Dark Coup (20 page)

Sanford only made a slight face.  “Who or what he’s working for, that sounds a bit melodramatic,” he said.

“Like I said, you aren’t going to believe it,” Hodges said, “even after you hear it.”

…

Hodges held the door to the Humvee and then closed it behind them once they were both inside.

“First of all,” Hodges said, “I’ve had to increase security on our little clandestine radio-intercept operation.  If someone comes snooping around other than Tuttle or the two of us, they’ll be intercepted at first, and if they don’t take the hint, and still try to get into the Humvee, one of two hidden positions will take them out.”

Sanford raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir,” Hodges said.  “It’s that serious.  The Colonel wouldn’t hesitate a second to take any of us out if he found out that we know what you’re about to hear
or
that we didn’t disclose the existence of either the backchannel communications network or the fact that we have one of their radios.”

“Dissention in the ranks is growing, Sir,” Tuttle said as the only enlisted person in the truck.  “The only reason it hasn’t gotten out of hand yet is NCOs who agree and catch it before it gets to the wrong ears, and Officers such as yourselves who are working to do something about it.  I’m afraid some kind of action is going to have to take place, though, and sooner rather than later.  The Colonel is going too far.”

Hodges nodded.  “Go ahead and play the ones we agreed on,” he said.

“Wait,” Sanford said, “agreed on?  Who agreed on? I need to know what’s going on.”

“Absolutely, Sir,” Hodges said.  “What I meant by agreed on was the portions of the transmissions where it’s made clear who the Colonel is working for.  There are over five hundred transmissions, some of them over an hour long.  Tuttle has listened to almost all of them and I’ve listened to about half.  We just thought…”

Sanford interrupted Hodges’ apology.  “Ok,” he said, “understood, continue.”

…

“If I wasn’t sitting in this truck right now,” Sanford said, “after a worldwide power outage caused by the Sun, that we as a country actually had a
plan
for but failed to implement
at all
–much less in time.  If I wasn’t here, dealing with a megalomaniacal Colonel, I would call all three of us nuts and be laughing at what I just heard.”

The selected transmissions took just under an hour to get through and the longer Sanford had listened, the more surreal the situation became.

“I feel like I should look around for Rod Serling,” Sanford said.  “I know he’s dead, but at this point that doesn’t matter!”

“I understand, Sir,” Hodges said.  “There are some other transmissions that refer to Agenda 21, and even one where, and I won’t say I told you so but, the other guy actually mentions both the Georgia Guidestones and vaccinations.”

Sanford closed his eyes and sighed.  “Before a couple of days ago I would have said it had to be a joke,” he said.

“I don’t think these people joke about much,” Hodges said.  “And they’ve certainly been serious enough about everything up to this point.”

“This is insane,” Sanford said, “utterly and completely.  We’re talking about the mother of all conspiracy theories all wrapped up into one and…what, they’ve somehow figured out how to trigger sunspots and CMEs too?”

“No sir,” Hodges said, “what I’m saying is that they have had plans and an agenda in place for decades to take advantage of a…convenient catastrophic event, regardless of the source, whenever it happened.  Now that it’s happened they’ve scurried to their hidden bunker to wait for the world to finish burning.  Once their faithful lackeys have reshaped the world to their liking, they’ll come out and take the reins of their perfect little planet and its newly docile inhabitants.”

“Sirs,” Tuttle said, interrupting Hodges’s tirade.  “You need to hear this.”

Tuttle had been listening to decoded transmissions in one ear at 125% speed as the conversation went on, and had just finished the most recent transmission between the Colonel and whoever it was pulling his strings.

“Go ahead,” Sanford said even before Hodges could.

The playback took just a couple of minutes and then all three of them were left with more questions than answers.

“No comment on the C-in-C,” Hodges said.

“Then I will,” Sanford said.  “He waived his right to any authority he had when he landed and walked into wherever they are.  If what they say is true, and we have no reason to believe it isn’t yet, the President is no longer issuing orders, and even when he
was,
he was bought and paid for.  They
all
have been for the last,” Sanford made a dismissive gesture with his hand, “who knows how long.”

