“Damn right, he will. Raines was a Hell Hound, trained by Adams and Dean.”
“And he’s still got Ike McGowen with him. Medal of Honor-winner. ex-SEAL,” Admiral Calland said respectfully.
“Well, gentlemen,” General Rimel said, “you all know where I stood on invading Tri-States. I was opposed to it. Now, I—none of us—can
“I suggest we speak—very quietly—with our field commanders,” Preston said. “Base CGs and admirals. All conversations private and scrambled; nose to nose if at all possible. I also would suggest, after we’ve done that, that we get word to Raines telling him how many of us are out of this thing.”
“Damn!” General Franklin said. “I hate even the idea of that.”
“Well,” Preston smiled, needling the Marine, “we never promised you a rose garden.”
“Oh, goddamn, Jerry!” Franklin groaned.
Victor watched as the fifth man mounted his sister as if she were a dog. He tried to push her screaming from his head. He could not. “All right,” the young man said weakly. “Get away from her. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
The man pulled himself from the young woman and wiped his penis. “Gettin’ kinda sloppy anyway,” he said. “She’s bleedin’ from the ass.”
“Get a doctor to see her,” Hartline ordered one of his men. “Immediately. I want the people to know if they cooperate with me, I will be fair with them.”
Rebecca was carried from the room.
Hartline knelt by Victor’s chair. “Now, young man, give me a name.”
Late that night, a man’s front door was kicked in and the man dragged from his bed. He was taken to an old National Guard Camp in Central Virginia, temporary billeting for Sam Hartline’s mercenaries.
The man was taken to an office and tossed on the floor. When he looked up, Sam Hartline was standing over him. The mercenary was smiling.
“Mr. Samuelson,” Hartline said. “You have a lot of knowledge I wish you to share with me.”
“No way,” Samuelson said.
The mercenary’s smile widened. “Why, Mr. Samuelson, surely you don’t mean that.”
“I mean it.”
“Before you make such rash statements, sir,” Hartline said, “perhaps you should speak with your daughter, Ruth. You see, sir, she is… ah… shall we say, busy entertaining some of my men just down the hall.”
“I don’t believe you,” Samuelson said.
Samuelson was jerked to his feet and pulled and dragged down the hall. Hartline stood smiling before a closed door.
“Believe, Mr. Samuelson,” he said. “Believe.” He pushed open the door.
THREE
Spring drifted slowly and softly into early summer. A strange peace lay over the country; but both sides knew it was a prelude before violence. A quiet before the nation erupted into civil war.
One eastern-based cell had been destroyed. Samuelson and his daughter Ruth were being held under tight security at the base Hartline used for training purposes. Samuelson had been wrung dry of all useful information. The man was only a shadow of his former self. He had been broken both physically and mentally. His daughter, Ruth, had been sexually abused with such frequency she had broken mentally and was past any point of saving. She sat in her cell and sang children’s songs. She had pulled all the hair from her head.
On June 1, 1999, a semi-military court, made up of military men and women loyal to Cody and Lowry, Hartline mercenaries, and two extremely frightened citizens from a local town, sentenced Samuelson and his daughter to hanging for high treason against the government of the United States.
The trial lasted twenty minutes. Father and daughter were hanged the following morning, at dawn.
In Washington, President Addison sat in his private quarters with Senator Carson. The old senator from Vermont, usually quite eloquent, was decidedly coarse when he finally spoke.
“The shit is about to hit the fan, Aston.”
“And there isn’t a goddamned thing any of us can do about it.”
“True.”
“I’m really just a figurehead, aren’t I, Bill?”
“That’s about what it comes down to, yes.”
“I have given serious thought to resigning.”
“Don’t. I have this hope that after a few weeks or months, when my colleagues see how bloody and awful and needless this war is they’ll come to their senses and turn against Cody and Lowry.
The president shook his head. “It won’t happen, Billy. You’re dreaming. I see things much clearer now. Logan was grooming Lowry all along; but kept him in the background deliberately. I’m remembering things now that I considered minor and unimportant when they occurred.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’m remembering all the times Hilton met with Lowry. I know Dallas Valentine was having an affair with Logan’s wife, Fran, but now that I look back, I believe Lowry was, too.”
“The lady certainly stayed busy, didn’t she?” Carson said dryly.
“Quite. I’m recalling some inner-office about Lowry being the man in the shadows, so to speak; about him actually being the brains behind Hilton Logan all the time. Sure. Jeb Fargo was run out of Mississippi and settled in Georgia—just outside of Atlanta.” Aston smiled. “Where is Lowry from, Bill?”
The old man stirred in his chair. “Georgia. Smyrna, I believe. You’re putting it all together, Aston.”
“Finally. And far too late.”
“Maybe not. This may be all I need to convince enough people in both houses of a power play.”
“Providing they are not involved in it.”
“Unfortunately, I have thought of that, also.”
“And your conclusion?”
“I think some are involved. How many…?” He shrugged his shoulders.
“That father and daughter who were hanged this morning. Samuelson. Gruesome business. I wonder what Raines’s thinking is on the matter?”
Ben was once more a hundred percent physically. And at that moment, he was one hundred percent angry. Not a hot raging anger, but a cold deadly one. He stopped his restless pacing and turned to Ike. The ex-SEAL was sitting patiently in the squad tent, a CAR-15 across his lap.
“We’ve got to start all over again, ol’ buddy,” Ben said.
“True.” Ike waited. When Ben didn’t immediately speak, Ike said, “You’re not blaming Samuelson and his kid?”
“Oh, hell, no, Ike! There isn’t a man or woman in this world that wouldn’t break under the right kind of torture. No, I’m not blaming them. I’m just sick that it happened.”
“Twelve cells smashed. More than two hundred people taken,” Cecil said. “It makes me physically ill to imagine what is happening to those people at this time.”
“I try not to think about it,” Doctor Chase said. He glanced at Ben. “Are you going to retaliate, Ben?”
Ben was slow in replying. Chase was about to repeat the question when Ben said, “Yes… I am. But not in the manner that is expected of us.”
“Arm the people?” Cecil said.
“Yes, but there again, we’re going to move slowly. I spent a sleepless night last night. I’ve thought it out
