State of Rebellion

not going in. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Rawlings said, nodding his head. “Do you think we can pull it off?”

“You mean the infiltration?”

“No, sir. Stopping the secession.”

“Heaven help us if we don’t, Captain. It’s been tried before and cost over a half million lives-American lives. And it took this nation a hundred years to get over it. I don’t want to live in another banana republic, struggling internally for fifty years to establish our laws and trampling on the rights of others to accomplish it. Now don’t get me wrong here. I understand, and in some respects, I even agree with a lot of what these militia boys believe in. I don’t like these bleeding heart, liberal do-gooders, and ‘anything goes’ crowd, what Bill O’Reilly calls ‘secular progressives,’ any more than the next man. But given half a chance, the Shasta Brigade would kill ’em all in a heartbeat. That’s not the America I believe in. This nation was founded on our ancestors’ blood, and they didn’t always agree with the people they died for. When I entered West Point, I never thought for one minute that we’d be spared the need to shed more blood, even my own, to keep us whole.”

“Against our own people, sir?”

“The time has come when people are going to have to make a choice. I’m afraid Governor Dewhirst was probably right when he told the press that the California Patriot Movement has begun in earnest. Remember this, son,” Del Valle said, opening the cockpit door and pausing to look directly at Rawlings. “You’re in command of a tactical operation now, in what we have to assume is a potential combat situation. Command is difficult, and the cost, as you have so graphically seen this morning, is often the lives of your men. The most important principle of command is a hard one. True military leadership is not whether you’re willing to die for your men, but whether or not you’re willing to order them to a probable death for the sake of their fellow soldiers. Select your people carefully.”

“I understand, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

“Good. There’s Pitama with the Humvee. He can take us back to the armory. I’ve got a few phone calls to make. Be in my office at 1545.”

“Yes, sir.”

Upon their arrival at the armory, Dan went straight to his office and spent the next two hours reviewing personnel files on his computer. He also spent a half hour reviewing Lieutenant McFarland’s file, remembering when he had selected the young, excited lieutenant to infiltrate the Shasta Brigade. At 1540, he logged off the computer and headed for General Del Valle’s office. Sergeant Pitama sat behind a desk in the anteroom outside the general’s office. He stood up as Dan entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Captain Rawlings. The general’s expecting you, sir. You can go right in.”

Dan knocked on the open doorway and remained there, waiting for General Del Valle to acknowledge his presence.

Del Valle looked up from behind his desk and then waved Dan in, motioning for him to take a seat.

As the door closed, Del Valle stood and came around the desk. He had changed from a flight suit into his dress greens. Each time Dan was in the general’s presence at reviews and command functions, it amazed him how the man transformed as he stood. Seated behind his desk, he seemed normal size-certainly in comparison to Dan’s six-foot one-inch height. But the moment the general stood, everything changed. General Robert Del Valle stood six-feet-five-inches, and Dan swore that five feet of it was all leg. More impressive than seeing him rise from behind the desk and transform into what appeared to be an NBA regular, was watching him emerge from a helicopter. It was tight enough in the cockpit for Dan, whose head touched the low ceiling, but how the general managed it was beyond comprehension. Even Sergeant Pitama, a good sized Maori, originally from New Zealand, who possessed what General Del Valle called “side-to-side” presence, seemed small next to the general.

Del Valle took a chair next to Dan.

“I’ve given a great deal of thought to this morning’s occurrence, Captain. We’ve lost a good man. That doesn’t sit well with me.”

“No, sir, I feel the same,” Dan said. “And the sheriff lost a deputy, too.”

“I see,” Del Valle nodded. “Apparently this wasn’t a clean execution. Perhaps the deputy came upon the scene during or after the murder.” The general looked at Dan for several seconds, the silence broken only when he replaced his coffee cup on its saucer. “This would be your first operational loss, wouldn’t it, Captain?”

Dan looked up briefly, surprised by Del Valle’s choice of words-rather a cold, impersonal definition, it seemed. “I hadn’t thought of it in those terms, General.”

“That’s exactly how you must think of it. You’ll recall I told you command could be expensive. I didn’t mean that lightly, or flippantly, but I neglected to tell you that it would also cost you, in emotional terms. Some men can’t stand the responsibility of having to order other men into situations where their lives may be in danger. Look, son, we may not be storming a beachhead, but believe me, there are many kinds of war. These militants chose to pursue the cowardly kind. I suppose they have no choice if they intend to wage war at all, but be that as it may, we’re at war with them. And I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“After we got back, I got on the horn to the Pentagon-General Roberts, CID. I asked him if he had any knowledge of why two FBI agents would show up so quickly at the murder of one of my officers.”

Del Valle rose and refilled his coffee cup, returning to his seat and replacing the cup on its saucer. Dan waited for him to continue at his own pace.

“It appears that, as I suspected, the FBI has their own version of ‘Deadbolt,’ and we have to assume that includes an insider. In light of the recent so-called executions, it would make sense. The murder of two federal judges would require it, I suppose.”

“Including infiltration, you say?” Dan asked.

“General Roberts wasn’t able to tell me more, but we have to assume they would be as thorough as possible. He did, however, tell me that the CID has kept the FBI and a special unit from the CIA fully briefed on our investigations.”

“Then you were right. If the FBI’s got a man on the inside, that would explain how they knew about McFarland so fast.” Dan hesitated a moment, looking toward the large window behind the general’s seat and suddenly back at Del Valle. “But, sir, if they knew about McFarland, why didn’t-”

“Why didn’t they warn us, or try to prevent his death?” Del Valle asked. “I don’t know, but I darned sure will find out when your two FBI guys arrive.”

“Agent Samuels and Agent Bentley are their names. I failed to mention, sir, that Agent Bentley is a woman.”

“Who’s senior?”

“They weren’t introduced that way, sir, but based upon their ages, I believe Samuels is the lead agent. He’s mid to late forties, and Bentley is in her late twenties.”

The telephone intercom on Del Valle’s desk buzzed, and Sergeant Pitama spoke. “Excuse me, General, the FBI agents you were expecting have arrived.”

Del Valle stood and pressed the key on his telephone. “I’ll be with them in a moment.”

“Yes, sir,” Pitama replied.

Del Valle stared down at Dan for a moment before speaking. “We’ll be involved in a jurisdictional turf war here, Captain. Keep your cool and let me do the talking.”

Dan rose and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Del Valle stepped to the door, opening it and smiling at his guests.

“Good morning, I’m Bob Del Valle. Please, come in and have a seat. This is my JAG officer, Captain Daniel Rawlings, whom I believe you’ve already met.”

“We have,” Agent Samuels said, shaking hands with Del Valle. “I’m Special Agent Al Samuels, and this is my partner, Special Agent Nicole Bentley. We appreciate your giving us some of your time, General-under trying circumstances, of course.”

Del Valle closed the door, and as his guests took their seats in front of his desk, he assumed his position behind it.