The Land of the Free (18 page)

“Give me a list of heavy armaments
that you’ve distributed to each unit,” said Derek Ellis, sitting in his
conference room with his planning team.

Mike Thompson plugged his laptop
into the projector and brought up a map of the country, showing Ellis the
location of each of his Morningstar Security units together with a list of
their armaments and targets.  They reviewed each location against a list of
known defenses at each target site, to ensure that they could bring
overwhelming force at a moment’s notice.  Meanwhile, Ellis made extensive
modifications to the plans as they went along, in some cases pointing out the
existence of a secondary target unknown to the others.

Rennson’s phone rang while they
were reviewing the data, and after a few words he interrupted.  “Derek, you may
want to take this call yourself.”

Ellis took Rennson’s phone and
spoke to the man at the other end.  “How did they escape?”

“I see.  No, that’s fine.  Just
take care of your injuries.”

“It’s nothing,” said Ellis to the
group.  “This review is far more important right now.”

After concluding the logistical
review, Ellis had lunch brought in to the conference room.  As Ellis and
Rennson sat side by side, an observer could not help but think they were
brothers separated by about 10 years of age.  Rennson had meticulously imitated
Ellis’ hairstyle and grooming habits, though not his perfume.  Ellis made it
plain to anyone who crossed this line that there would be no olfactory
competition among the senior staff.

“So how did you end up in this line
of work, Mr. Ellis?” asked Thompson in an attempt to make small talk.

“I’ve been a covert operative since
I left the Marines.  I was recruited while still serving, actually.  Then came
the first Gulf War and they realized that certain things that needed doing
weren’t getting done, if you get my drift.  That’s when the first private
contractors formed, because they had no choice but to farm out the work they
couldn’t do themselves.  I was one of five founders of a short-lived outfit. 
The SEC started to bug us about information we had on some oil deal, and we
managed to get them to drop the issue but we had to agree to break up the
management group.  I started Morningstar right after that, and evidently I was
the only one of that original group determined enough to run my own private
contracting firm.  I’ve been at this since, adding you folks along the way.”

Rennson quickly added, “If not for
Derek, the United States would probably have lost both Gulf Wars.  Yet they
never appreciated him for what he was.  That’s about to change, isn’t it
Derek?”

“Only if you guys get everything
planned to the last degree, and that promiscuous idiot Kim doesn’t tell one of
his mistresses everything, and she doesn’t turn out to be a government
operative.  There’s so much that can go wrong here, comrades.  Unless you nail
down every detail, everything could fall apart.  That’s why I need to know every
detail.  Nobody but me knows which ones matter and which ones don’t.”

The main phone in the conference
room rang, and Ellis brought up the call on the video screen.  General Kim
appeared on the screen, looking down away from the camera.  “What’s gone wrong,
General Kim?” asked Ellis.

“Mr. Ellis, the Border Patrol Agent
we had detained escaped.  We’ve sent out helicopters and some ground search
teams, but have not been able to find him.  I take full responsibility for this
lapse.”

“General, I gave you instructions
to eventually turn him loose, knowing there was a risk he would survive and
escape.  If I thought the risk was acute, I would have told you to execute him
on the spot.  So forget about him right now, and focus on your mission.  Is
that clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Ellis.  We are on
schedule and will not slip.”

“Good.  Keep me informed of any
other developments, as always.”  Ellis disconnected and shook his head.  “That
stupid idiot!”

“Is this a problem?” asked Rennson.

“Yeah, it could be.  Get me Colonel
March on the phone.”

As they crossed the Susquehanna
River on their way to DC, John said pensively, “I don’t have a family that will
miss me if I don’t come through this.  How about you, Frank?  What’s the
collateral risk here for you?”

“My wife and I split years ago,”
said Frank.  “She’d probably celebrate if I were killed.  I also have a grown
son.  He’s in graduate studies at the University of Chicago.  I think he’d miss
me, but I don’t really see him that much.  He’s developed his own life, so I
think he’d get over it quickly enough.  But I will say this.  I hope he could
handle it as well as Jessica Linssman.”

“I never remarried after my wife
died,” said John.  “I have a girlfriend, but it never got that serious.  So
I’ve essentially been alone for a long time.  But even so, there’s no way I
would have done this 10 years ago.”

