Home Invasion

by William W. Johnstone

  Yes, she realized. Those were machine guns.

  Like most people in law enforcement, as well as civilians who actually paid attention to what was going on in Washington—a dwindling number, unfortunately—Alex had heard plenty about the so-called Federal Protective Service while its formation was being debated in Congress.

  The President, who was a strong backer of the idea, along with the senators who had sponsored the bill commissioning the organization, made it sound so benign and helpful. The Federal Protective Service would be a sort of national police force, available to help local authorities in times of disaster or strife. It would be better for everyone to have such extra assistance on hand, the President had mentioned several times in speeches. And there would be checks and balances on the system, because supposedly the Federal Protective Service could be called in only if local authorities requested its help.

  A few politicians and commentators on the right had noticed that the actual language of the bill did, in fact, not make it a requirement that local authorities request aid from the FPS before it could be mobilized. Instead, the organization was to be considered part of the executive branch, which meant the President could send them in wherever and whenever he deemed it necessary. It was a perfect example of a technique perfected by the liberal politicians who had ruled Washington for the past decade or more: convince the public of one thing with a lot of lofty-sounding speeches, aided and abetted by the media, of course, when the truth was actually the direct opposite of what they claimed.

  Unfortunately, one of the conservative politicians who had tried to expose this fraud had made the mistake of comparing the FPS to the Gestapo of Nazi Germany, and the media had gone ballistic, screeching nonstop about how anyone opposed to the FPS’s formation was just fear mongering and, anyway, how dare anybody compare the President and Congress to a bunch of Nazis? That just wasn’t called for and was an example of how people who were opposed to their policies were just evil and stupid and unpatriotic. And on and on, ad nauseum, as usual, cheerleading for the radical politicians they adored.

  So it was no surprise that the FPS bill had passed Congress in a strict party-line vote a couple of weeks earlier, the same way every bill in this administration and the previous one had passed, and the President had signed it into law immediately, hailing it as a new step forward for the country.

  Everyone involved with the FPS claimed that no one had been recruited, trained, and equipped for it yet. That process was just now supposed to be getting underway.

  And yet, as Alex pulled into the high school parking lot and saw all the vehicles with hundreds of armed, black-uniformed, helmeted figures moving around them, she knew that was yet another lie from the left. A military force like this one couldn’t be pulled together in a couple of weeks. It was clear to her that for all practical purposes, the FPS had existed for at least a year before the bill authorizing its creation became law.

  Chances were, nobody could prove that, and even if they did, the media would ignore it, the politicians would deny it, and the gullible sheep who had put those people in office would believe whatever they were told.

  Alex knew that, but the knowledge didn’t make her any less angry right now. She had heavily armed personnel setting up shop in her town, and she didn’t like it.

  Not one damned bit.

  She brought her police car to a screeching halt, got out, and started toward a huge black RV bristling with antennas. All that communications equipment told her that this was the FPS command post. It had the organization’s logo emblazoned on its side: an eagle surrounded by a band of stars and also encircled by the words FEDERAL PROTECTIVE SERVICE.

  A couple of men carrying assault rifles moved to block her path. “Excuse me, ma’am,” one of them said. “Please state your name and your business here.”

  Alex bit back an angry retort. She knew how to deal with the military, and despite the idea that the FPS was supposed to be a “police” force, she recognized these men for what they were, elite shock troops.

  “I’m Alex Bonner, chief of police here in Home. I’d like to speak to your commanding officer.”

  One of the men nodded. They wore black goggles that were attached to their helmets, so she couldn’t see their eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am. Colonel Grady wants to speak to you, too, and gave orders that you were to be escorted to him as soon as you arrived.”

  “So he knew I was coming, did he?”

  “I guess he figured you’d want to know what was going on, ma’am.”

  “He was right about that,” Alex muttered.

  The two men parted, then flanked her as she walked toward the RV. Someone inside must have seen her coming—they probably had video cameras monitoring everything—because a door in the side of the vehicle opened and another black-uniformed man lowered some folding steps to the asphalt of the parking lot.

  “Right this way, Chief,” he said.

  Alex climbed the steps into what could have passed for a control room at NASA. There were video screens and computer monitors and gauges and blinking lights everywhere. She experienced a moment of mild disorientation because it appeared that the inside of the RV was larger than its outside, which was physically impossible, of course. But that was the way it looked to her stunned eyes. Male and female technicians in black uniforms were packed into the command post.

  The man who had let Alex in told her, “The colonel is right over here, ma’am.” He led her to a video screen where another black-uniformed figure stood watching what was on the display. This man stood erect, with his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t wear a helmet like the others but was bareheaded instead, revealing a thatch of iron-gray hair that matched his tanned, rugged face. The soldier with Alex said, “Colonel, here’s Chief Bonner.”

  The colonel turned to her, nodded, and extended his hand. “Chief,” he said. “I’m glad to meet you. I’m Colonel Charles Grady.”

  Alex shook his hand. “With all due respect, Colonel, what are you and your soldiers doing here in my town?”

