by Linda Mackay
I was definitely done thinking about his man parts.
“President is temporarily MIA in my opinion.” I heard Mac say, and then Liz interrupted.
“Or dead.”
I almost fell off the chair as I looked around hoping no one else was in hearing range.
“There’s no confirmation on that,” Mac said. “And I disagree, I feel that would not be an advantageous move by The Bakers.”
“Her last appearance was wooden.” Liz was in full work mode, pushing past the happy pills. “Something is going on behind the scenes with her.”
“Absolutely.”
“Holmes was always a marionette who had no idea her strings were manipulated.”
“I agree, Liz.” Mac pulled his chair closer to the computer. “She is your bailiwick. What’s next?”
“They are operating from either the southern California base or the one we recently uncovered on the Washington/Oregon border. We won’t know for sure until they make their next move.”
“DC will erupt like the Yellowstone volcano if they do what I suspect,” Mac said.
“Dumbasses created this scenario with their insistence on having their way or taking their toys and going home,” Liz said.
“Problem is that toy is a country filled with innocent citizens,” Mac said.
“Jorie?” Liz’s eyelids closed and opened slowly. Her energy was fading. “Pretend you are a citizen in the dark. Who would you believe?”
“My instincts as a scientist say I’d believe the evidence we presented.” Then, I thought about history. The atrocities Hitler persuaded others to commit, or accept as necessary, and how today some countries are demanding Holocaust lessons be removed from school curriculums. Would I have considered history or hate if I were in the dark? “Honestly, it would be easier to simply believe the President.”
“Mac, update the Secretary of State. I think your suspicions are correct.” Liz leaned back in her bed. “Jorie, I look forward to seeing you soon.” The screen froze as the call disconnected.
I looked at Mac. “She’s coming here, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Let’s hope we’re still alive when she arrives.”
Chapter 31
The ranch was eerily quiet. Eight soldiers roamed the property; seven were sleeping in the bunkhouse; and two each were stationed at the M2s. Until the cowboys arrived with the last cows rounded up from their summer hiding places, only two wranglers were working the ranch. Both were normally the last summer workers to leave before winter. Not this year. The government would be paying them very well to stay, and both were way to happy for a fight. I was betting that changed if bullets started flying.
It was my responsibility to tell Todd and Amanda their winter off-season was going to be a white one. Honestly, I was hoping a cowboy or soldier would let it slip and I’d be off the hook. Mac hadn’t even officially told me. But, I’d lived on this ranch long enough to know once the military vehicles rolled in this late in the year, they weren’t getting out until after spring mud season. Maybe Todd and Amanda had figured it out? Both were overly optimistic and may simply assume Mac would fly them out in a few weeks. Whatever they believed, I was going to be the one squelching any vestige of optimism they still possessed. Resolution was not coming quickly, and I was oddly happy the ranch would be overflowing with people.
In hindsight it was clear our news conference had not produced the results the DIA hoped for. They obviously had contingent plans, one of which was the fortification of our ranch to protect us. But had they considered President Holmes’ life was in danger? Mac had avoided the conversation last night, but he wasn’t going to avoid it any longer. He rode the four-wheeler up to my cabin and entered without knocking. “Where’s your bodyguard?” Mac asked.
“She took my truck to load and transport some of the food in the cellar to your place.”
“Spread the supplies to minimize our loss.” Mac sat on my couch and realized from my expression his negative thinking. “Sorry. Minimize the possible loss.”
“You must be tired to make a mistake like that.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night, and when I did doze off someone sabotaged my house.”
“Command is difficult.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his neck.
“Maybe you need to alleviate some of your burden by discussing it.” Maybe this was the time I could get some answers.
“Since when did you pussy foot around?”
“Okay, Colonel. What the five-dollars-in-the-F-boot is going on?”
“The checks and balances of democracy the US prides itself on, is being wiped out. As technology advanced and people had the instant ability, through social media to communicate, it became obvious to governments it was an efficient way to manipulate the populace.”
“All the world’s a stage. And all the men and women merely players.”
“And one person in his time plays many parts. I beg Shakespeare’s forgiveness for paraphrasing,” Mac said.
I picked a rose quartz crystal from the basket on the fireplace and rolled it in my hand. “Manipulating people became so easy, the powerful wanted more power.”
“Correct. Controlling information suffered its first big hit with the invention of the television. The Vietnam War was front and center at our dinner tables every night. As technology continued to shrink the size of the world, the next big hit in my opinion was the easy access to cell phones, which then exploded the social media field.”
“And created the stage for doctored videos and outright lies.” This was not the information I was fishing for, but Mac needed to talk.
“The powerful began to employ people to sit at home all day posting propaganda on social media.”
“Trolls,” I said.
“I have a far less polite term for subversive behavior. Anyway, the intelligence community was unable to hire people fast enough to keep up with the onslaught of monitoring needed. We’ve even discussed ways to shut down Internet access for the general public because of its use for terrorism of all kinds.”
“I remember sitting at the campfire and Todd talking about being on a social sight and a message would be posted that had no meaning or reference to the owner of the page. I thought he was conspiracy crazy at the time.”