“I think we’re programmed to be
that way, because most people at that age have kids they’re supporting.  Once
we’re old enough that any kids can look after themselves, I think we get more
comfortable taking risks.  I was leery at first too, which is why I asked for
your help.  Then after they came after me in my own house, I guess I realized
I’m not safe staying out of it, so I might as well be in the thick of things.”

“I understand,” said John.

“But you had a change of heart too
back there at the warehouse.  Ellis’ perfume made you change your mind.  You
want to explain that one?”

“Ellis’ perfume is so intense, it
lingers a while anywhere he’s been,” said John.  “I smelled traces of it in
Robbie’s cottage when he was killed.  I couldn’t place it at the time because
it was faint.  But when I smelled it in person, I remembered.  Many years ago
now, right around the time my wife and daughter died in a car crash that I’ve
always suspected was rigged, I was held up by a gunman in an alley.  It was a
hot summer night and the gunman wore a short sleeved shirt, showing his double
dagger tattoo.  It meant nothing to me then.  The thing is, he never asked for
money or anything.  He just held me at gunpoint long enough for a man standing
in the shadows to tell me to back off an investigation I was pushing.  Not just
any man, a very smelly man.  One who used way too much perfume.”

“So do you think Ellis was
responsible for their deaths?” asked Frank.

“Yes.  In my heart I believe he
was, though I’d never be able to prove it after all this time.  I can’t get
them back, but I can fight Ellis, knowing that good will come from it.”

There was quiet for a time, and
then as they approached Baltimore, Frank remembered there was a Tilbury
operated port just off the highway before the harbor tunnel.  John turned off
the highway and they slowly drove by the port.  To nobody’s surprise, they saw
a place sparse on the regular container traffic but crawling with green
shirts.  Both felt vindicated to see the same thing in effect at a second
port.  They quickly got back on the highway and continued their trip.

“So far, we’ve avoided being
murdered, uncovered a plot to invade the United States, and escaped a slow
death by torture.  Now comes the hard part,” said Frank.

“What do you mean?” asked John.

“Unless you think we can just walk
into the Pentagon or the White House, speak with the Defense Secretary or
President, and persuade them to drop everything and start a war with China,
then we haven’t made the first bit of progress,” replied Frank.  “We’re driving
an old jalopy that probably has a questionable history, we have Morningstar
Security on our asses, and the FBI is looking for us.  We have no IDs, we can’t
access our credit cards or bank accounts, and only have a little cash from our
friend Tucker.”

John laughed briefly, but Frank
continued.  “We have no idea what parts of the government are closely tied to
Morningstar, and which parts they’ve alienated.  In-fighting is an art-form in
government and you can always make progress working with the enemies of your
enemy.  That is if you know which is which.”

“You’re on to something, Frank.  In
every case that we’ve observed, the military is an afterthought, essentially
treated as irrelevant.  At best it’s shipped off overseas to be out of the
way.  Meanwhile the intelligence community is riddled with traitors.”

“That’s their weakness,” agreed
Frank.  “They maneuvered the military into irrelevance as a fighting force, but
they’ve neglected it as a political force.  John, our destination is not DC, at
least not yet.  We’re going to stop in Annapolis.”

…

John and Frank took I-97 south to
Annapolis, exited at the John Hanson highway, and made their way to Winchester
Road and the Cool Spring Creek area.  They stopped at a house that was just off
the water, and while it was in a beautiful location, it was small enough not to
imply that the owner was involved in anything suspiciously lucrative.  The slightly
short older man slowly opened the door.  “Hi Stan, I’m sorry to bother you
unannounced like this but we’re in urgent need of your help.

The man motioned for them to come
in and said “you look like hell, Frank.  Whatever it is must be serious.”

Admiral Stanley T. Howe had been
retired more than a decade.  He had served as a consultant for Tilbury for
roughly the first half of that decade of retirement but had since been replaced
by fresher retirees with greater influence in the military.  Frank was confident
that Howe had been out of the loop since long before Tilbury became tied up
with these events.

“This is John Corson.  He saved my
life.”  They told their stories to Howe, inclusive of their recent run-ins with
Morningstar, and their assessment of the plot.  Howe listened intently, but
they feared he could think they’d lost their marbles.

