State of Rebellion

western United States.

Receiving wages set by MexiCal and dozens of other shell employment agencies controlled by Franklin’s subsidiary companies, immigrant workers were hired to perform tasks not many Americans were willing to do. The workers received only about seventy percent of the current minimum wage, but more money than they could get for comparable work in Mexico, if a job could even be found there. The remaining thirty percent was retained by the employment agencies in the form of a service and administrative fee.

At $5.40 an hour and a fifty-hour work week, the laborer could earn $270 a week, unencumbered by taxes. Even after subtracting the thirty percent service fee, the laborer would still clear $189, far more than he could earn in Mexico-or in East Asia, for that matter. Without federal withholding taxes or Social Security contributions to worry about, employers would realize substantial savings in labor costs.

From Franklin’s perspective, the real beauty of the plan was found in the $81 a week that would be generated in service fees. With half a million workers enrolled, a whopping $40 million a week, or $2.1 billion annually, dropped into his coffers. He cared little that the labor scheme resembled slavery, albeit paid slavery. If a laborer complained, he was simply visited by agents from BCI and deported back into the poverty he might otherwise have escaped. Mexican officials would then see that he did not return.

And now it would all become legal in this new nation he and his supporters had conceived, nurtured, and to which he would soon give birth. There would be no more relocation of American manufacturing to overseas countries, or being held to ransom by the instability of foreign governments through the constant threat of nationalization of the business. Based on centuries-old cultural and historical bonds, Mexican recognition of this new nation would be immediately forthcoming, to be followed quickly by Korean and Malaysian government political support. Immigrant labor from each of these countries would soon give the Republic of California the highest productivity and one of the lowest costs of labor of any nation in the world.

Franklin drew deeply on a hand-rolled Cuban cigar and relished his dream coming to fruition. The Republic of California. The seventh-largest economic power in the world, freed at last from the encumbrances of those Washington sycophants who had forever siphoned off California assets to strengthen neighboring states through the liberal “redistribution of wealth” philosophy.

Not anymore, Franklin thought. Not anymore.

Chapter 22

Dublin, Ireland

Dublin, six-two-four, eight-two-nine-five,” the man answered.

“Aye, Paddy. How’re the lads?”

Quickly recognizing the voice, Kevin Donahue, brigade commander of the Irish Republican Army, went on alert.

“You’ve been makin’ scarce of yerself, Fergus.”

“Aye. Me presence in Dublin tends to make people nervous,” Fergus McNally responded. “I think we should talk. Be warned, Kevin. You’ve been working both sides of the street these past few years, and I’m not up for a one-way ride. If I go down when we meet, as the Pope’s me witness, I’ll take ya with me.”

“Things have changed over the past two years. I talk to the Brits-doesn’t mean I agree with them.”

“Indeed. And in America and Australia they’re changing even more. It’s Ireland’s turn, don’t’cha know? When and where?”

“O’Connell Street Bridge, two o’clock. I’ll be alone and unarmed. You have my word.”

“That’s always been good enough for me, Kevin. ’Til then.”

“Good day to ya, Mr. Donahue.” McNally was dressed in a blue blazer with gray trousers, looking much the businessman. “Shall we stroll the beautiful Liffey?”

“You went to ground quite well, Fergus.”

“Well, now, surely y’know the story of the fox and the hare.”

“Aye,” Kevin grinned. “Given the events of recent months with the Aussies and the Yanks, perhaps it’s time for the fox and the hare to dine out-together.”

“I agree. Everybody and their brother’s castin’ free of the politicians what control ’em, and the Yanks and the Brits seem to be in sync with the idea without so much as a ‘how do you do’ to the Irish. It’s just not on. They’ve never dealt in good faith, Kevin. And you, sittin’ at the polished table these past two years, usin’ yer mouth instead of yer brains.”

Donahue nodded. “I’ve got to admit, the old ways made their mark in spite of the cost. It just might be time for a wake-up call to remind them the squeaky wheel is the one that gets the grease.”

“And I know just where to make the wheel squeak, Commander. The American vice president will be visiting London in a couple of weeks to see the bloody PM. They’ll get all cozy in some vehicle, don’t’cha think? Maybe we can send them a message. How say ye?”

“Keep talkin’.”

Chapter 23

Monterey Peninsula Airport

Monterey, California

United Express Flight 2340, a two-engine turbo prop of Brazilian construction, was a twenty-five minute hop from Monterey Peninsula Airport to San Francisco International, some ninety miles to the north. The 5:40 Tuesday evening flight log listed nine passengers, five of whom the airline manifest referred to as congressional VIPs. In addition to Mrs. Winifred Albertson of Kenai, Alaska, and her three children, all of whom were connecting to an Alaska Airlines flight destined for Anchorage, the roster included Representative John Hunter, Corona, California; Representative Mary Elizabeth Hopkins, Santa Rosa, California; Representative Robert Jensen, Bakersfield, California; Representative Donald Wilmont, Alamo, California; and Representative Clarence Joiner, Salinas, California. Flight 2340 also consisted of a pilot, co-pilot, and one flight attendant.

Representatives Hunter and Joiner had only just arrived, hastily transported from a last-minute round of golf at Pebble Beach, and their luggage, including two sets of golf clubs, was quickly loaded into the cargo compartment of the aircraft.

“Boys and their toys,” Congresswoman Hopkins teased as the two tardy passengers entered the aircraft, taking seats across the aisle.

“You should try golf, Mary,” Hunter said, laughing at her taunt. “It would help you relax.”

Laughing in reply, she said, “I can think of dozens of things more productive than a five-hour walk around a cow pasture.”

“Ah, but nothing quite so satisfying or challenging,” Joiner added as he buckled his seat belt. “Besides, Mary, at our age,” he said, nudging Hunter, “it’s the only thing left we can do for five hours straight without falling asleep. . and that includes attending one of your housing and rent-control sub-committee meetings, Representative Hopkins.”

“Well, thank you very much, Clarence.” She smiled. “You brought us down here to Salinas for your ‘dog and