Hodges nodded.  “Information is power, Sir,” he said.  “In this case, what the Colonel doesn’t know
can
hurt him.  We just have to figure out how.”

Chapter Twenty-One

July 6, 2013 - Promised Land Army Base, Natchez Trace State Park, Tennessee

“Mr. Baxter,” Mallory said.  “Welcome to my home, well, you know what I mean.”

Clint sighed and looked up at Mallory through bloodshot eyes.  He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since he got here and now this…thing was taunting him.  He knew he was going to die here, just not how or when.  Why they were putting it off was what kept him up at night.

“I’m sorry you aren’t sleeping well,” Mallory said.  “I assure you it isn’t anything my men are doing intentionally.  If there’s something we can get you, please let us know.”

“Oh can the good-cop, bad-cop routine,” Clint snapped.  “When’s the firing squad?  Are you just whittling down the numbers to a manageable number from all the volunteers or what?”

Mallory turned the carved wooden chair around backwards, sat astride it, and folded her arms across the top.  “Since you asked,” she said, “yes, there were a handful of volunteers for a firing squad.  They’ve all been turned away.  I’m not going to shoot you, Mr. Baxter.  You haven’t been convicted of anything and even if you were, I wouldn’t shoot you.”

Clint grimaced and Mallory went on.  “To answer your question,” Mallory said, “it’s taking so long because we don’t have a court yet, or, at least, we didn’t until yesterday.  At least we have a judge now, and we have a couple of people reading up on the law to act as both prosecution and defense.  Since this is a civilian matter, it will be handled as such.  I’m just here to provide room and board to the prisoners.”

“Seriously,” Clint asked.  “Is this for real?  I’m going to get tried in some kangaroo court by people who’ve never practiced law, in front of someone who’s just been appointed Judge?”

“Two minutes ago you were asking what was taking the firing squad so long,” Mallory said.  “Now you’re concerned about a miscarriage of justice?  Make up your mind, Mr. Baxter; you can’t have it both ways.”

…

“Before we get started,” the newly appointed Judge said, “is there anything you’d like to say to the court.  Keep in mind that you are on the record at this point, Mr. Baxter.”

Clint stood up; hands cuffed in front of him, and looked around the large tent.  There were only a dozen people in attendance, which surprised him a little.  He thought there would be more people there.  Then again, most of his victims– if you could call them that–wouldn’t be able to identify him, so he didn’t really have any accusers to face him.

“I
could
say that I don’t recognize the authority of this court,” Clint said, “but that would be kind of pointless.  After all,” he held up his hands as far as they would go, given that they were chained to his waist, “it doesn’t look like I’m making the rules anymore.  I’d like to face my accusers.  I’ve heard the charges and I say I was just providing for my people.  You don’t know the circumstances surrounding the tragedy at the camp meeting.”

“How do you plead,” the Judge asked.

“Usually on my knees,” Clint said with a chuckle, which nobody else joined in on.  Clint sighed.  “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” the Judge said.  “It matters, Mr. Baxter.  How do you plead?”

Clint thought back to his talk with Mallory a couple of days ago. 
“I’m not going to shoot you, Mr. Baxter.  You haven’t been convicted of anything, and even if you were, I wouldn’t shoot you.”
 
“What have I got to lose,”
he thought. 
“Why would she lie to me?”

“I’ll save you all some time,” Clint said.  “Guilty.”

The look of shock on the Judge’s face was almost worth it, Clint thought.  “Are you absolutely sure,” he asked.  “You can still change your plea.”

“No,” Clint said with a smirk, “I’m sure.”

The gavel came down with a flat “BANG!”

“Let the record show that the defendant has entered a plea of guilty,” the Judge said.  “Sentencing will now begin.  Pursuant to the laws voted on and established…”

Clint tuned out until he heard the actual sentence.

“…hang by the neck until dead.  May God have mercy on your soul.”

“What,” Clint said. 
“But…”
he thought, and then realized that all the Major had said was that she wasn’t going to shoot him.

…

“What are our options,” Cooper asked.