After an interminable silence as
they waited for his reaction, Howe replied, “I wrote a paper a long time ago on
the possibility that America’s addiction to imports could make us vulnerable to
an invasion like this.  But it was ignored because there was at the time no
single trading partner that could alone pose such a threat.  We were worried
about the Soviets, and nothing else was nearly as important.  In the time of the
Cold War, there was no significant trade between the Soviet block and the
West.  Our troops were also more concentrated at home back then.  Today, the
pretense of
defense
is utterly gone, so much so that they had to create
a ‘Homeland Security’ Department.  Everything has changed completely, and we’re
dead vulnerable.  What you’ve discovered amounts to my worst nightmare.”

“Can you help us, then?” asked
Frank.  “Ideally, we’d like to get into the White House.”

“We’ll have to be very careful even
going through military channels.  There’s a very thick web of corruption that
weaves through Morningstar, intelligence, arms production, the foreign policy
establishment, and a lot of our General Officers.  And we’ll have to have some
corroborating evidence if we’re to be taken seriously.  It can’t just be your
words seeming to vindicate my old ideas.”

“Admiral please don’t take this as
an affront, but may I see your forearms?” asked John.

Frank quickly added, “Morningstar
guys have specific tattoos and John’s had some close calls with them.”  Howe
rolled up his sleeves and showed John his arms, which were both clean.

“You guys go upstairs and shower
up.  I’ll get some Chinese takeout for dinner,” said Howe.

Cam Burrows spent the day hiding in
a gully overgrown with bushes.  It was hot, and he had no water.  He watched
the helicopters flying overhead, and heard the patrol trucks passing by.  He
dared not venture out for fear of being captured again, or killed outright. 
Over the course of the day, he noticed that birds flew to and from a location
just to the southeast of where he was. 
There may be water there,
he
thought.  He was thirsty, and was still a good ten miles from the Rio Grande to
the east.  He set off again at twilight, heading southeast.  Within an hour he
came to a lake that irrigated farmland in the area. 
Lake Centenario most
likely,
he said.  The water would be fresh, but loaded with fertilizer
runoff and probably a witch’s cauldron of nasty bacteria.  But what choice did
he have?  He did not know how much further he could go without water.  If he
made it back to Texas, he liked his chances of survival after that, even if he
was sick.  He waded into the lake as deep as he could, and drank deeply.  The
taste was not as foul as he had feared.  Still, that was no guarantee he would
not feel it in a day or two.

Drinking as much as he could,
Burrows waited a while until he could drink more, and filled himself a second
time.  Refreshed, he continued his hike to the east, still limping from his leg
injury.  He did not feel any digestive distress, but prayed that he could stave
off any sickness until after he had crossed the border.  He crossed a paved
highway, and kept moving.  He was relatively sure the major roads in this area
went north-south, so he was heading in the right direction.  As the night grew
dark, he stumbled frequently.  The sky had become overcast and the moon was not
yet high enough to cast much light.  Some time after midnight, the clouds
lightened and the moon came out to ease his walk.  He crossed another road,
this time unpaved.  As soon as he did, he saw plots of farmland in a contiguous
grid in front of him. 
That must mean the Rio Grande is up ahead
, he
said.

Within a half hour he saw a dirt
road heading in the general direction of east so he followed it, relieved of
his fear of breaking an ankle with a bad step.  The pain in his legs and back
was killing him, but he was now so close that hope alone was enough to propel
him forward.  Finally, as he thought he saw the first hints of a glow in the
eastern sky, the farmland came to an end and Burrows descended the bank of the
Rio Grande.  It was an easy crossing here, and it was extensively patrolled by
his colleagues.  He realized he was probably the only person crossing the river
here who desperately wanted to be apprehended.  The river was not deep, and the
crossing was an easy matter.  He considered drinking again, but he was
downstream of Acu
ñ
a and Del Rio.  He knew the sewage
content in the water would be high.  And he expected to be rescued soon in any
event.

Back in America, Burrows walked up
the bank to the first road he saw.  It was deserted, but it was still early. 
The sun was only starting to rise in the sky. 
Where’s the Border Patrol
when you need them?
  He kept walking, now heading northeast, to where he
guessed Laughlin Air Force base would be.  By about seven in the morning, he
came to a fence bordering a major road. 
That must be Calderon
, he
thought. 
Laughlin can’t be far now
.

Burrows followed the road a short
distance, until he saw an exit for the south entrance to Laughlin AFB. 
Finally
here
.  A half mile later he came to the entrance station to Laughlin,
walked up to the gate in his ragged formerly white pajamas, and announced “I’m
Cam Burrows of the US Border Patrol.  I’ve been held prisoner in Mexico, and I
need to see the commanding officer immediately.”