August stewed over the remarks. “Kindergarteners, you mean.”
“What?” Gil reacted. “Hey, man, don’t play judge advocate with me. I’m not the one who rewrote the terms of the op. This is what HQ wanted, and what HQ wants, it gets. You, me, all of us—we’re just following orders. We’re servants to the cause here.”
“Don’t preach to me,” growled August. “And the cause is fucked. Every one of us will be the same if we’re not careful.”
“Careful? August, do us all a favor, man. Take a couple of steps back from this…I don’t know…this self-righteous thing you’re doing. Stop make-believing the mission is personal.”
August punched his door. “We just kidnapped children, Gil! Children who have brothers, sisters, and parents! We invaded their backyards and shanghaied them! That’s as personal as it gets!”
Gil set his bump helmet on the SUV’s roof, stunned by the reaction. “Brother, I don’t get you. Granted, none of us knew we would be doing this kind of shit on day one, but this is what it’s become. It’s what the world has become. We have a new enemy now, and it’s not up to us to choose who that enemy is. Christ, man. You of all people should know that. We follow orders. That’s our job; that’s what we get paid to do. It’s not our job to mull things over and think for ourselves, it’s our job to do.”
“We don’t get paid to do anything,” August thundered. “And you’re right, Gil, but only partially. Every agent, you and I included, has the right to question any order deemed immoral, unethical or—”
“Unconstitutional?” Gil interrupted. “Come on, man…are you really going to go there with me? August, think, man! There is no Constitution. The clauses within have been rendered moot and unenforceable. There’s no country anymore. Those glory days they wrote songs about…they’re over, brother. What’s left of this nation is being run from the shadows under an emergency executive mandate. I thought you knew that.”
August puffed out his chest, enraged. “Shove it, Gil. I’ve done nothing but follow orders to the letter my entire career. And the agent standing before you, who outranks you, isn’t in need of lecturing on executive mandates, the terms of martial law, or the chain of command. But I’m beginning to think you might.”
Gil backed away, holding his hands up. “Okay, okay, calm the hell down. I thought this was just the two of us talking, here. As friends.”
“You and I have been friends for a long time, but friendships do not supersede authority. And until the day comes when I am no longer your superior, you will not take that tone with me ever again. Is that understood?”
“Whatever, man, whatever.” Gil retrieved his gear and turned away. “Sorry, I mean yes, sir, sir! You’re off your rocker today. I think you need some space to cool off and work things out. This shit with your wife…it’s getting to you…fucking with your ability to lead whether you realize it or not. If you need me, I’ll be waiting inside my truck like a good, obedient underling. Don’t forget to let us know when it’s time to head for camp.” He got in his SUV and slammed shut his door.
The other agents, seeing now that the turbulence had come to a close, made their way inside their vehicles as well and prepared for departure. The sounds of the forest took over, drowning out the ambience, excluding the whimpers of four kidnapped young girls.
August didn’t want to believe this was happening. Thoughts of what his team had done and would likely continue to do for the foreseeable future repulsed him. He deliberated what plausible good could come of this new strategy. He knew its purpose: garnering the undivided attention and enhancing the malleability of their enemies and eventually, with any luck, forcing their surrender. But their enemies weren’t criminal, hostile, or even foreign; they were American citizens—families of men, women, and children.
He recalled reading Bronson’s pet project for the first time on the day he’d gone to request a transfer. He knew it then as he knew it now—the operation was unsullied, undiluted domestic terrorism. It called for poisoning water and food supplies, sabotaging roads and bridges, setting barbaric booby-traps in the woods. The tactics were intended to go beyond dehumanization; they were designed to irreparably damage lives and commit mass murder. And he had gone along with it.
They weren’t out to win hearts and minds. They weren’t fighting for peace or prosperity. This wasn’t for the greater good. They were now pilfering living, breathing human beings. Children.
August recalled his first operation as an immigration and customs enforcement agent. He’d been a member of a twelve-person task force assigned to pursue groups of hostile illegal immigrants engaging in drug smuggling and other underground criminal activity. After months of gathering intel, his team had obtained a warrant, entered a building, and kicked down a door, expecting to find illegal weapons and a meth lab. But what they found instead took his heart for a ride for which he hadn’t prepared.
On the other side of that door had been a living room, and seated before his team on the ragged, moldy furniture had been the soiled faces of twenty or more young women and girls. Filthy gags had been stuffed in their mouths, and their hands had been bound together and tied to their waists with lamp cord. Shots were fired, and a gun battle had ensued, but August and his team had been well trained and well prepared. They quickly took out the gunmen and moved farther in, clearing the residence in minutes.
Soon, they’d learned that the faces in the living room hadn’t been alone. Behind every bedroom door, more young girls were found, and in the farthest bedroom