  Grady smiled faintly. “These men and women aren’t soldiers, Chief. They’re officers. Police officers, just like the men and women who work for you.”

  Alex wanted to say Not hardly, but she controlled the impulse. Instead she said, “But you’re a colonel. That’s a military title.”

  Grady shrugged. “I’m a retired colonel, actually. Now I work for the Federal Protective Service. My superiors have been kind enough to allow me to keep the rank.”

  “Which still doesn’t answer the question of what you’re doing here.”

  “Following orders,” Grady said. “I would have notified you in advance of our arrival, but those orders specified that I not do so. From one commanding officer to another, ma’am, I apologize for that.”

  “The President sent you here, didn’t he?”

  “The FPS is part of the executive branch, yes, ma’am.”

  Getting a straight answer from this man seemed well-nigh impossible. Alex kept trying, though, asking through clenched teeth, “Why?”

  Grady glanced at a watch strapped to his wrist and then gestured at the video screen in front of him. “I believe if you’ll just watch this for a few minutes, Chief, you’ll have all the answers you need.”

  Impatiently, Alex glanced at the screen and saw that it was showing a cable news feed. A man and a woman were talking, then a moment later, they shut up and the broadcast switched to a location Alex recognized.

  The Oval Office in the White House.

  The President sat behind his desk, looking as handsome and photogenic and sincere as ever. He spoke in a calm, assured, rational voice.

  And yet as Alex stood there watching and listening, the world seemed to start spinning crazily around her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Even after all the outrageous things this president and the previous one had done and gotten away with, this new trampling of the Constitution was shocking.

  When the President’s spe
ech was finished and the news anchors came back to talk about how wonderful he was and how everything he had said was right, Alex turned to Colonel Grady and said, “So you’re here to take away all the guns that belong to the citizens of Home.”

  “And the surrounding area, yes, ma’am,” Grady replied. “Those are our orders.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Actually, Chief, we can. The area is now under martial law. Technically, you no longer have any authority here. “ Grady smiled. “However, for the sake of the public good and to make the entire process run smoother, I’m asking you and your force to cooperate. The citizens are much more likely to comply peacefully with the order if they see that their own police force thinks it better for them to turn in their guns.”

  “I won’t do it,” Alex said flatly. “It’s not legal.”

  “If the President says that it’s legal, then it’s legal, as far as I’m concerned.” Grady frowned. “As he said, you and your officers will be allowed to keep your weapons, Chief. I want you to continue enforcing the law in Home, just as you have been. But … that decision can be suspended if I see fit to do so. I have the authority to demand that you and your officers surrender your weapons as well. I’d prefer that you not force me to do so, Chief.”

  It was all Alex could do to control the fury that welled up inside her. She knew she was outnumbered and outgunned. She couldn’t stop Grady from doing whatever he wanted to do.

  But she didn’t have to help him, and so she shook her head. “I won’t try to stop you,” she said, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going to help you.”

  “Then just stay out of our way,” Grady snapped. “I won’t be needing you anymore.”

  “You mean—”

  “I mean you’re free to leave, Chief. Have a good day.”

  Yeah, Alex thought bitterly. Like that was going to happen.

  She had a feeling that the good days in Home were over.

  CHAPTER 27

  When she left the command post RV, Delgado was waiting for her, guarded by a couple of the black-clad soldiers.

  “Is it true?” Delgado asked tensely. “They’re here to take everybody’s guns?”

  “How do you know about it?”

  “Jimmy called me. Enough people in town saw that news broadcast that the word is spreading fast. Jimmy says the station is being flooded with calls from people wanting to know if its true.”

  Alex sighed and nodded. “It’s true. These people"— she glared scathingly at the so-called “officers"— “have been sent here to disarm all the civilians.”

  “But not us.”

  “Not yet. But I’m sure if we give them any trouble, that’ll be the next step. The commanding officer made that clear.” Alex started toward her car and jerked her head for Delgado to follow.

  The other members of the force were waiting for them. Alex called them together and explained the situation.

  “What are we gonna do?” Jerry Houston asked when she was finished.

  “I don’t know.” Alex hated to appear indecisive, but the sheer enormity of the situation had all but overwhelmed her. “There are too many of them. I told the colonel we wouldn’t help them, but we won’t try to interfere with them, either.”

  “The hell with that,” Clint said with a snort. “I quit.”

  Alex shook her head. “Clint, don’t. Please. I’m going to need all the good people I can get to maintain order.”

  “No, you won’t,” he argued. “This bunch of goose-steppers will maintain order, at gunpoint, I expect. You just wait and see.”

  Alex didn’t have to wait. She was sure Clint was right.

  Unbelievably in this, the Twenty-first Century, the day of the jackboot and the iron fist had dawned in America. The forces of the left, so arrogant and self-righteous in their belief that their way was the only way for the country, had bided their time, waiting for the right moment to step in and force their agenda on everyone, and the anger over the tragic injustice that had happened to Pete McNamara had served as their excuse.

  This was just the first step down a long, nightmarish road that would ultimately find the formerly free United States transformed into a socialist dictatorship.