“Well,” his legal counsel said, “you aren’t up for the death penalty.  If you plead not guilty then it goes to trial.  Without having spoken to anyone who would be a witness for
or
against, I can’t say one way or the other.  If you plead guilty, you get life in prison with hard labor, but you get three square meals and a roof over your head.  You’ll work for your living, though; it isn’t like it used to be.”

“What about Tony,” Cooper asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” his counsel said, “it’s a different case.  You need to worry about you.  The chances of you getting out of it in a jury trial are pretty slim.  If you’re convicted, you get the same sentence and people despise you for taking up their time on a jury.  Mr. Cooper, things have changed, and while we voted on the laws and everyone understands what’s required of us, nobody wants to have their time wasted.  I’ll be honest; it takes all the time we’ve got just to keep up with the basic labor it takes to survive right now.  I’m not trying to talk you into one thing or another, but if you know you’re guilty, do us all a favor and plead guilty.”

…

“Anthony Roach,” the Judge said.  “How do you plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honor,” Tony said.

“Do you understand what that means,” the Judge asked.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Tony replied.  “Life in prison, no parole, hard labor.”

“Very well,” the Judge said and brought the gavel down.  “Let the record show that the defendant has entered a plea of guilty and the sentence…”

…

There was a single gallows set up behind the tent used as the courthouse.  The trapped-door was four feet off the ground and the condemned would fall just over two feet before the slack in the rope was taken out and, in all likelihood, they broke their neck.

As there was no appeals process, Clint had been hung the morning after his trial.  It was a short, no-frills affair that took less than fifteen minutes.  His last meal was a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon and milk.

The pastor offered to counsel with him the night before, but Clint refused, graciously.  His lower lip was quivering a little when they placed the black bag over his head, but he didn’t cry, or close his eyes, or struggle.

The noose was placed over his head, and he flinched a little–which was to be expected since he couldn’t see it coming. Then it was tightened, with the knot placed behind his left ear, along the jawline.

The gallows were well-constructed, and only creaked a little under his weight when the trapped-door dropped.  He fell two feet and there was a sickening snap as the rope went taut and Clint’s neck broke.  His body twitched a couple of times and finally relaxed.  The body was allowed to hang for ten minutes to ensure that he was, in fact, dead.

Ty and Dan both verified a lack of pulse and breath, and then the body was raised back up and removed from the noose.  Clint had requested that he be cremated, if possible, rather than being buried.  A pyre was built, and later that evening a dozen or so people gathered for a brief service.  The pastor, Sergeant Marci Stanton, had refused to let him simply be cremated–or at least set alight–since the fire probably wouldn’t be hot enough for full cremation.  Everyone deserved a funeral and a few words.

“It is not for us to judge a soul,” Marci said.  “That is up to God.  At best we can hope to carry out justice.  Clinton Baxter, we commit your soul to the care of God the Father, may you find peace.”

The fire burned for about an hour and when it was out they buried what bones were left in the recently dedicated cemetery.

…

“You did
what
,” Mallory said, not so much asking a question as demanding an answer.

“I got the answers I needed,” Ben said.  “And ultimately I only had to dislocate one knuckle.”

“I’m,” Mallory started to say and then stopped.  “I don’t know what to say.  I’m a little bit in shock, Ben.  How could you do that?  How did you justify it?”

“The needs of the many,” Ben started.

“Is the exact same logic that Olsen is using,” Mallory interrupted.

Ben’s teeth clicked as his mouth slammed shut.

“You realize you never would have gotten anything out of him again,” Mallory asked.  “You couldn’t have trusted anything he said from that point on.  He was useless as a source of
any
information.”

“I had to do something,” Ben said.  “I had to find out what he knew, and I did, Mallory.  This is huge, and even Mathis didn’t know everything, but what he did know is scary.”

Ben felt like he needed to defend himself under Mallory’s stare so he went on.  “Mathis hasn’t felt any loyalty to me or the U.S. Army for almost ten years,” he said, which got Mallory’s attention.  “He wasn’t just reporting back to Olsen, he was reporting back to a handler, who wasn’t in his military chain-of-command; someone completely outside the military.”

Emotions were warring on Mallory’s face.  She still didn’t agree with what Ben had done, but the fact that Mathis had been conspiring with someone outside of the military was more than a little disturbing.