“Think about how many agents would be needed to monitor billions of people using the web. And how your page may be used for terrorist messages,” Mac said. “A coded message placed on your account—as simple as, see you at home—yet sent and received with dire consequences.”
“I get that. But what does this have to do with today?”
“It’s why President Wallace was assassinated. The Bakers have been using social media to recreate…or if you prefer…destroy America.”
I was still confused, but pressed on. “We exposed them and now we’re the bad guys. What does messages on social media have to do with us?”
“They don’t really want us. They want America divided.”
“But we are already a divided country,” I said.
Mac stood and wrapped his hands around mine with the crystal in it. “Think Jorie, it’ll come to you.”
So I did. “They literally want to divide.”
“Yes. Two countries.”
“They had to force it with something drastic?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mac said. “We believe it takes three things happening extremely close together to cause a catastrophic breakdown.”
I looked at Mac. “The July assassination of President Wallace was number one. The second has to be something in that 18-month window.”
“Number two was the embargo on all trade with China—signed prior to Wallace’s death—that went into effect August first.”
“That’s right, Holmes was supposedly trying to lift the embargo, but blaming Congress for the delay.”
“Exactly. The truth is she and The Bakers want the embargo to continue so Americans have time to get ticked off and the media can show protests and dissent
across the county.”
“Then they send in their operatives to incite violence into the protests and the country divides even more,” I said.
“It’s the microwave media at work,” Mac said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s my name for how news is created and reported.” Mac rubbed his forehead. “They splice together several 10 to 15 second video snippets to create a story told the way that outlet wants it told. Hit start on the microwave and play the story. Voila, instant crap. No time for real gourmet news.”
“Holmes,” I can’t call her President since it literally makes my skin itch, “and The Bakers commit murder in preparation for part two, which is controlling the embargo. What’s the third event?”
“Whatever it is will be the tipping point, and I’ll bet it’s just around the corner. I’ve got to check on some things. See you at dinner.”
“Mac!” I called to him as he ran down the steps. “Why did you need to steal our original evidence?”
“The trail had gone cold. We had to flush out a player.”
“I wish you’d told me.”
Mac climbed on the four-wheeler. “Is that why you trapped me in my cabin?”
I shrugged.
“Captain Ford?”
“She admitted she stole it.”
Mac turned and rode away. I heard the motor gear down and watched him ride back to my cabin. He turned the motor off so I was sure to hear him.
“I’m a fast learner when it comes to sex,” He winked. “Give me a time and place and I’ll be there.”
By the time I realized he was talking about my comment to Liz; my mouth was wide open, and Mac was down the hill at the root cellar talking to Gramps.
Oh man, was I in trouble.
The radio in Mac’s lap crackled as we finished our dinner. “Colonel MacAlister the cavalry has arrived.”
“10-4”
Mac excused himself and walked out the front door.
Dad looked around the table. “What are we waiting for?”
Chairs scraped the hardwood floor and we were out the door as a truck pulled up next to the barn towing a trailer with eight brand new snow machines. “I claim one.” It was worth a shot.
Mac shook his head. “Buy your own, lady. These beauties are for the soldiers and me.”
Todd jumped off the porch. “Holy speed machine, these are top of the line backcountry ‘bilers.”
“Am I too old to apply for a job with the DIA?” Dad grinned.
Frank ran his hand along the skid of the first machine. “Hey, Joe, I’ll bet we can steal a couple for a midnight full moon ride.”
“How the heck did they buy these and get them here so fast?” Ed climbed on the trailer and helped Mac unhook the secure lines.
Amanda and I were standing on the porch, when she poked my arm hard. “Looks like we’re having company for the winter.” The poke didn’t hurt as much as the look of disdain she gave me.
“No one’s told me it’s official.” My words sounded hollow and a total copout even to me. “It’s safer if we’re all in one place.”
“Right, that way they can kill us all with one bomb.”
“There is that.” I was not handling this well.
“If I’m stuck here, I’m not sharing my room with anyone. No way. Not happening.” Amanda stepped in front of me, hands on her hips, and her face in my space. “Have I made myself clear?”
“No one will share your room. I promise.”
“I don’t give a flying monkey butt about your promise. But I am making it your responsibility to be sure whoever thinks they’re running this show understands.” She walked back inside Frank’s house and my guess was the vodka bottle was her next stop.
I deserved the dress-down. And if I were smart, I’d march down the stairs and be sure Todd understood. However, I’m a chicken-pooper and think I’ll join Amanda at the vodka bottle.
The 48-hours passed.
The ranch hadn’t been turned into a giant bomb crater; and the President was scheduled to address the nation in 10 minutes.
“I’ll show my naked boobies if she shows up,” Liz said from her wheelchair. The air force dropped her off this morning; with all smiles and a quick retreat, I suspected they were glad to be rid of her.
Todd whistled, “She’s going to hate herself when she comes off all the pain-meds and see’s the videos we’ve taken of her.”
“I say we keep her on them all winter.” Amanda laughed, “She’ll be our entertainment.”
“All winter?” Todd froze, his fork full of eggs halfway to his mouth. “Our entertainment?”
