President Prescott’s lips tightened slightly, and she rose from her chair, moving behind her desk again, and leaned over, shuffling several folders, seeming to look for something. Finally she stood erect again, looking at Governor Dewhirst. “I think not, at least not both of them, but I
Dewhirst held Prescott’s eyes for a few moments and chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ve done my dash as a servant of the people. Time to call it quits and let the younger folks take a turn.”
“And what about California, Governor? What about the creation of multiple states? One more election can put that to rest,” the president said, determined to make one more plea.
Dewhirst slowly shook his head. “Madam President, I can’t make that decision for you, of course, but I will have to decline to participate.”
Clarene nodded. “I felt it was not going to be your cup of tea. How would you suggest we handle it, Walter? I’m sincerely asking for your opinion.”
“The division into multiple states is not supposed to take effect for another two years. By all means, Madam President, put it on the ballot again, perhaps not this year, given the shortage of time, but when you do, allow the people to make the decision. I’ll not reveal the previous fraud, since I agree that would potentially open dozens, maybe hundreds, of elections to reconsideration. But I strongly appeal to you not to resort to this kind of deception. Trust the people. Mount a campaign to reverse the decision, explain the pros and cons, but. . let the people decide.”
Prescott nodded again. “Thank you for coming, Walter. I wish you the very best in your retirement. California will be hard-pressed to find your replacement.”
“We all like to feel that way, Madam President, but it’s seldom true. Younger folks, people like Dan Rawlings, are always there to fill the gaps. The world moves on.”
“Indeed,” she said, coming forward again and offering her hand. “Goodbye, Governor Dewhirst. It’s been a rocky road we’ve travelled together. Let’s hope the future is brighter.”
Edson Rifle Range
Camp Pendleton, California
November, 2012
Colonel Pug Connor, in full dress greens, walked the length of the firing line, staying roughly five yards behind the young marine recruits who were engaged in slow fire prone, spaced about three yards apart and facing downrange as they continued in their daily training regimen toward rifle qualification. No matter what their chosen or assigned specialty career field, the Marine Corps assured that every marine was first and foremost a rifleman.
Pug paused occasionally, observing the various drill instructors as they knelt beside each recruit, helping them to adjust the sling, determine “sight picture,” or assure proper shoulder placement of the rifle butt. He could still remember the words from his instructor, a senior NCO at the Officer Selection Course, Marine Corp Base Quantico:
Some twenty yards ahead, he saw the subject of his visit. Standing behind the central control booth which contained the Range master, where range instructions were delivered to the full complement, Sergeant Major Carlos Castro watched as the current round of recruits ended their ten round slow fire exercise. “Cease fire, cease fire. Clear all weapons. All quiet on the range,” came over the speaker system.
Castro had not yet observed Pug’s approach and was concentrating on the process in front of him until Pug walked up and stood beside him. Instantly aware, Castro turned, came to attention, and saluted.
“Good afternoon, Colonel.”
“Good afternoon, Sergeant Major. The next batch of expert riflemen?” Pug queried, nodding toward the men who were now clearing their weapons and standing.
“They will be, sir, or we’ll transfer them to the Army,” he said, keeping a straight face.
“Well done, Sergeant. Are you free of range responsibilities? Can you step away and talk for a few minutes?”
“I’m just observing, Colonel. I’m at your disposal.”
“Good. Let’s step over to my vehicle.” Once inside Pug’s private vehicle, the formality relaxed. “Carlos, it’s great to see you again. How’ve you been?”
“Locked and loaded, sir,” he smiled. “I was informed of my temporary assignment to your unit. May I ask where we’re heading?”
“Mostly right here in California,” Pug replied. “Nothing exotic. Civilian clothes stuff.”
“I see.”
“Carlos, let me tell you the summary. This will not be an assignment. You need to come aboard of your choice. From this point on, internal information only. Classified confidential. No further dissemination. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” he said.
“I have been on a presidential task force to ferret out the secession leaders and see how and why it happened. It’s not the
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re going to be doing the same thing. . they’re in America, Carlos. They’ve come here, and they’re not wearing turbans. Your thoughts?” Pug waited for Carlos to reflect and comment.
“The task force is by direction of the president?” he asked.
Pug nodded, understanding that Carlos was actually confirming the legality of the operation, just as General Tomlinson had, since it would likely require seeking out and killing enemy combatants within the borders of the United States. “That’s right. You and I are going to form it. Headquartered in D.C. I know Prescott only has a few months in office, but she is putting it in place deep within the Homeland Security Department and has already spoken to the president elect. He concurred, at least initially.”
“How many men, Colonel?”
“Perhaps a dozen assigned team members, maybe a bit more. Both shooters and analysts. We can scour any service, even civilians, to recruit. But in addition to the small operational team, we’ll have access to any SOG unit we need to call on. . without going through the Pentagon approval process. Blanket presidential authority.”
“Special operations group manpower,” Carlos muttered. “Seals, Delta, Recon? Anything we need?”
Pug nodded once again. “You up for that, Sergeant Major Castro, or perhaps I should call you Counselor? General Tomlinson told me you had completed your JD last year and were considering retirement. The only Marine NCO with a law degree, he said. Damn fine work, Carlos. This job will still be there, probably even growing larger, whether you’re active duty or retired. Once again, your choice-in or out?”
“When do we begin?” Carlos asked.
“I have a singular assignment for you immediately, but then we’ll kick off early in the new year. If you agree, PCS orders will be cut next month assigning you to the Office of Public Relations, Department of Homeland Security, duty station in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, next to the White House. If you decide to retire, I’ll bring you aboard as deputy director. That would make you senior to any other officers I bring aboard.”
“And my first assignment?”
“A foreign national going by the name of Jean Wolff, or Jean Minards. I’ll have a file on him delivered to you later this week. He’s of French extraction, been in the states most of the past year and working for the man who planned all this secession crap and militia killing. He’s probably headed back overseas as we speak, since this thing has broken wide open, but he’ll be back, you can count on it. I want you to find him.”
“And when I do?”
