Seeking Safe Harbor: Suddenly Everything Changed (The Seeking Series) (34 page)

The Deputy reached over for his jacket on a hook above the cot and put it on. He then picked up his hat which was sitting on a chair next to the cot, put it on his head, and walked toward the door. A minute later they heard the outer door shut, as well.

“Let’s chain them up, Sheriff. We don’t want these guys to run if they get the chance.” The Sheriff nodded his head as they walked to the first cell and opened it.

There was a rasping, clicking noise as the door was unlocked and the Sheriff pulled it open. The Sheriff approached the sleeping man and woke him up with a gentle shake on his shoulder. The man woke up and said, “Whaaa!”

“Stand up.” When the man stood, the Sheriff and Randy put a chain on his waist and then fastened handcuffs to each wrist, secured to the chain. Then they fastened leg irons and chains to his ankles. “This one’s ready.”

They moved to the next cell and repeated the same procedure on the second prisoner.

“Sheriff,” Mike spoke softly, despite the fact they were alone, “please move this prisoner out to the other room. We’ll be there in a moment.” The Sheriff and the one prisoner walked toward the door that led to the outer office area.

As they were leaving, Mike turned to the second prisoner, “We know what brought you boys to our neck of the woods,” Mike was still speak low, but this time his voice was ominous. “We read the letters and the orders from the President to Alvin Cobb at Wormwood. We have simple ways of dealing with traitors. Get on your knees.”

The man balked, but Mike put a foot to the back of his leg behind his knee cap and pushed down. The man went to his knees at the same moment Randy allowed the door to stick on the doorjam behind Mike, not completely shut.

Mike spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard muffled through the door, “I don’t know if you are a religious man, but I’ll give you the opportunity to pray to God. I’m a
Christian man and I believe that is the only right thing to do.” He then pulled a silencer out of his pocket and slowly began to screw it on to the barrel of his pistol, simply staring as the man as he did so.

The prisoner began to sweat profusely, and he then started to protest, “This ain’t right! You can’t do this!” Stopping abruptly, his voice became strained and pleading, “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why,” Mike still spoke loud enough to be heard. “We can’t afford to keep and feed you, and we have come to the conclusion this is our only option. This is what results when people take sides. Specifically in your case, the wrong side. Treason only warrants one penalty and that is death. I told you it was simple.”

The man’s eyes bulged as he swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We haven’t done anything wrong!”

Mike eyed the man with the most evil look he could imagine and answered him, “Let’s cut to the chase and quit screwing around. We
know
the two of you were sent here to spy on us, and we
know
you are connected to the people in Wormwood. The letter from the President spelled it all out. We also
know
the plan is to take over California and the oil deposits. We now know that fake came to be the President, and unfortunately for you and your buddy out there, you’re going to have to pay the price for what you were going to do.”

“Pray, damn you,” Mike reached up and chambered a round, “This is the only opportunity you’ll have before you die. Do it or go wherever it is you’re going to go to without the benefit of asking for forgiveness.”

The man’s composure crumbled and he began to babble. Mike couldn’t understand him so he said, “I can’t understand you. Calm down, get hold of yourself, and start over. I want details. Stop crying like a baby. You’re a man, so start acting like one.”

As the prisoner began to spill his guts, Randy pushed the door shut, effectively blocking the sound. The plan
was elaborate and brazen, but with the right people and equipment in place, it could work. They were facing the beginnings of a Dictatorship.

Mike looked at Randy, who cracked open the door. At that moment, Mike raised his pistol and fired two shots. The prisoner crumpled to the deck with a thud as Mike kicked him into the wall so hard that it knocked him out. He then unscrewed the silencer and placed it back in his pocket as he turned, grinning in the dim light.

“Take care of the body, will ya?” he said over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Mike then walked into the outer room and grabbed the other prisoner by the shirt, dragging him over next to the lantern as he forced him to the ground. He pulled his pistol out of his waist and held it up in the lantern light. He did the same thing as before, being deliberate as he took the silencer out of a pocket and began to screw it on to the barrel of the pistol slowly.

Looking the prisoner in the eye as he continued his task, he spoke in his low voice once again, “The penalty for treason is death. I’ll give you the same opportunity as your scumbag partner to ask forgiveness from your maker before I put a bullet in your brain.”

The man looked at Mike with a cold stare. The corners of his mouth dipped down as he spit in Mike’s face and said, “You can kill me, but your day will come when the Republic becomes what it is destined to be – the New Order.”

Mike leveled his pistol at the man’s face. What he saw in the other man’s made it clear he wouldn’t be getting any information from him at this time. He slowly squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man flinched and looked away, giving Mike what he knew would be a chance during their next encounter.

“Okay, Randy!” he said through the door. The door opened and Randy pushed the first prisoner through, unharmed.

“What the…?” the prisoner next to him asked confused as his snapped his head back up.

“We’re not vigilantes like the dirt bags you normally associate with. We know what you’re up to, but you’ll still be given a trial. For now, you’re going to… disappear. Until we figure out if you can be useful to us, that is.”

Mike landed his plane at Avalon as the sun was breaking the horizon. Randy, the Sheriff, and both prisoners were his only cargo. The all walked to the motor pool where Mike reached in the back a drawer for the keys to a four wheel drive SUV.

