent intrusion, and will begin patrolling the borders tomorrow.”

  “Good,” said McAllister. “Make sure those UAVs stay well back from the U.S. airspace. They can see what they need to see several miles in. I don’t want to give anyone an excuse to retaliate over violated air space.”

  Gervais nodded and brought up another slide showing units and numbers. “Sir, this shows our overall assets. When it comes to ground elements we’re in pretty good shape, both in combat and support elements. Our air elements are judged to be adequate, although we of course would prefer more. We’re actually sitting pretty good for ISR and cyber warfare, because the Air Force’s national centers for those functions are – were – located here, and we seized them pretty much intact. On the naval side, though, we’re severely deficient.”

  “What do we have?” asked McAllister.

  “Not much, I’m afraid,” answered Gervais pointing to a small column at the bottom of the slide. “The Texas State Guard has a Maritime Regiment composed mostly of Marines and shallow water elements. We weren’t able to seize any of the U.S. Navy’s major combat ships before their captains put out to sea last week.”

  McAllister rubbed his hands together. “We have to anticipate the U.S. Navy will blockade our coastline. That means no revenue from oil or gas shipments. Right now almost nothing’s getting in or out along the Tex
as-U.S. border. Start working on options for mitigating an embargo.” McAllister turned to his chief of intelligence, Colonel Monroe. “What about Mexico?”

  “Politically, a mixed bag. The U.S. has convinced them to close their border to us and allow no imports or exports. Indications are that the decision wasn’t terribly popular with the Mexican people and even some of the elite, but the deal they got was too good to pass up. Militarily…” the man laughed. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “That’s a lot of border to control, though,” said General Weston. “No way the Mexican government can seal it up completely. Hell, we never could. We should be able to run any blockade, smuggle things in and out, especially if we make it worth the Mexicans’ while. They’ll look the other way as long as we don’t get them in too much trouble with the Unionists.”

  “True,” said McAllister, looking back at Monroe. “Start working on that. Talk to our Texas Rangers and DEA – excuse me, former DEA liaison – and see if they can help. They know the players – who’s flexible, who’s corrupt, who won’t budge.”

  Monroe took a note, nodded and sat back down.

  “Bring that map back up again,” McAllister said. He stared at it for several long moments while everyone else in the room sat in silence.

  “It’s a hell of a lot of open space to defend,” McAllister finally said.

  “But we have the troops and units to do it,” said General Clemens.

  McAllister shook his head. “We have the disadvantage of having to defend everywhere. All they have to do is mass their elements at one point along our perimeter and punch through. Then we would have to pull troops from along our border to repel them, but in the process open up more avenues for attack. I’m thinking forward defense is a recipe for defeat. We’re a big state. Ah, nation, I mean. Let’s use that bigness to our advantage.”

  “We do have indications they’re massing maneuver elements at Fort Polk, Fort Sill, and Fort Carson,” said Monroe.