  That was a harsh judgment, Alex knew, but she didn’t doubt the truth of it for an instant. That was exactly what the man in the Oval Office intended.

  As if to confirm her fears, several of the sinister-looking SUVs pulled out of the parking lot and headed downtown. Alex couldn’t see through the blacked-out windows in the vehicles, but she was sure they were full of FPS “officers” setting out on their mission to disarm the town.

  At that moment, static crackled from the radio on her shoulder, and then Jimmy said, “Chief, I got a call that Wendell Post is … barricadin’ himself inside his store. He says he’s gonna fight if anbody … tries to take away his guns.”

  “Damn it,” Alex muttered. Still, Jimmy’s news came as no surprise. A lot of people would probably react the same way as the hardware store owner. Wendell Post was just the first one to do so.

  She leaned her head toward the radio and keyed the mike. “On my way, Jimmy,” she told the dispatcher. “If any more calls like that come in, send an officer to each location.” She broke the connection and turned toward them. “Do not let those goons shoot any of the townspeople. Clint, are you with us or not?”

  Clint sighed. “All right, all right. I’ll stay on … for now. I don’t want them shootin’ up the town any more than you do, and that’s what it’s liable to come to.”

  Alex got into her car and headed downtown. Post Hardware was at the intersection of the state highway and the farm road, in the very center of town. When she glanced at the rearview mirror, she saw more of the SUVs leaving the high school as the FPS began spreading out on its unholy mission.

  It didn’t take long to drive from the outskirts of town where the school was located to the downtown area. Alex saw several of the black SUVs parked at intervals along the blocks of businesses. The soldiers had gotten out and were striding along the sidewalks, the highly visible presence of their weapons causing a lot of alarm and commotion among the citizens. They hadn’t gotten to the hardware store yet, she saw, and she was grateful for that. She might still have a chance to talk some sense into Wendell Post.

  As she parked in a fire zone and got out of the car, she heard the bullhorn-magnified tones of one of the troopers saying, “Attention, citizens of Home! Attention, citizens of Home! As per the Executive Order of the President of the United States, Home and the surrounding area are now under federal control! You are required by law to cooperate and comply with this order! All firearms must be surrendered! Repeat, all firearms must be surrendered! Take your guns to the Federal Protective Service command post located at the Home High School and turn them in! FPS personnel are on duty there to collect your firearms and issue receipts for them! This is a temporary measure, but all firearms must be surrendered!”

  Where was the news media now? Alex wondered fleetingly as she moved toward the door of the hardware store. Where were all those gallant reporters devoted to the pursuit of truth now? Why weren’t they showing the world pictures of how soldiers under the direct command of the President had invaded and occupied an American town? Where was the outrage at such a heavy-handed and unconstitutional action?

  She knew the answer, of course. The FPS had probably thrown a cordon around the entire area placed under martial law. The media wouldn’t be allowed in while the disarming of Home was going on. And even if they had been, they would have downplayed and excused the whole thing, so it didn’t really matter.

  Alex grabbed the handle on one of the glass front doors of the hardware store and pulled it open.

  A shot blasted, shattering the glass and spraying shards of it over the sidewalk. Alex crouched, instinct making her draw her pistol as broken glass crunched under her feet.

  “Wendell!” she shouted. “Wendell, it’s Chief Bonner! Don’t shoot!”

&nb
sp; From where she was, she could see that the hardware store appeared to be empty of customers. That was good, anyway. This wouldn’t turn into a bloodbath.

  Not unless the blood was hers, she thought.

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted movement and turned her head to see several of the FPS troopers rushing toward the hardware store. She motioned with her free hand for them to stop. They slowed down but kept coming.

  “Wendell, can you hear me?”

  There hadn’t been any more shots. Now Post called from the back of the store somewhere, “Chief? Is that really you?”

  “It’s really me, Wendell.” Alex took a deep breath. “I’m coming in.”

  “Are there any of them government thugs with you?”

  “No, just me.” She motioned again to the FPS men, more sharply this time. They stopped at the end of the block, and one of them gave her a curt nod. She took this as permission to go in and talk with the barricaded store owner.

  “Well … all right, I guess,” Post called. “Come on in. Just you, though.”

  “Just me,” Alex said, loud enough for the men at the end of the block to hear her. She motioned for them to stay where they were as she pulled back the undamaged door and stepped into the store.

  “Back here behind the counter,” Post said.

  Alex holstered her weapon. She didn’t believe Wendell Post would shoot her. They had known each other for years.

  The rawboned sixty-year-old straightened from his crouch behind the old, scarred wooden counter where he had filled orders for his customers for decades. He had a deer rifle in his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Chief,” he said. “I thought you was one of them government Nazis.”

  “No, just me, same as I’ve always been. Why don’t you put that rifle down, Wendell?”

  He looked at the weapon as if he had forgotten he was holding it. “Oh. Yeah, sure.” He laid it on the counter between them, the barrel pointing to the side. “It’s not true, is it? They can’t take our guns away just on that damn politician’s say-so, can they?”