Handing them to Randy, he spoke to both men. “There’s a map in the glove box to the cabin. Randy, you drive. Sheriff, you keep your gun aimed at one or the other. Be careful of the bumps, mind you. We don’t want any accidents to happen along the way.”

“Yeah,” said Randy, “that’d be a true shame.”

“What do we do when we get there?” the Sheriff asked.

“There are enough supplies to last a few weeks already on station. Don’t worry, though. Once you get them secured, have Randy keep watch over them and you bring the vehicle back. It’ll be missed if it’s not back by tonight.”

“Randy, I’ve got a few men in mind that I’ll send to relieve you tomorrow morning at dawn. They’ll take it from there, but they need an extra day to finish their cover stories.”

“Got it, Mike,” Randy replied. “You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

“When I learned of their jump and the direction they were headed, I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but this seemed a likely course of action. So yeah, I tried to, at least.”

“What are you gonna do, in the meantime?”

“Just a sec,” Mike said. After laying the two prisoners in the back of the SUV on their sides, Mike shut the hatch and turned to his colleagues.

“While you to go on your little camping excursion, I’ll compose a message for the President telling him we found two dead parachutists. It’ll mention that it appears they had been murdered and searched by persons unknown to us. They had no identification on them, whatsoever. We gave them a Christian burial and thought that since they had parachuted down here, that either the President knew who they were, or if not, perhaps he would want to know about the incident. Since we aren’t aware of many people having airplanes or parachutes other than Chicago and ourselves, it’ll be natural to ask him if he has any comment concerning this development. We’ll wait for an answer, but I’m guessing it will give us enough of a cover story to make a trip to see the imposter ourselves.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sheriff Waters interjected. “But we better get a move on before somebody sees us leaving and starts asking questions.”

Crystal sent the message to Chicago immediately after breakfast. The response came an hour later,

The POTUS knew nothing about the parachutists. It was unfortunate they were killed. Please notify if they had papers of any sort with them. Appreciate the notification.

Mike concluded it was a partial affirmation of his worse fears. There was a conspiracy.

He would have to go to Chicago.

There was no doubt it could be a dangerous mission. For the time being, he needed to play along and see what he could find out. Mike put Randy in charge of Security at Avalon the next day so he could focus on preparing to leave.

A series of radio messages were sent to the Capital in Chicago, Illinois, regarding the potential threat the “unknown” parachutists may pose to National Security. Preparations were made, and in two days Mike was ready. He was informed that a stop at Denver international Airport would allow him to refuel the Cessna 421 and he would be able to grab a bite to eat.

It was welcome news. He estimated the trip from Fitch to Denver International would be about eight hundred fifty miles. At 276mph, he could make that distance in about three and a half hours and burn only half his fuel. Once he was topped off at Denver, it would be another eight or nine hundred miles to Chicago.

He hoped there wouldn’t be any strong headwinds, but with the pit stop, he had plenty of gas to make it to Denver and then to Chicago. He expected to fly at 20,000 feet above ground level once he crossed over the Rocky Mountains. Thankfully the airplane was pressurized and there would be no need for additional oxygen.

Mike wasn’t aware of any satellites for navigation being in an active status, so it would be dead reckoning all the way. Using a WAC (World Aeronautical Chart), he plotted his course, determining his initial course to be 072° magnetic.

There would be adjustments. Halfway to Denver, he would shift to approximately 105° magnetic. There again he saw some adjustments that might need to be made… particularly if there were any winds that would push him in either direction as he made his way towards Denver.

Mike invited Harlan Herrera and his wife, Penny, to accompany him. Penny took excellent shorthand, and her expertise could be invaluable as Mike made his way from one meeting to the next with the President and other officials in the government. Harlan was someone he trusted, and having a “couple” to introduce would help defer suspicion.

After conferring with several other people, he was convinced it might be a good idea to record the conversations
and the happenings as they occurred, not only for their information, but to be able to accurately report back to the people at Fitch and Avalon.

Mike’s wife, Caroline, was pregnant, as were Dana and Crystal. Of the three women, Caroline was the only one who wasn’t a widow. Mike hoped the three of them could find some consolation in their friendship and their common pregnancies. It was a pretty shallow idea, but at the time, it was the best he could come up with. Regardless, things would work themselves out. There was not other option.

For the time being, he had his hands full getting to the bottom of this conspiracy. Randy and Sheriff Waters were the only other ones aware of what was actually going on. That’s the way it was going to stay until further notice.

As a result, Mike didn’t tell Harlan or Penny about what was going on, and as far as they knew, this was just a military and diplomatic trip. Besides, Harlan was really looking forward to some multi-engine, cross country time in the Cessna 421 Golden Eagle.

Mike, Sam, and the Sheriff had found a beautiful airplane stored in a hangar months ago. It had very little time on the engines and airframe according to the logbooks. It was comfortable, fast, carried six people, and was pressurized.

A miniature airliner for the discriminating traveler, it was a fitting airplane for an Admiral, if not a overkill. Although it wasn’t as fast as some of the small business jets, Mike felt his arrival in Chicago would be in style. Several people from the Retreat washed and waxed the aircraft prior to the trip. A clean airplane was a faster airplane.