Lieutenant McFarland’s execution.
“I gather I was also a suspect?” Dan had commented.
“In the beginning,” Nicole had replied. “Although, I had no reason to suspect you more than others-in fact, less.”
“How so?” he pressed.
“I can’t get into that, Dan,” she said, still unable to reveal the involvement of their undercover agent who had been killed. “I’m sorry.”
Nicole was pleasantly surprised that Dan didn’t display any anger or frustration at the knowledge of her work assignment or her inability to discuss it with him. He had known, of course, that she was an FBI agent, but then, so had her former boyfriend, a memory Nicole had worked to bury. Following the bank robbery, her former boyfriend had confronted her with his discomfort.
“You know I’m an FBI agent. What did you think I do?” she had asked him.
“Dunno, really. I never gave it much thought. I guess I just thought you were, well, maybe some kind of administrative agent,” he had said, stumbling through the words.
“An upper level secretary, perhaps?” she had asked sarcastically.
“Hell, Nicole,” he had blurted out, “I didn’t think you
The words had stood between them through the evening, and when he left her apartment, she had known it was over between them. One week later, Dan had called with his impromptu dinner invitation.
Anticipating the planned meeting with the National Guard and the fact that Dan would likely be in attendance, Nicole had wanted no surprises to come between them. But as the time came to tell Dan of her involvement in the militia investigations, she had become apprehensive. She knew much more about his part-time assignment with the National Guard and the ways their assignments actually paralleled one another. After discussing the matter, Nicole watched Dan through the lasagna dinner she had cooked and while they washed the dishes together. She was unable to tell what he was thinking, but as she was drying her hands on the dishtowel, he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed the back of her neck and nuzzled his face in her hair.
“Do you know I love you, Nicole?” he whispered in her ear, the first endearment either of them had confessed.
Nicole turned, took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately, returning his declaration of love. She was comforted by his acceptance of her chosen career and by his ability to overlook what he might have interpreted as a ploy to merely further her investigation. She knew clearly at that point that she did, indeed, love Dan Rawlings.
“Colonel Connor,” Del Valle said, “we appreciate your coming out to California and the president’s interest in this meeting. These are trying times, Colonel. What can the guard do to assist in resolving the crisis?”
Colonel Connor acknowledged General Del Valle’s statement and looked briefly around the room before beginning his comments.
“The open rebellion from the militia units has risen to crisis proportions. In addition to the murders they’ve already claimed, intelligence points to their involvement in the current race war. General Del Valle, your troops have been called out twice now to put down what were becoming very inflamed race riots. It’s apparent these groups are using the secession issue to further their own agenda. How does your internal assessment compare?”
Del Valle looked at Captain Rawlings and nodded for him to respond.
Dan glanced quickly at Nicole and back at Connor before responding. “Sir, we’ve discovered that some of our Guard members also have longstanding relationships with local militia units. We know of at least seven guardsmen-two officers and five enlisted-who belong to the Shasta Brigade, the largest and most active northern California militia unit. We believe the patriot movement shares responsibility for the Oakland riots as well as the ATF ambush. We haven’t been able to confirm their involvement in the congressional murders. We did request further information from the guard’s liaison with the FBI, with no success, I’m afraid,” he said, glancing furtively at Nicole.
“I see,” Connor replied. “Agent Bentley, were you aware of these requests?”
“I was, Colonel. As Captain Rawlings indicates, the involvement of several Guard members-it’s actually nine, Captain,” she said, looking toward Dan, “required us to restrict the flow of information until we could ascertain who was and who wasn’t a risk.”
Turning toward General Del Valle, Nicole gained his attention, and smiled. “General, on behalf of the bureau, I sincerely apologize, but I believe you understand. In military terms, we’ve limited dissemination of information on a need-to-know basis.”
Del Valle nodded his assent. “So,” he said, “where do we go from here?”
“General,” Connor began, “that’s what we hope to achieve here today-a direction of sorts. Let’s not mince words, sir. It’s highly likely that we will be on opposite sides shortly if the governor follows through with his decision to implement the constitutional committee.”
Connor resisted the urge to look at Rawlings, even though he was fully aware of Dan’s assignment within the legislature.
“It would seem that the brigade has used, and will continue to use, these differences to exploit their openings and to put us at odds. If the worst-case scenario develops, and the federal military units are brought to bear to prevent the secession, the Shasta Brigade and all other militia units in the entire west will openly side with California. But let there be no doubt about it, General, they’ll rub salt in your wounds, too, in order to exacerbate the situation,” Connor concluded.
“Humph,” Del Valle snorted. “Losers and wanna-bes, Connor, that’s what they are.” Looking over toward Rawlings again, Del Valle queried, “What’s their estimated strength, Captain?”
“About four hundred, General, but a strong recruiting campaign has been underway for some months, and they’re growing. Only about a hundred and fifty members have more than two years’ experience in the units.”
“So they could field a trained and equipped, company-sized unit, with the basis for two more companies at recruit level?” Colonel Harman asked.
“Yes, sir.” Rawlings responded. “Although they’d probably split the experienced men into three, fifty-man units and place them throughout the companies. They seldom go into the field with more than a squad-sized unit. They know they’re no match for a head-to-head confrontation, even against the guard.”
“Maybe, Captain, maybe,” Del Valle responded. “But we’ve got some ATF agents’ families who might dispute that assumption.”
Returning his gaze to Colonel Connor, Del Valle concluded the brief meeting.
“Colonel, we sincerely appreciate your taking the time to meet with us and to share information. I trust the shared intelligence summaries,” he said, pointing toward a stack of manila folders and personnel records, “will assist both sides. The governor has decided to postpone his announcement of the formation of a constitutional committee for one week. But be advised, as much as he’s in opposition to this secession nonsense, he’s more angered at the contingency plans laid down by the Pentagon. And mark my words, if he sees his options being reduced by outside forces, he’ll be forced to choose from those options that remain within his power. I know he plans to contact the president, but California is his primary concern. If it becomes impossible to shift this train onto another track, he
“I understand, General. Thank you for hosting us today. I hope we can continue to contact one another and move toward the same objectives.”
“By heaven, so do I, Colonel,” Del Valle said.
“Please hold, Colonel Connor. I’ll put you through to the president,” the White House switchboard operator said.
Pug Connor waited for a moment and was then greeted by Vice President Prescott in a hollow-sounding voice.
“Colonel Connor, how are you today? I’m with the president on his speakerphone.”
“Good afternoon, Colonel,” the president said. “Hear you’ve been consorting with the enemy, so to speak.”
