The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) (10 page)

“What if they won’t disband and resist?” Wilbur asked.

Conner turned to Schmidt and said, “Major, we haven’t talked about my expectations with this new responsibility of yours, but why don’t you answer Secretary Wilbur’s question.”

A bit uneasy to be put on the spot, Schmidt rose to the occasion. “Ma’am, if they won’t comply, we will force them.” He then looked at Conner to see if his answer met with his approval. Conner smiled.

“But what exactly does that mean?” she asked, brow furrowed.

“We can’t allow these groups to flourish; we need to tamp down on them, we—”

“We need to crush them, just like I did in Montana,” Schmidt interjected forcefully.

“What happened there was a travesty and can’t be repeated. The force used against them was disproportionate to . . .”

“They tried to kidnap you!” Baxter chimed in.

“But the major and his men killed them all!”

Schmidt sat taller in his seat when she made the last comment, clearly proud of his actions in Montana.

“And that solution didn’t work. I told you there are still rumblings of the MIP. They haven’t gone away because of Major Schmidt’s actions,” Wilbur contended.

“They’ll rumble and talk but we won’t hear from them for a long time, if at all. Their strength is diminished,” Conner challenged her.

“Mr. President, I just think this approach is wrongheaded. Some of these groups are peaceful and seek peaceful separation. Doing what you’re proposing could cause open rebellion.”

“I’m sure Major Schmidt will be more prudent than to go in guns blazing. The groups will be warned and if they don’t comply, we’ll then arrest them. We will hold them until we can get a handle on things, then we can discuss their needs at a later time.”

Wilbur was clearly disturbed by the comments; she also noticed that Cruz was noticeably quiet. “Mr. Vice President, any thoughts on this?”

Cruz spoke via conference call. “I agree with the president, we have to get the country under control and the only way to do that is by eliminating the distraction caused by these groups.”

Wilbur, defeated, sat, shaking her head.

Conner asked, “Anyone else have something to add?”

The room was quiet.

He looked at the clock again. “Good. Major, we will meet soon to discuss this further. Let’s dive into the plan we’re attempting to make with Mr. Van Zandt.” He pivoted to Baxter. “General, thank you for finding Mr. Van Zandt’s service record. We’ve all had a chance to look it over. Let me get your thoughts on it before we have our talk with him.”

“What do you make of it, General?” Conner asked.

“It’s hard to fault the man for what happened in the mosque in Fallujah.”

“Other than the shooting in the mosque, his record was exemplary,” Cruz added.

“I have to agree with the vice president. He obtained the rank of sergeant in less than four years. Very impressive,” Baxter commented.

“Have you read the transcript from the court martial? He was belligerent and demeaning to the Marine Corps and the United States,” Wilbur said.

“I can forgive the man for how he conducted himself. He felt like he was being charged for doing the right thing. I remember when this incident happened. It was all over the news,” Baxter said.

“His behavior during the court martial was appalling and disgraceful,” Wilbur fired back.

“Try putting yourself in that mosque, put yourself in his shoes,” Baxter countered.

“General, I spent days with the man, and he is callous and ruthless. I’ll add this one positive note: I respect him for his abilities. But I wouldn’t trust him completely.” Wilbur turned to Conner. “Sir, his disdain for the country is well documented. He openly displayed this to me, and after reading this transcript from the court martial, I can see the man hasn’t changed. I just don’t know if this is the best man for the job.”

“Andrew, you want to add anything?” Conner asked.

“Yes, I agree with Wilbur to a point. Mr. Van Zandt did come across as hard and callous, but he risked his life for us. He didn’t falter—”

“He did go off course though,” Conner interjected as he interrupted Cruz.

“Yes, he did, but I understand why he did and thank God he did. His actions saved his wife and others in his group from bandits,” Cruz said.

“I think I know where you all stand. I believe that Mr. Van Zandt was a man loyal to his country. Why else join the Marine Corps? He volunteered to serve during war, he suffered wounds, and then he ended up a political casualty of the war. I can see where that would jade a man. It soured him and I can understand that. Do I completely trust the man? No. But men can be bought and we have a lot of offer. I trust him to complete the task because he’ll want to receive his payment. I don’t care if he loves me or not, I just need him to do a simple job. Now, let’s see if he is prompt.”