“Mac, this one is all yours,” I said.
“I got this.” Liz leaned in close to Todd, while the rest of us buried our heads over our plates. “No island hanky panky for you this winter.”
“Oh no! I’m not spending the winter here. I’ll walk out if I have to.” Todd pushed his chair back and stomped like a toddler toward the door.
Mac intercepted him, grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and shoved him back toward the table. “There’ll be no going AWOL.”
“You can’t make me stay.”
“You might want to rethink that statement,” Liz laughed. “I know numerous ways to make you stay.”
Mac turned Liz’s wheelchair away from the table and with a quick push it rolled into the middle of the great room. Her shoulder in a sling she was only capable of controlling one side of the chair and she put herself in a spin trying to stop. “Wehoo,” she yelled.
“Sit.” Mac said with enough force to make all of us sit straighter in our chairs. “Todd, I’m sorry but I can’t let anyone leave the protection of the ranch. If you left you’d be dead before your first pina colada.”
Amanda took Todd’s hand. “It won’t be so bad. We’ll all be here together.”
“You seriously think that makes me feel better? I’ve spent thousands of dollars on my rental. I hate winter. And I hate…”
“Silence!” Gramps commanded. “Look at me!”
Todd raised his head.
“I’m sick of the word hate, and I don’t want to hear it again. From anyone. The world is in this mess because of it, and that includes the bullshit righteous hate being spewed. Hate is hate. Period. If anyone had any real balls in this country they’d stand up to this crap of we’re right and you’re wrong. I’m sick of hearing people say it’s our way or we’ll deal with you.” Gramps stood and started to walk away from the table. “If Mac says no one is leaving, then no one is leaving. Now, all of you grow some balls.”
Gramps walked through the kitchen and out the back door.
“And that’s what my granny called given you what for,” Liz said.
Dad picked up his plate, pushed his chair back, and pointed at Todd. “I suggest you listen to your elders.”
Frank followed Dad into the kitchen.
“Nice job, Todd,” Amanda said.
“It’s not my fault the US is screwed up,” Todd gave her an Italian hand gesture.
“Sure it is,” Liz said turning her wheelchair in circles. “Twatter, Instapoop, and Buttbook were your lifeline before July. To bad you didn’t question the crap behavior going on in this country sooner.”
Todd stormed out the front door; followed closely by Amanda trying to placate him.
Mac and I sat at the dining table sipping coffee watching Liz spin one direction then another.
“Would you like more bacon?” I offered the plate to Mac.
“Don’t want to waste it.” He picked up two pieces and nibbled on them.
“More coffee?” He asked.
“Sure.” Mac filled my cup from the thermal carafe on the table as I watched Liz. “What should we do about her?”
“She’ll wear herself out before long.”
“Wanna go for a ride after Holmes speaks?” Mac asked.
“Love to.”
We finished eating, carried our dishes to the sink, and turned on the TV in the k
itchen.
When the president came on the TV, Liz was still spinning trying to figure out how to go forward with only one hand.
It was an appropriate metaphor.
Chapter 32
How much wood do we really need?” The solider was skeptical. Felling trees and splitting firewood was grueling work. The growing stack of limbs looked like a lot of wood; but once cut to size and split the amount seemingly shrank.
“How warm do you want to be?” Amanda asked.
“And for how long?” Todd countered.
The solider holding the chainsaw, laughed with a deep rolling sound that was oddly comforting. “The dude is from Georgia. He thinks winter means wearing a sweater.”
I took pity on the confused solider. “You’ll want some level of heat until June.”
“What are those solar panels for then?” The Georgia boy asked.
“Everything else,” Todd said. “We don’t get enough sunlight to generate power for all our needs. So, we double up with solar and woodstove heat.”
“It’s also more efficient to burn wood as it puts out far more heat. And as much warmth as we need, we can’t rely on solar electricity as the batteries and actual heating units fail. Then what would we do when it is minus 30 degrees?” Amanda said.
“You’d call the power company and demand they fix it immediately,” the solider with the chainsaw laughed again. “Private, you are in for an important lesson in reality this winter. Now start throwing wood on the trailer.”
I left them debating Wyoming winters, climbed in my truck and backed up the attached trailer. The private lifted the eight-foot lengths onto the trailer. What the private lacked in cold weather knowledge he made up for in pure strength. I wonder if I could bribe him to shovel my roof in January?
The poles—which Todd had de-limbed with his chainsaw—would be cut to size where they were stacked. Some of our woodstoves held 18-inch logs, while others only 14-inch logs. Over the years we’d learned it was easier to take the poles back to the ranch then cut them to size. Normally, we cut our wood deeper in the forest and used four-wheelers and UTVs to tow out the logs. Only dead-standing trees were cut; this helped alleviate massive fire fuels building up. When the forest isn’t managed, a small fire can turn into a 100,000 acre disaster killing humans, animals and every other living thing in the forest. However, with the threats facing us, Frank agreed to cut down a small stand of living trees on the west corner of the ranch. He said next spring we’d have a ceremony to replant trees and cuss the people who made the small clear cut necessary.