As if by magic, the phone rang.

Baxter touched the receiver button and said, “Hello, this is General Baxter.”

“Hi, General, this is Gordon Van Zandt.”

“Mr. Van Zandt, thank you for calling back. Now, before you tell me—” Conner began to say, but Gordon interrupted him.

“Sir, I don’t want to waste your time, but I can’t do what you’re asking. I can’t leave my family again. I’ve promised them and I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Conner grinned uneasily, then said, “Gordon—can I call you Gordon?”

“That’s fine,” Gordon replied.

“Gordon, I know how hard it is to leave your family under the current circumstances, but let me first present you my offer.”

“No need, sir. I can’t do it.”

“Please, just hear me out,” Conner beseeched.

Gordon exhaled deeply, then said, “Go ahead, but nothing, I mean nothing, will convince me.”

“Gordon, we will not only offer you every resource you need but I can also promise that the trip will be quick. We’ll come grab you in McCall, fly you to Mountain Home, then onto Coos Bay. You will simply go in, look around, and try to meet with the colonel. You know, get a feel for what’s going on there. It’s really very simple. You’re in and out.”

“Sir, this is wasting your time and mine. I can’t do it.”

Wilbur’s eyes squinted in disgust as she shook her head at what she perceived was Gordon’s disrespect toward the president.

“Gordon, I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me finish my thought,” Conner snapped.

“I told you, I can’t. If you’ll excuse me . . .”

Conner’s temper flared. “Mr. Van Zandt, I have your service record here and apparently your old company commander was correct in his assessment of you. He says here in your last fitness report that you ‘routinely questioned authority’ and ‘showed a lack of tact toward superiors.’ I can see that displayed here.”

“Does my service record also say that I was injured and scarred from your misadventure overseas? Does it mention that I had been nominated for a Silver Star until the kangaroo court?”

Conner didn’t answer Gordon’s questions and instead changed his tack. “Mr. Van Zandt, why were you even in Oregon? Apparently you didn’t have a problem leaving your family before.”

“And now you’re trying to guilt me into the task? I’m done with this phone call.”

“You’re making a huge mistake.”

“Maybe so. Good-bye, Mr. President,” Gordon said, then hung up.

Baxter, Wilbur, and Conner all exchanged looks.

“What’s the term the Brits say? Cheeky? Well, Mr. Van Zandt is definitely that!” Conner said.

“I told you, sir,” Wilbur said, vindicated.

Cruz, speaking from Cheyenne Mountain, followed up by saying, “The man has gone rogue, that’s for sure, but, Brad, I don’t think it was a smart move to try and use his past service as a way to leverage him.”

“Andrew, once I saw he was committed to not helping us, it was appropriate to call him out for his past indiscretions,” Conner said defensively. He leaned on the table and placed his head in his hands.

“Any other ideas on getting human intel on Barone?” Cruz asked.

“Not sure,” Baxter answered.

“No idea,” Wilbur chimed in.

Conner raised his head and exhaled loudly. “Let’s go back to the drawing board.”

McCall, Idaho

Gordon placed the phone back in his pocket and looked out toward the rolling foothills of Jug Handle Mountain. The tall grasses melted into an alpine setting of thick pine trees. His eyes followed the trees upward toward the exposed granite peak still covered in snow. The sheer beauty of the area always left him in awe. He swore that the sky here was a deeper blue than what the sky was in San Diego. He wasn’t sure why, but the colors seemed softer, more muted in San Diego. Maybe it had to do with the air quality, but whatever it was, when he came to Idaho he would always comment on just how blue the sky was and how green the trees were. Before the lights went out, he often referred to McCall as “God’s country,” and it was living up to that name, especially now.

The beauty of the vista gave way to ugly thoughts about his recent conversation. He didn’t like saying no to supplies, but his family was the most important thing to him. All he could do now was call Barone directly. He knew it was a long shot, but he might be able to convince him to forgive Brittany and not harm her. Then the thought that she could be dead crossed his mind. It wasn’t inconceivable that she had perished in the fighting. He vanquished those dark thoughts and told himself that he’d only think of her in terms of being alive.

The large sliding door that led from the great room to the deck opened up behind him. He turned to see Gunny walking out.

“Whatcha doin’, Van Zandt?” Gunny asked.

“Just thinking.”

“How did that call go?” Gunny asked after walking up to Gordon.

“Not good. I think I pissed off the president.”

“Good!”

“Good?”

“Yeah, nice to see you that you still have the talent for pissing people off,” Gunny joked.

Gordon laughed.

“So, I’m thinking about calling Barone myself. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a dumb fucking idea. The colonel likes you but he doesn’t love you. I’m telling ya, the whole place is a shitstorm, a total clusterfuck.”

“I need to know . . .”

“Sorry to cut you off, but I need to give you a bit of advice. I try to never involve myself in people’s personal affairs, but I consider you a good friend. As a good friend, I’m telling you to let this girl go. I don’t know what your relationship was . . .”

“There wasn’t . . .”

“Whatever your relationship was, it’s over. Your obligation, your responsibility, is to your wife and that adorable little girl in there. The woman in Coos made a choice. She chose to stay, then to fight.”

“I just feel . . . like it’s my fault, is all,” Gordon lamented.

“Listen, that woman is an adult. You told me that she chose to stay. It’s a done deal. Your arrangement with her was to get her to a safe place and guess what? Coos was until the colonel went off the reservation. Hell, man, you could’ve brought her here and all hell could’ve broken loose here.”

“I hear you. You’re right.”

“I know I’m right. You need to let it go,” Gunny counseled.

“You’re right, but a call . . .”

“Would you just shut the fuck up about it? You calling back there won’t save her—that’s if she’s still alive. The colonel won’t listen to you, I’m telling you. Now, can you do me a favor?”

“Ah, sure, what?”

“Can we see if the chief has found us a house? It’s not that I don’t love staying here, but I’m sure you want your privacy back.”

“Yeah, let’s make a run into town,” Gordon said with a smile.

Both men turned and headed for the slider when Gunny stopped Gordon and said, “Oh, and give me my phone back. I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

Coos Bay, Oregon, Pacific States of America

Barone opened his eyes slowly, awakened from the sun’s bright rays bursting through his office. Squinting, he rolled away from the sunlight and brought the pillow around to cover his head.

He lay there and thought about getting up, but the pounding in his head was telling him to stay put. Just as he was drifting back to sleep, a loud knock awoke him. He pressed the pillow harder against his head, hoping that he wouldn’t hear it again. But again the loud knock on the door came, this time followed by Simpson’s voice.

“Sir, are you in there?”

“Go away,” Barone whispered to himself.

“Sir, it’s your wife. It’s an emergency.”

Frustrated, he lifted the pillow from his head and called out, “Come in, for God’s sake.”

Simpson tried the handle but the door was locked.

“Sir, it’s locked.”

Barone threw the pillow in anger and rolled off the sofa. He grunted from the pain of moving and from the deep throbbing in his head. “God damn, I hurt,” he said before he lumbered over to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

Simpson stared at Barone sadly. He had known him for a long time, and seeing him this way was disappointing and disheartening. Simpson was well aware of the troubles that Barone carried on his shoulders and why he had taken to the bottle. What distressed him more now was the information he had about his wife, which would only add to Barone’s anguish.

Barone walked slowly back to the sofa and fell onto it.

“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but I knew you’d want to know . . .”

“What is it? Spit it out!” Barone lashed out.

“Sir, your wife is gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“When her day shift security detail showed up, they discovered that she, your daughter, and the night shift detail were gone. There’s no evidence of foul play.”

“Contact all the checkpoints and inform them!”

“Done, sir, we’re on top of this. We will track her down,” Simpson assured.

“That’s it, nothing else? My wife is gone and no other info on it?” Barone yelled.

“No, sir, we’re investigating it . . .”

“Get out, get the fuck out!” Barone screamed.

Simpson’s eyes widened, and without hesitation, he turned and left the office, closing the door as he went.

Barone slouched farther into the sofa. Mixed feelings overcame him. He had resigned himself to the fact that their marriage was over; she had said it to him in so many words during numerous arguments following the massacre. He reflected on how often he missed out on family moments like the one depicted on the photo on his desk, where his wife and daughter stood smiling broadly during a trip while he was on deployment. Tears welled up, but he fought them back as he replaced his sadness with anger.